The Hunting Trip 

Author: Ithilien 
hartsart@apk.net

PG-13 Disclaimer: All rights to any of the original "Lord of the 
Rings" characters and places belong to the Tolkien estate and I humbly 
bow to the genius of J.R.R.Tolkien. I promise to return all his 
characters, when this story is done, to the state in which I received 
them. All other characters and actions represented in this story are 
my creation and I hereby claim them as mine, so please do not touch 
them without my permission. 

Summary: Needing a respite from the toils of daily life, our heroes 
choose to sojourn to the wilds of Northern Ithilien for a little 
relaxation, and perhaps some hunting. But there is evil in those 
woods, and unbeknownst to them, a dark adventure is about to occur. 
Features Legolas, Gimli, Faramir, Eowyn, Arwen and Aragorn.

A/N:  This story takes place twelve years after the War of the Ring, 
so things have changed a bit from where Tolkien left these folks. 

Since I will be taking on some of their personal issues, and I 
consider this an adult fiction, do not be surprised when sexual 
activity comes up. No, I will not be writing a slash fic, but sex is a 
factor in this story and it does come up on an occasion or two (or 
maybe three). Any attempt to describe sexual matter will be done with 
as much tact as I can muster. I have tried to leave openings available 
for interpretation, and if you enjoy letting your mind wander in those 
areas, feel free, roam away! But I also respect those who don't enjoy 
fics with sexual content, so I am leaving room for interpretation 
without getting too caught up in explicit detail (at least I hope I 
am). 

A PG-13 rating means that if you are under 13 you should not be 
reading this without an adult's supervision. And if you are under 13 
and capable of reading it, then bully for you for being sharp enough 
to understand and appreciate these words. I seriously doubt this is 
the kind of fiction that could be fully enjoyed by anyone without an 
astute mind. This story is categorized as Horror. Turn away if gory 
stuff makes you ill. Don't say you weren't warned. Okay? Here we go…







The Hunting Trip

Prologue: Cruel Death

The elf ran with all the speed his legs could carry. His light feet, 
accustomed to moving noiselessly, could not help but make a splosh 
splosh sound as he ran over the boggy ground. Yet despite his noise, 
he barely made a sound when compared to the splashes and thuds of the 
heavy feet that pursued him. And even before that, the swift crash 
through the brush of the wolfhounds came as they barked and growled 
out their charge. They were closing in on him, and the elf sobbed 
while making a valiant effort to kick up his energy and flee.

He wished he were among the trees. He would have stood a chance for 
escape had he been. For the beasts that chased him did not have his 
fleet talents there. Their prowess was not among limb and branch. But 
the elf was not in the forest. Their mission had been in the 
northwestern reaches of their land, in the regions that touched the 
Nindalf. No trees grew there, though they could be seen on the horizon 
ahead. His only chance, he knew, was to make it to those plains. His 
path would lead him there, if only he could hang on long enough. So 
far, he was ahead, but the dogs showed no signs of tiring and would 
soon be on him.

He was running for his life, having witnessed already the deaths of 
his companions. Yet he knew not why this was happening. Their mission 
was to be peaceful. No more enemies were there to be found in these 
parts. At least, there were not supposed to be. But most apparently, 
that was not true.

Believing all was well, they had left with barely any weapons – only a 
bow for shooting game if their food ran out and a short knife to be 
used for skinning. And those were now left behind at their camp, 
laying beside his dead comrades, their throats slit and blood pooling 
about them. Not that the weapons would have done much good even if 
they had been warned of the need. Neither he nor his friends were 
warriors. They were not graced with skills to kill, only those of 
rudimentary survival in the wilds. He should not need further than 
this. These grounds were safe. He should not be running in fear for 
his life!

Glancing back, his heart beat fiercely. He trudged and tripped through 
the muck, knowing there were no hiding places for him here. And even 
if there were, there was no time for him to hide his tracks. They 
would find him and they would kill him, just as they had done with the 
others, though he was unsure why.

In the dark he saw the glade ahead, the outline of its form making a 
deeper shade against the pitch of midnight. He did his best to hurry 
his steps as salvation was there. Trees! If he could only make it to 
the trees. Aside from their knives, he did not think the Men carried 
other weapons. If he could make it to the trees, away from the dogs, 
he might escape.

The forest was just ahead, and he forced all his energy into this last 
attempt to flee. He could hear his labored breath grow louder with his 
fatigue and his heart beat ever faster in his search for relief. Only 
a few hundred yards more did it stand. But in his blind pursuit to 
run, his senses were unfocused to all things but those behind him. He 
did not see the creature come at him from the sky until she was upon 
him. 

Razor-sharp talons dug into his shoulders and he cried out at the 
unexpected pain. Wings and beak flapped about his face and his arms 
flailed out to push the creature away. But she pursued, fighting him 
with predatory instinct. A night flyer, she had learned long ago how 
to overcome her prey and with animal knowledge and no sense of wrong 
in her action, she plunged sharp claws into the elf's face, knowing 
the vulnerability of that region. The elf screamed out as vicious 
nails penetrated his eye socket, blinding him with blood and pain. He 
fell hard, rolling in the sodden earth, twisting to free himself from 
the bird. He struck the creature hard and was released from its grasp, 
but too late. His fate was sealed. The hounds gained on him, and he 
knew his life was forfeit. And yet, he still fought, regaining his 
feet, sobbing his regret as he righted himself, plodding on, forcing 
his body further.

It was a surprise to him when the first fell beast dropped him with 
its leap. He had expected the dogs to nip at his legs, to trip him up. 
He never expected they would have energy enough to make such a bold 
move. He was exhausted, his energy spent, and he had hoped, at least, 
that the wolfhounds would be too. He did not know their drive would be 
encouraged by his fear and the smell of his blood. 

The first dog's attack took his hands as he rolled to his back and 
pushed away at the animal. The jagged fangs were vying for his throat 
and he pushed his arms up in defense. A second beast leaped at his 
belly, launching its teeth at the soft tissue of his groin. Curling up 
in response, he fought back, kicking and thrashing, but a third, 
fourth and fifth creature leaped into the fray and he had no way left 
to fight. And lastly, the sixth wolfhound found its mark, diving into 
his neck and ripping the artery within it. Blood gushed out as the 
fatal wound was inflicted, and all the dogs plunged into his flesh, 
refreshed by their lust. Landing knife-like canines into muscle 
tissue, the taste of blood sent the beasts into a ravenous fury, each 
mauling harder at the taste of raw meat. The snarls of their attack 
mixed with his screams, and the noise was a symphony of gruesome 
horror. 

The footfalls of men could be heard breaking through the marshy soil, 
beckoned by the cries of death and destruction. Calling out to the 
hounds to cease their attack, the men hurried to the place of attack. 
But it had been too long since the dogs had been fed meat. They 
growled out their answer. Their lust for blood was undiminished by 
their lack of full bellies. They would have their meal. The men's 
calls would be damned!

A kick sent a yelp from the snarling lips of one creature. A thrown 
off dog, and then another in turn, was followed by the hollow thud and 
cry as a fourth dog's ribs crushed against a harsh rock. The sound was 
enough to make the other canine beasts take notice, and they at last 
saw the ferocious anger of their masters' glare. Snarling and 
simultaneously whimpering, they drew back, relinquishing their prey to 
the men who kept them.

A bloody mask was all that was left of the elf's face. One half of his 
face was a mass of gore. The single remaining eye showed fading light. 
Sucking sounds rasped from his lips as his last gasps entered and 
exited his lungs. Entrails lay exposed beside his body, curled and 
ripped on the ground and they led back to his torn belly as the opened 
cavity filled with garnet blood. He was dying. A crimson pool sullied 
the mud beneath his head and a thickening trail of it dripped from the 
corner of his mouth. 

The Men looked down on the dying creature and scowled. The dogs backed 
away, seeing their masters' anger, knowing they had gone too far in 
their hunt. A screech from above indicated the arrival of their 
companion hunter. An arm was flung out, and the wings of a large grey 
owl swooped down upon it, landing noiselessly on the human perch.

A voice was heard by the elf as all his senses dimmed. "She will be 
angry with this," the voice said. "We should have waited before 
killing the other two." The words were hollow to the elf. His spirit 
was ascending and the sounds became more and more distant and vague as 
he slowly died.

"We could not have overpowered them," came another voice. "We know 
little of their race. She never warned us. You can see they were 
strong. This one nearly outran us. Had we not killed them, this easily 
could have become a disaster. We did what was right."

"And now we have three dead Elves to show for it! Not even one live 
one to present for her use! What good is that to her? I dare say she 
will not have kind words for us!" shouted the first.

"So what do we do? Hide the evidence? Pretend this never happened?"

"No! She will read us and know. Better to face her wrath. And perhaps 
she can find some use here in this," said the first, pulling up the 
head of the dying elf by a scruff of hair. 

"So we will bring her the bodies?"

"Just the one. That is all of what she asked. But you are right in one 
way, my brother," said the first slowly.

"How is that?"

"We need to hide the evidence. There were three here. There may well 
be others. And we will need another if she is to go on. But all in its 
time. We do not need to find retribution for this deed. Not now. We 
should hasten to keep our presence here short. My fear is for later. 
Bad enough it is that we should have to explain this to her tonight. 
Mother will not be pleased with us…"





Chapter One: Revelry and Song

"And now we must celebrate!" 

A raucous laugh tumbled out of the mouth of the red-bearded dwarf. 
Gimli was in an especially merry mood on this day, as was right. He 
should be! It was a day to be remembered in Minas Tirith, and Gimli 
and several other dwarves from the Glittering Caves were the heroes of 
the city. 

The streets were alive with revelry and festival. Parades had lined 
the main roads in the early hours and the palace guard and an 
entourage of royal officials had made the procession to the foot of 
the city. At the main gates had stood the Dedication, and Gimli had 
given the Honors of Presentation to the fair Queen Arwen. The point of 
focus for all to behold was the last, and the greatest, of all the 
gifts the Dwarves had bestowed upon Minas Tirith. A new gate was 
unveiled, and nothing like it had ever graced the City of Kings prior. 

Shining in mithril and other precious metals, it was a treasure that 
raised the level of beauty of an already lovely city. Flower petals 
had rained down on the heads of all who beheld it, and a roar of 
applause echoed through the cities streets. Gimli's name could be 
heard on the lips of all the attendants and rumors and gossip about 
the king's long friendship with the diminutive leader abounded. Nearly 
everyone wanted to see him, to shake his hand, to be where he was, to 
call him 'friend'. He was favored by the crown, and he was their cause 
of celebration. Gimli was a very popular dwarf in Minas Tirith.

Parties crisscrossed alleyways and lanes throughout the various levels 
of the great white city. Street vendors hawked confections for nearly 
every taste, and minstrels and puppeteers entertained all-comers for 
the offering of a few copper coins. Women wore their prettiest frocks 
and tied their hair back with ribbons and flowers and the men went so 
far as to bathe and to trim their scruffy faces. Children played 
freely without fear of retribution and throughout the city, laughter 
and merriment were heard from all houses. Except for the countless 
days of celebration at the marriage of Elessar and Arwen, a better 
time in the towering city could not be recalled by any. The King had 
proclaimed the event at the gates a holiday to all, and the citizens 
reveled in their joy.

Patting his belly from the fullness and contentment it had partaken at 
the King's table, Gimli clapped his other hand on the back of his 
companion. A look of such glee filled his eyes, and anyone who looked 
upon him could tell the dwarf had never been happier. 

"I know just the place to go! I have been saving this one up for the 
next time you would join me here, and I can think of no finer occasion 
than this to enjoy it!" the dwarf said as he led his guest through the 
city streets and down a narrower roadway. As they passed, observers 
would stop and curtsy or bow as the dwarf made his way. And in turn 
Gimli would nod and smile at each one, letting their honors add to his 
mood.

Legolas laughed. "I do not think I have seen you so pleased with 
yourself, Gimli! You act like a dwarf wallowing in mithril. You are 
enjoying this with immense pleasure."

Gimli chuckled loudly. "Of course I am! Look at how well they treat 
me," he said as a small girl ran up to him and presented him with a 
flower and a sweet smile. Gimli smiled at her in return and said, "Who 
would not enjoy such attention?"

The elf smirked. Not I, he thought. He did not care much for the city, 
and it was only his friends' presence that drew him there. When he had 
first come to Minas Tirith, he had been seen as a curiosity among men. 
That had been more than twelve years ago, and despite Arwen's role as 
their Queen, he still felt at times that he was an object upon which 
to be gawked. It was not true, he knew, and he reprimanded himself for 
feeling such, chalking up this emotion to his cloistered life in the 
forests. He was not overly fond of cities, and he did what he could to 
be in and out of them as swiftly as he could. Throngs of men grated on 
his serenity, and he often found himself seeking refuge in the quieter 
places there were to be found there. The unwarranted attention of big 
city centers did not appeal to him. And so in his past visits, he had 
felt it was enough that he do his job as best he could, and then 
leave. He did not need praise to boost his ego. The silly attentions 
played by men on acts of gratitude did little for Legolas. Even among 
his own people, Legolas shied away from grand gestures of this type. 
All he ever asked for, or expected, when a gift was offered, was a 
heartfelt thanks, or a like kindness done in return. Anything more was 
overdone in his mind, and he would rather avoid being cause for such 
unneeded attention. In answer to the dwarf, he said, "I am just glad 
no one tried to hold a celebration for my sake when my kindred and I 
brought trees to this city in those first years after the war. The 
humiliation would have driven me away for good."

Gimli snorted, "Trees! As if that would be cause for celebration…"

Looking slightly hurt, Legolas said, "Arwen seemed to appreciate 
them."

"She was probably just being polite. But, stop that brooding sulk. I 
am teasing you, friend! Your gesture added beauty to the city, and I 
know it has not gone unnoticed. Fortunately, Elessar knows you well. 
He would not suffer your stoic nature to this unabashed merriment. It 
is not fitting for you. And I am glad he has done this, for you have 
not been chased away and this day would not be nearly as merry if you 
were not here to celebrate it with me! There are many differences 
between you and I, elf. I am only too happy to be the recipient of 
this. My dwarves and I have labored many years to accomplish this task 
and it is a nice reward to be honored for it in the end," he said as 
he waved to passers who stopped to point in his direction.

"It is a beautiful gate, Gimli," Legolas agreed. "Three years in the 
making and another eight in the mining of the ores…It is a very 
generous gift!"

Stopping before the door of the establishment of their intent, Gimli 
pulled the elf aside, and looking suspiciously about said, "Perhaps 
not everything harvested in those years went to the gate. We did keep 
some of the treasure as reward for our toils."

Legolas laughed, "I would expect no less from a dwarf!"

Growing defensive, Gimli placed his hands on his hips and blustered, 
"We did not keep that much! No one will accuse me of not being 
generous!"

Legolas laughed even harder. "Hardly, Gimli! If anything, I would say 
you are the least greedy dwarf I have ever come to know!"

Gimli pursed his lips with a look of annoyance and said, "I am the 
only dwarf you have ever come to know!"

"Exactly!" said Legolas as he walked through the doorway.

The inn was alive with activity and Legolas felt himself cringe at the 
close confines of the place. There were too many people here, he 
thought, and he felt instantly grimy in this dark noisy room. He 
supposed he should not have expected more. He could tell the dark 
confines of the space held appeal to the dwarf. For Legolas, it was 
abhorrent. Bodies brushed against bodies in the hectic atmosphere. But 
even in the chaos, Gimli's presence was noticed. The barkeep roared a 
hail of welcome to the dwarf as he pushed two patrons out of their 
seats at a table on the far side of the room. Running a dirty cloth 
over the bench, he motioned for Gimli and the elf to take a place in 
the now empty chairs. Gimli laughed aloud, looking quite at home in 
the loud, smoke-filled room, while Legolas followed the dwarf with 
trepidation, wondering what he had got himself into. 

"So delighted you could make it, ands on this night in particular! 
Thought certain his majesty would have you wrapped up in some big brew 
up there at the palace," the jovial barkeep twanged with obvious 
familiarity. 

"Aye, he did. But we managed to escape all the same," the dwarf said 
with a wink and a smile. "Besides, I promised to show my friend here 
some of the finer establishments within Minas Tirith."

"And since they were all closed, you brought him here instead!" the 
barkeep said, laughing and slapping the elf on the back. Legolas 
jumped back at the unexpected contact. 

"Merris Thalbuck is my name. Glad to make your acquaintance," he said 
wiping his hands on the dirty cloth before proffering one to the elf 
in greeting, "though most of my patrons just call me Mal." 

With a slight grimace, Legolas put his own hand into Mal's to return 
the greeting. Mal's strong grip shook the elf's hand fiercely, then he 
quickly stretched an arm about the elf's shoulder and tugged Legolas 
into his barrel chest. "Friends of Gimli's is friends of mine. Welcome 
to The Sleeping Dragon" he said. Legolas rolled his eyes to that, 
understanding now what had initially attracted the dwarf to this place 
as he fought back the embrace of the innkeeper. Not noticing Legolas' 
discomfort, the barkeep went on, "Can't say I caught your name. What 
do they call you?"

"Legolas," the elf answered.

The noise in the room was deafening and easily muffled Legolas' gentle 
voice, "Say again," said Mal, pointing to his ear as if to indicate he 
had not heard.

"Legolas!" the elf said in a much louder voice, directing it now to 
Mal's exposed ear.

"Ah, Legless. Yes! Unusual name, that. No matter. Take a seat, gents," 
he said pushing the dwarf and elf both into their chairs.

"Legolas!" the elf offered once again, but the noise in the room made 
it impossible for the barkeep to tell what he was saying. Mal woodenly 
nodded but did not correct himself, and with resignation Legolas 
shrugged. Gimli snorted. 

"So, what libations can I bring you gents?" Mal said looking from one 
to the next, now taking a professional stance.

"A tankard of ale for myself," Gimli said with a broad gesture.

"Mulled wine, please," the elf said politely.

Mal frowned and Gimli quickly leaned into the elf to remand the drink 
order. "Legolas, could you not order something better then that? We 
are celebrating this night, let us not forget. A headier beverage 
would be more fitting, if you will."

Mal offered in turn, "Sir, you should know this house has the best of 
all spirits in the lands. People've been known to comes from all parts 
to partake in the drink we have here. Ask of anything and it will be 
done."

Legolas drew back with a look of disgust, "I cannot and will not drink 
ale, Gimli. While you enjoy it just the smell of it sickens me." 
Turning his eyes back to Mal, he said, "Some mead then," hoping that 
would appease the situation.

Gimli eyed Mal and gave a small shake of his head. The barkeep read 
the gesture and said, "'haps I'll come back when you've discussed the 
matter amongst yourselves." Sighing and shaking his head, Mal 
disappeared into the crowd instantly.

"Legolas!" the dwarf said with gritted teeth.

"Gimli!" the elf responded, also gritting his teeth. 

"Why must you be so stubborn? Could you not just lighten your 
standards for one evening? I mean to enjoy myself, but you are not 
aiding me!" the dwarf said with flaring eyes.

"What would you have me be? I do not like it here – it is too 
confining – and I do not care for the distilled spirits of your like. 
So, if I must participate in this, allow me to do so with some 
comfort," Legolas said haughtily.

Gimli huffed his disdain, then drawing his breath he said, "Sometimes 
you act so priggish!"

Legolas stiffened. Priggish! He did not like that word, but could 
think not how to respond to it. Smoldering, yet resigned to make the 
best of a bad situation, Legolas said darkly, "What might you suggest, 
dwarf."

The bright look on Gimli's face came suddenly, and had Legolas 
reflected on it long, he might have thought he had been set up for 
some ill will. But Gimli's smile seemed genuine, and the elf did not 
want to believe the dwarf would have malevolent intent. Gimli smiled 
brightly and said, "I think I know what to do." And before Legolas 
could ask further questions, the dwarf had removed himself from the 
table and was giving orders to Mal at the serving area. 

A roar of boon laughter settled over Gimli and the patrons at the bar, 
and Legolas could see the dwarf's merry disposition restored. His mood 
lifting in return, Legolas tried to eye what was occurring at the 
counter. He cringed when he saw a particularly large tankard pushed 
forward toward the dwarf. But Gimli did not part, and Legolas grew 
more curious as he saw Mal pouring and whirling mysterious beakers 
behind the work surface. With a flourish, Mal poured the concoction 
into a small pewter mug which he gently lifted and placed before the 
dwarf.

Smiling as he returned, Gimli artfully presented the cup to his 
companion as he pushed himself down into his chair. The dwarf looked 
most pleased.

Legolas eyed the drink suspiciously. He could only wonder what kind of 
toxic creation the dwarf had contrived for him…and what dirty utensils 
Mal had wielded in its make. He sniffed. To his surprise, he beheld an 
aroma of fruit and honey. Blinking at this discovery, he placed his 
fingers on the cup. Startled to find it warm to the touch, he looked 
up inquisitively at Gimli. The dwarf smiled broadly, eager to see if 
his guess had been correct. "Go on, go on," he urged the elf, 
gesturing for him to taste the drink.

Legolas lifted the cup to his lips and took a tentative sip. To his 
relief and pleasure, he was greeted by a flavor of sweetness that 
delighted him, and the warmth of the drink drew heat nicely at the 
back of his throat as it slid its way down. Smiling his approval, he 
took a larger sip, warming himself with the liquid as it worked its 
way to his stomach. Looking again at the dwarf, he said, "What is in 
this drink? It is quite good." 

Pleased and feeling boastful for accomplishing the unthinkable, the 
dwarf said, "Only natural ingredients I assure you, friend. But be 
careful. It is rather potent."

"Not to worry, Gimli," Legolas said as he took another taste, much 
longer this time. "I am an elf and elves have greater tolerance to 
mortal libation." Then he took a long swallow and drained the cup on 
the spot. Raising the empty receptacle to the barkeep, he caught Mal's 
eye and indicated his desire for another. Mal nodded and smiled.

Another figure sidled up to the table surprising the pair of 
mismatched comrades with his sudden appearance. Looking up, Legolas 
was pleased to see Faramir joining them. Clapping a hand on each of 
their backs, the Prince of Ithilien greeted them both with a beaming 
grin as he then snared a chair from a neighboring table and proceeded 
to join them. 

"Faramir, what brings you here?" Legolas asked with delight.

The sandy-haired steward shrugged and smiled, "I saw you two leave the 
palace festivities, and I suspected Gimli might want to drag you to 
some of his favorite haunts. It did not take long to find you here. I 
thought I might join you."

"Welcome, Sire! Welcome!" came the hearty call of Mal as he placed 
Legolas' drink on the table and bowed deeply in his recognition of 
Faramir.

Faramir laughed at the large figure scraping before him. He said, 
"Arise fair innkeeper! There are too many bellies to be filled tonight 
for you to give special treatment and gesture to my likes. Bring me a 
pint of ale and be done with this!"

Mal rose with a smile, and backed away into the crowd, whispering and 
adding to the rumor of the room as he disappeared into the throng.

"Is that–?" Faramir looked and pointed at Legolas' drink, lifting and 
smelling the cup with Legolas' nod to do so. "Is that what I think it 
is?" he asked the dwarf. Gimli nodded. The Steward let out a low 
whistle and said, "Smells wonderful– but too powerful for my blood. I 
think I will stay with my ale," he said, cocking a brow at Legolas, as 
if the elf had been promoted to a place of greater respect.

The elf ignored the implications about his beverage and turned his 
regard on Faramir. He had not had much opportunity to speak with the 
man earlier in the day, and he was looking forward to the time ahead 
to reacquaint their close friendship. It had been many months since 
their last encounter and much had changed in the realm of the Elves of 
Ithilien. He was eager to share his news with the Prince. But Legolas 
also knew they would have much time in the days ahead to speak on 
these matters, and the noise from the crowd about them did not give 
much heed to words of serious nature. He resigned himself to the fact 
that the atmosphere was what needed to be relished in this 
smoke-encrusted tavern, and drew back in his resolve to allow humor to 
enter his mood. Heartily he said, "How fare Eowyn and the children?" 
as he took a long drink from his cup.

Faramir smiled and said, "All are well," but there was a stiffness to 
the answer that told Legolas a lengthier answer might lie beneath the 
pleasantry. Yet Faramir did not linger and went on to say, "The boys 
are amazing to watch. Bright they are, and I hope you will be able to 
see them in this passing. You will not believe how quickly they have 
grown!"

Legolas smiled, "Like the majus vine they are, spreading beyond the 
circle of their roots in what seems to be only days. I can never get 
over how quickly mortal children grow."

Faramir nodded in agreement, "I think even mortals cannot get past how 
quickly mortal children grow! But they do not seem to appreciate the 
break we are about to undertake from them. They wish to come along."

Gimli laughed, huddling in to participate in the conversation. "Do 
they appreciate," the dwarf asked, "that adults sometimes need time 
for play themselves?" 

"I think they do not realize adults play, Gimli. Sadly, they think us 
all nothing but seriousness and deep mood. But they will be fine in 
this place. Eowyn has them convinced that their visit in Minas Tirith 
will be a great holiday all their own. They are already quite settled 
into the palace, and have given their nurse the slip on more than one 
occasion this day. The king's manor is quite beside itself with the 
sound of frolicking children in its corridors. I think Aragorn is 
quite pleased by the intrusion," Faramir said with a paternal gleam. 

"So Eowyn is ready for this excursion," the elf broke in.

"Ready is hardly the word. Frantic for it, I think. After all, this 
trip was the idea of she and Arwen," Faramir said.

"But the ladies shan't be hunting," the dwarf questioned.

"Nay," said Faramir. "At least not Eowyn. She said she will be more 
than happy to lounge undisturbed and to take in the sites of our 
realm," he said indicating he and Legolas' homeland. 

"Gimli!" a shrill female voice broke through the chaotic frenzy of 
noise about them. A buxom woman sidled up to the dwarf and crushed her 
body into the open arms of the stout creature as she delivered Faramir 
his drink. Oblivious to Faramir's royal presence, she turned her 
attention on the dwarf. "You came to see me, you handsome imp! I knew 
you could not stay away!" 

Legolas blushed on Gimli's behalf, and Faramir snorted back a guffaw. 
But Gimli did not seem to notice and directed his attention to the 
handsome female tucked into his arms. Speaking loudly so his 
companions could hear, and winking in their direction, he dramatically 
said, "Ah, but my sweet, how could I ever stay parted from you long."

Swatting him away, she said to the group in general, "Oh, you are a 
talker! Never does he do anything but whisper sweet-nothings at me. 
Still," she said, angling back into the dwarf, "a girl likes to hear 
such pretty utterances."

"Your beauty deserves more than any words I could deliver. Give me a 
kiss, and I will be more than contented for my longing," the dwarf 
said in half-jest.

The barmaid giggled and backed away as she looked about their table. 
"You are sly! But you won't catch me smooching it up with all to see. 
So how about another round instead?" she said as Legolas drained his 
cup for the second time.

Gimli's tankard was still half full, and Faramir had just taken his 
first gulp, but the elf nodded his approval and the barmaid slipped 
away to fill the order. With a cautionary voice, Gimli said, "You had 
better slow down, my friend. That drink can have a large impact if 
taken too fast."

Legolas growled under his breath before answering, "I can manage 
myself, Gimli and I know my limits. Try not to be so…priggish," he 
said with a small laugh that he was uncertain came from his mouth.

The dwarf just smirked at his companion and reclined back in his chair 
to enjoy the rest of this evening out. 

After several more rounds of drink, Legolas was also reclining back in 
his chair. The warmth in his belly had moved up through his spine and 
permeated his limbs with a dreamy sluggishness that he found quite 
comfortable. The noise about him seemed less jarring, and the smokey 
haze of the room troubled him no more. The mirth of his friends had 
pervaded his mood, and he found himself smiling happily at the Prince 
and the dwarf, feeling a deep brotherly affection for them both in an 
intensity he could not remember ever having before. He was truly 
enjoying himself, and his laughter punctuated the conversation at 
their table. Glancing about at the other inhabitants of the room, he 
saw a motley assortment of characters. A random group they were, in a 
variety of ages and sizes that brought wonder to the elf's altered 
senses. And to a one they all seemed to be enjoying themselves with 
the same revelry of the elf, and he felt surprisingly satisfied and at 
ease in their presence. 

A group of rowdy men at the next table caught his attention, and an 
assault of prodding and goading was going on between them as they 
regarded one of their own with a dare. The one in question stood up 
with as much dignity as he could muster in his intoxicated state, and 
announced to the group in general, and to the room at large, "Very 
well, I shall do it!" A round of cheers went up at his table, and 
without further explanation, the man stood on his chair. Clearing his 
throat, the attention of many throughout the room focused on him. With 
a loud voice, he said, "Gentlemen…and ladies," he said bowing to the 
few women in the room, "my friends have challenged me, it seems. They 
wish for me to sing you a song. And as I do not back down from a 
dare," a murmur of chuckles rose up from the group at his table, "if 
you will allow it, I would offer you this tune." A smattering of claps 
rose up from around the room and the young man began to sing. 

All heads in the tavern turned to face the ruddy young man, who sang 
without flinching, or even looking so much as nervous at the attention 
now drawn to him. He sang to the crowd, urged on by their attention, 
and he seemed to be enjoying this moment of scrutiny. His voice was 
fair, but the crowd seemed to enjoy the words to his song better than 
his talent. For the tune that he sang was quite lurid in content, a 
bawdy song that seemed at home in this place, and the crowd cackled 
with approval at the more raucous parts within it. Legolas found 
himself blushing as he listened, charmed and yet stunned that a song 
of this caliber could have such a merry, yet stirring effect on him. 
When done, the man swept a bow to the crowd and smiled to the accepted 
pats upon his back by the group of his table. 

Across the room, a voice called out, "I'll do that one better!" and a 
man arose from his seat and began singing another very callous song. 
Looking at the expressions at his own table, Legolas could see the 
beaming grins of Faramir and Gimli in appreciation of the lyrics, and 
he could not help but wonder at the comradery that was spreading 
through the room as many of the men took up the song, joining in with 
the tune. He saw Gimli lift his mug overhead and swing it about in 
time with the music, yet the dwarf managed to keep the contents within 
the cup intact. Legolas picked up his own tin and began to do the 
same, but the warm liquid in his sloshed to and fro most violently, so 
the elf was forced to drink more before he could imitate the dwarf's 
actions more succinctly.

Then as that song ended, Gimli arose and stood on his own chair. 
Legolas was shocked, but apparently no others were and he heard the 
barkeep call out, "Gimli's going to sing!" The crowd repeated the 
call. "Gimli! Gimli!" came the repeated urging throughout the room. 
Grinning madly at the attention, the dwarf allowed the call to 
continue for some time before holding his hands up to quell the noise. 
Gimli began with a start from the audience, belting out a dwarven 
melody that made Legolas blanch at the lewdness of the words. 
Snickering at the song, the elf exchanged glances with Faramir who, 
too, was chuckling loudly at their dwarven friend.

For his part, Gimli was very much enjoying his role as the center of 
attention, and he urged the crowd on in taking up the chorus, slowing 
his words so they could catch them in all. Before the song was 
complete, Gimli had the room alive with the repetition of his tune, 
and as he finished, he bowed deeply to all. Then turning to his 
companions, he pointed to Legolas and said, "Now you grace us with 
one, Legolas!" But Legolas shrank back from the dwarf's invitation. 

Seeing the gesture, Mal called out to the crowd, "Let's hear one from 
Legless!" and the crowd echoed their support. "Legless! Legless! 
Legless!" came the call from around the room. 

Feeling his face growing a deep shade of red, Legolas shook them off, 
but the sound grew louder the more he protested. "LEGLESS!" they urged 
on with hands reaching out and patting him on the back. At his side, 
Faramir mouthed the word, "Legless?" to Gimli, to which the dwarf 
laughed in answer. 

Utterly embarrassed, Legolas sheepishly stood up to face the calls. 
His legs buckled slightly under his weight, and he held onto the table 
to regain his stance and wondered at his weakness as he had not unduly 
exerted himself that day.

A roar of applause cheered him on as Mal yelled out, "Sing something 
Elvish, Legless! Give us a lusty tune!" and the crowd roared agreement 
and took up the call again.

Mumbling out "My name is Legolas," the crowd ignored him and continued 
their noisy urging. Slowly a smile crept over his face in response to 
the pleas, and the feeling of goodwill returned to the elf. It was a 
natural thing for him to sing, and Legolas could easily break into 
song of his own make on most any day, without even stopping to think. 
So when the call for a song was foisted upon him, it was not the idea 
of singing that embarassed him most, but the desire for song before a 
great crowd of men, a thing he usually chose to avoid, that made him 
hesitate. But now that he felt more comfortable standing before them, 
and indeed found that they truly wanted to hear his words, he realized 
he had no idea of what to sing. Such music was not within his normal 
realm. He had never tried to construct a song such as those he had 
just heard, and his brain did not seem capable of putting one together 
at the moment. And worse, he could not think of a single Elven song 
that would fit the occasion either!

Grasping at nothing, his mind was muddled by his panic and he found it 
difficult to get his thoughts focused. Mortified by what betook him, 
his eyes grew large as he glanced back at his friends. But the dwarf 
and the Prince offered nothing but smiles of encouragement, and the 
elf realized he was in this struggle alone. Closing his eyes to all 
about him, he drew a deep breath and forced his mind to go blank. His 
brain felt sluggish and he had trouble concentrating, but thinking 
hard and long, at last a gasp escaped him. A laugh fell from his 
mouth. Shaking his head, he knew just the song. Holding up his hands 
to cease the noise, the crowd grew quiet and he opened his mouth to 
sing. 

A tune of quick tempo lilted with his voice, and he found himself 
pleased with his own cleverness. Truly it was an old elven song, but 
it was unrecognizable as such in the way he portrayed it. It was 
really a song of love and loss, about an Elven maiden who pined for 
her dead lover. In her misery and despair, the song said, she took his 
horse and departed, losing herself in her sorrow, relinquishing her 
body and spirit to the wayward direction of the beast. Among his own 
people it was sung in lament and with deep sorrow, a selection of 
sounds that conveyed a mood of chastity and deep emotion. But here in 
the tavern, with alterations to the tempo and pitch, the song took on 
a sprightly rhythm and sly asides, and a completely different meaning 
was had. The lascivious minds of the men around him filled in the 
ambiguities of the song and rounds of applause came up at points 
Legolas would never before have considered vulgar. The men seemed to 
be lauding the horse, and hoots of laughter echoed through the tavern 
when the chorus was sung. "Ride on, ride on…" he sang, and they 
cheered. Encouraged by the lewdness of the people about him, he added 
expression to his words and his face grew more animated. Feeling very 
much unlike himself, he was half-embarrassed at these exploits, for 
they reminded him in some ways of something his father might do. He 
was infinitely glad there were no other elves present to witness this 
of him. And yet even still, this strange character (that was not like 
the Legolas he knew) sang the last notes with unbridled enthusiasm. 
The room erupted in applause, and in mixed conflict with himself, the 
elf once again felt his face grow red. Making a show of it, he picked 
up his drink and downed the last gulp. Then slapping the mug to the 
table, he dramatically sat down. 

But the chair was not there and he disappeared beneath the table. 

Surrounded by laughter, Legolas found himself with two choices: cringe 
in embarrassment; or join in with the fun. His head was spinning a 
bit, and it seemed much easier to give in. Sensing a good joke, he 
choked on the hilarity of the moment and as his two comrades lifted 
him back to his feet, and into a real seat, he chortled, "Now I am 
Legless!" Doubling over at his own good humor, the elf had to grab 
hold of the edge of the table as he started to topple over. Blinking 
to regain himself, the world suddenly seemed skewed to his 
perceptions. A cold sweat broke across his forehead and the laughter 
that had just been pouring out of him slipped quickly away. "Oh…" he 
said.

Gimli and Faramir exchanged a quick glance and then immediately rose. 
"Right then," said the dwarf as he and Faramir pulled Legolas up out 
of the chair. Gimli put an arm about the elf's waist while Faramir 
threw an elven arm over his shoulder. 

Suddenly finding himself propped up between his two friends, Legolas 
said, "But wait. I tant to sway. I mean…" He found himself caught in 
another fit of laughter, not even realizing the difficulty he was 
having in maneuvering his own feet as the dwarf and Prince 
half-pushed, half-dragged him through the crowd. At last they reached 
the door, and a blast of cool air hit the elf's face at their exit. 

The breeze elicited a soothing response, and Legolas suddenly felt an 
overwhelming urge to sleep. The world seemed topsy-turvy, and he 
pushed himself out of his friends' grasps only to find he needed the 
wall to hold himself up. The cold sweat on his brow now sent a chill 
down his spine and a throbbing pain was beginning to ring in his head. 
Nausea swept across him like a sudden wave, and he doubled over in an 
effort to fight it off and remain upright and intact. But it was not a 
thing to be mastered, and against his will, his stomach proceeded to 
expel its contents. 

"This is attractive," muttered the dwarf, who swayed a bit on his own. 
He stared at the elf now collapsed on all fours in the street. 

Legolas looked up at his friend, wondering how Gimli could be so 
apathetic to the elf's plight. Expressing his thoughts on his own 
condition, Legolas said, "I think I have been poisoned."

Gimli and Faramir both laughed and then the dwarf responded as he 
offered a hand to rise, "Poisoned, my friend? Who would want you 
poisoned?"

"…no idea," said the elf, leaning against the wall as he attempted to 
stand unaided, then he laughed and said, "Mayhaps someone did not like 
my song."

Gimli sighed and shook his head with a bemused smile, "No, elf, 'tis 
not poison. Though in the morning I suspect you will wish it had been. 
You are drunk. That is all. Just drunk."

Legolas wavered as he looked at the dwarf who whirled about before his 
eyes, and his face scrunched into an angered expression as he slurred, 
"Drunk! I am not! I have had drink before, in my very many years, and 
never been affected as thissuch." Then he started laughing at his new 
made-up word. "Thissuch," he repeated.

"Oh yes you are drunk!" came the laugh of Faramir with a hand to the 
elf's shoulder. Legolas blinked in surprise. He had forgotten that 
Faramir was there. "This will be a night I shall not soon forget, my 
elf-friend. For indeed you are drunk and I think it is time we got you 
home and to your bed."

"…not drunk, Faramir," the elf sputtered and began walking down the 
street, using the wall to support his fumbling steps. Then he stopped 
and looked about him. He could not remember where he was supposed to 
be going. Or for that matter where he was. He turned back to look at 
his companions and recognized that they had not followed his path and 
stood still at the tavern's door, wicked smiles glancing off their 
faces. 

"'Twas poison," he slurred pointedly to the dwarf as he passed, then 
he continued his march up the street, still uncertain where he was 
going, but determined not to let the dwarf see him fail. Sadly though, 
his body had had enough, and his legs began to wobble with each step 
that he took. Weariness pressed down on his mind and his eyes grew 
heavy with his task. Pausing to rest, he found his legs slowly give 
way and his body slid down a stuccoed wall. The elf found himself 
sitting on the ground. With complete indifference to his predicament, 
he let his head drift down and rest on his chest.

"Oh no. You shall not lie here, Legolas," the elf heard the Prince say 
and he felt strong arms lift him back to a standing position.

Managing to get out the word, "…tired…" Legolas felt his body go limp 
and in the back of his mind he waited for the inevitable crash to the 
ground. Except it did not happen. Caught in a whirl of motion, he felt 
his body maneuvered and jostled and finally thrown over a broad 
shoulder. His arms swept over his head, pushed by gravity in a 
disorienting manner. With neither will nor strength to open his eyes, 
he let his mind drift in an upside-down world as he heard snatches of 
conversation and felt his body sway to the footfalls of his unknown 
rescuer. 

"…heavier than he looks…" he heard a voice say.

Then another, "…regrets in the morn…"

"…fit to travel?" was the next.

And lastly, a voice unmistakably Gimli's, said, "If I know anything of 
the elf, I would say this: he would rather die than admit he was sick. 
I can guarantee, he will travel," which was followed by a round of 
laughter.

And after an interminably long passage of time, interspersed with 
confusing dreams, the elf felt himself dropped into a bed. Or at least 
he thought it was a bed, for it was very soft and inviting. He felt 
hands pull off his boots, and another propped him up as his belt and 
tunic were removed. Then a blanket was laid over him, and he felt 
himself drift off to sleep.

But instantly he was awake, and he jumped out of bed. With wild eyes 
he caught sight of the dwarf closing the door. Legolas called out, 
"Gimli, find your weapon! We are under attack!" as he nervously 
glanced about trying to remember where his quiver and bow were at 
within the room. 

"Eh?" was the dwarf's response.

With renewed urgency, Legolas said, "We are under attack. Can you not 
feel it? The whole building moves." He found himself wavering under 
his sudden loss of balance. 

Walking over to the elf, Gimli pushed Legolas backwards and into the 
bed. Landing with a thud in the soft comfort, the elf heard Gimli's 
voice say, "You are drunk. Get some sleep." Legolas wanted to protest, 
but he knew the dwarf was no longer there. He was gone and Legolas 
allowed his mind to drift back into dreams. But not before hearing the 
sound of a harsh sputtering snort leave his mouth. What was that? he 
thought dully. Elves do not snore. But the answer to his own question 
did not come, for he had fallen asleep. And indeed, he was snoring.



Chapter Two: Troubled Dreams

Eowyn never slept well. Even now, when the darkest days of war were 
long behind her and her life should have been considered serene and 
blissful, Eowyn had trouble finding comfort in dreams. No, that was 
not really true. She enjoyed dreaming, when it came to her. It just 
seldom did. At least, not without the long struggle of laying 
restlessly within the confines of her bed. And only when she could get 
her mind to cease its constant droning at her – things to do, things 
not accomplished yet, things done but still worthy of consideration. 
All ruminated within her brain.

Not that she really minded her insomnia much. It often came in handy, 
especially when her task-level was at its greatest. She often used the 
time to read important documents, or to make notes to her secretary, 
or to various ministers. There was never a shortage of duties to be 
completed. And invariably, the act of taking on these tasks wearied 
her enough that her mind was quelled and she was able at last to drift 
off to slumber. But never before the wee hours of the night. And never 
for very long. For after a few hours of rest, she would awaken with 
the staff and begin a new day. Perhaps she would not be fully 
refreshed, but she was always rested enough that she could function 
with efficiency, and that would have to do, for she was unable to 
force more upon herself. 

She easily could have blamed her insomnia on the children. Though they 
required many more hours of rest, and indeed did sleep it, they were 
not always consecutive hours. Her children were fitful sleepers (an 
indication to her that they had inherited her trait). As such, they 
often awakened in the night. The fact that their nurse was a sound 
sleeper often made them turn to their mother to quiet their fears, or 
dreams, or general restlessness. It was troublesome, these 
interruptions, for Eowyn was possessive about the time she was given 
alone. Those hours were her opportunity for quiet contemplation and 
reflection. She often set her goals and priorities then. Yet, there 
seemed to be little choice. Despite the fact that the nurse was not 
easily roused, she was well-suited to her job, and the children seemed 
to adore her, and so Eowyn saw little reason to release the quiet 
woman from her employ simply because she had good sleeping habits. And 
though it might have helped had he contributed, Faramir was not an 
option for aid with the nightly wakings either. Eowyn endured, and in 
the end, she did not terribly mind, really. She was their mother, 
after all. In her own way, it brought joy to her heart that her 
children still sought her out for their comfort.

Eowyn knew she truly could not blame her sleeplessness on her 
offspring. Truth told, in all her near twelve years of marriage, she 
could count, with the combination of both hands, the number of times 
she had slept restfully for an entire given night. Sleeping indeed was 
a rarity for Eowyn.

So, it was no surprise that she found herself restlessly drifting 
through the halls of the King's Palace at Minas Tirith in the early 
hours, seeking ways to occupy her mind until dawn, when the rest of 
the world would catch up to her. Of course, it would have been 
different had she been in her own home. There, she would have simply 
stolen away to her study to bide her time. But here, in someone else's 
home, she had to regard her fellow residents and not wander too 
aimlessly, for fear of rousing someone. She did not want to be blamed 
for causing others to prematurely rise, especially when her want was 
nothing. And it was pointless to wake others who obviously needed so 
much more by ways of sleep. She could not imagine how they could do 
so, but she respected them all the same.

Even Faramir astounded her at times. His sleep was never hindered. 
Never. Lay his head to the pillow, and he was quickly, if not 
instantly, absorbed into dreams. It used to irritate her, early in 
their marriage, that he could sleep just at the thought of it, and she 
had many times found him capable of drowsing in nearly any location or 
position. How could he do that, she had wondered, when I struggle so 
just to give in to peace? And yet, she had learned to accept it as one 
of their many differences. It certainly was one of the minor things 
that came between them.

Here in Minas Tirith, she had fewer choices to chase away the churning 
of her mind. She and Faramir had been relegated to a single sleeping 
chamber, which was not a bother, as it is what they shared in their 
own home. But as she would have fled their room and gone elsewhere in 
their own manor, there was no place offered to her here. At first, she 
considered just staying in their room, lighting a lamp at the desk, 
and pretending that Faramir was not present. However, she had 
eliminated that idea when her late-arriving spouse strolled in with 
the noticeable smell of alcohol upon him as he made his apologies. He 
had obviously been partaking in some revelry with comrades, which was 
not so much offensive to her as it could have been. She had suspected 
as much earlier when he had departed after the banquet. His occasional 
outings with comrades was another point of difference that she had 
long overcome in their marriage. It did not do to grow angry at male 
acts of companionship. Still, at times this infrequent behavior nagged 
at her, though she was hard-pressed to say why. Tonight, she chose to 
ignore his play, but there was a price. As a result of his 
consumption, Faramir's sleep was punctuated by very loud snores. The 
racket interrupted her meditations and made it impossible to think. 
Annoyed, she left their room. 

She started to search for the library. She had admired the large 
collection of books there and knew something might be found to busy 
her distracted mind. But a problem existed: she could not remember 
where that room might be. The palace was immense, and somewhat 
maze-like in its design. Was it down these steps and to the right? Or 
past that flight and down the next? She remembered the terrace that 
stood off the library doors. Perhaps, if she could find that? But then 
again, this was not a time to be strolling the grounds. And once 
there, how would she return? She abandoned this idea as well.

Yet in the darkened halls and back stairs that dominated the palace, 
there was one place she was certain she could find. And that is where 
she drifted in this restless hour.

She slowly crept into the room. Glancing about the darkened space, she 
could see drapery billowing to the breeze of an opened window in a far 
corner and the brightness of the rising moon casting light into the 
windows and giving features to the figures and furnishings within the 
quiet chamber. Four beds took up various places in the room, the 
furthest away from the others belonging to that of the nurse. Eowyn 
could hear the subtle snores from that end of the room and knew her 
appearance would not disturb the matronly governess. The other three 
beds in the chamber exuded the quiet breaths and sounds of Eowyn's 
slumbering children.

Stepping into the space, she paused to look about. She was in the 
nursery. Or actually, in the room that would some day be a nursery, 
when the time came for Arwen and Aragorn to conceive a child of their 
own. And today it was a nursery, for her brood of young ones had taken 
over the space in exceedingly fast time. She chuckled to herself as 
she thought of the anxious expressions on some of the more uptight 
staff members of the household. She knew they had not even had a 
sampling yet of the rambunctious nature of her three boys, and already 
they appeared terrified. She knew before this respite was complete, 
there would be many among them who would well be pleased to see her 
children go. She laughed. Perhaps this would give them practice for 
what their own futures may hold, for Eowyn doubted a child with elven 
blood would simply be still and malleable. Furthermore, she had heard 
rumor that children of that race held onto their impetuous youth much 
longer than those children of men. Eowyn smiled wickedly at that. 
Would that not be a sight, to see a child of fifteen still locked in 
the body and conscious behavior of a five year old? What a handful 
that would be for the more uptight of staff persons, she thought. Yet 
she could not know for sure what the children of Aragorn and Arwen 
might be like, for they would also be half-human and Arwen had 
relinquished her immortality for the sake of love. Only the future 
could tell what those offspring would be like. 

Despite the flightiness of her sons, Eowyn sensed the former Ranger's 
joy at being surrounded by children, and she feared the milling gossip 
she had heard about the King's desire for a family was true. He had 
easily jumped into the fray of their gaming that day and became their 
adored 'uncle' in quick measure. He laughed eagerly at the pleasure of 
their role-playing games, joining in on their battles as they fought 
evil armies and he offered strategic attack plans. Faramir was just as 
much responsible for his pleasure, taking on the role of dark lord, 
and kidnapping the maiden Arwen to be used as a hostage. Eowyn had to 
admit, it had been a joyous thing to watch them all play together. But 
while Arwen was kind, and gentle, and contributed in her own way, she 
also looked a bit ill at ease when she locked her eyes on Aragorn's 
face. Eowyn could see that there was something between them, yet she 
was not sure what it was, for when removed from Eowyn's children, the 
King and his Queen fell back into the romantic glimmer of a couple in 
love. Arwen most readily adored Elessar, this could not be denied. 
Eowyn had her suspicions, but she would not voice them. Arwen's secret 
would remain hidden unless she chose to reveal it.

Slowly she walked through the room, stopping to gaze upon each bed and 
to consider the figure sleeping there. She loved to watch them like 
this, and often on nights in her own home she would come to stand 
vigil over their beds.

At the first lay Denomir, their eldest at ten years of age. Long brown 
tendrils curled about his face, and Eowyn, as she looked on him, was 
torn by her love for this child. Reaching down, she brushed a lock 
away from his face so she could see him more clearly. Born into the 
mind of a very wise soul, her eldest never ceased to astound her with 
his prudent wisdom and mature insight. He was the handsomest of the 
three, looking most like his father. But with that the similarity 
ended. And while Faramir adored the child, there had always been a 
small, almost indiscernible rift between them. It had been there 
always as near as she could tell, and it was growing. Eowyn knew that 
she would need to guard this relationship carefully as their years 
progressed, for although not as physically gifted as his father, 
Denomir had her sharp wits and was able to compensate his lack of 
outward skills with mental finesse. It was a trait that often Eowyn 
had to keep in check herself, and she knew she would have to school 
her eldest in coping with it if she held any hope that her household 
would remain placid. 

She looked across the room to where Léogel slept. He was eight years 
old and quite proud of that fact. While being a quiet child, he was 
easily the bravest, and also the most physically capable among them. 
Faramir told her he was reminded of his brother when he gazed on this 
one, and though she had never known Boromir, what she had heard of the 
warrior she could see in her son. His hair was the lightest of the 
three, and had an almost reddish cast that could only have come from 
his Rohan ancestors. He was physically strong and could already best 
his elder sibling at sport. He never complained and only voiced his 
concerns when dire occasion required it. This child was her angel, and 
he openly adored her. He was the one who would look back to see where 
she was in their party. And he was the one who would leave small gifts 
of fallen birds' nests or intricate pebbles at her dressing table. He 
was the one to always make sure he kissed her goodnight, and often she 
heard him peak into her room when he thought she was asleep, just 
checking to see if she was still there, she supposed. This child would 
be the most distressed if something were to come of her, and her chest 
burned a lump of pain at that possibility, and his fate. She could 
only surmise that his fears stemmed from her near death experience 
with the birth of his younger brother.

Turning her attention to Theomund, she smiled at the puckish face of 
her four-year-old son. Curly brown hair haloed his head. She laughed 
as she reflected that the quiet repose of this small child was the 
extreme opposite of what he lived in his daylight hours. The house 
came alive with this one, and he was a force all his own. Loud and 
personable, this little boy was friends with most everyone, most 
assuredly his siblings, and Eowyn mused that even the most stern among 
the King's household would be doing the bidding of this small soldier 
before their time was done. He was a persuasive moppet, and he refused 
to step down from his wonts, which of course, caused all strife in the 
end. He would not be tamed, and Eowyn reckoned that for as much 
turmoil as he offered, she would not want Theomund any other way. He 
made her laugh, and he knew it. He used it as his weapon, and half of 
the time it worked for him. But she also saw through him, and for that 
she knew there would be future misgivings. Fortunately for the boy, 
his father was oblivious, and any whim could easily be had under his 
father's watch. This child, this beautiful, playful, loving child, had 
been the center of more discussions and arguments between Faramir and 
Eowyn than the other two combined, and she worried that he would be 
the undoing of them, for neither could concede the others point so far 
as to direct the child in consistent direction. She paused at his bed, 
glancing a kiss to his brow and pulling the stray blankets back up to 
his chin. A tough future lie ahead with this one.

Rising, she made her way to the open window. The light breeze flitted 
the gauzy drapes in their breaths, raising and lowering the fabric as 
it sailed on the air. A rocking chair was bathed in moonlight that 
filled a square before the window, and Eowyn sat in it as she gazed 
out on the gardens of the King's palace. The warm air brushed against 
her skin, soothing a stray hair from her face, and she allowed her 
mind to drift. She was very much in need of time to think and she was 
looking forward to their break, even if it was not fully all she 
desired. She would make it work, for what she really needed was a 
departure from everything that life had become. She wanted to free 
herself from all other thoughts so she could focus on just one, and 
that she would have easily surrendered if she could. 

Her mind had been troubled of late, and though she knew not how to 
resolve her problems, she could at the very least, prepare herself for 
the possible outcomes. This trip they would take could give her that 
time, and she sorely yearned for it.

Alone with her thoughts, surrounded by her children, she could not 
help but let her mind go to her darkest of fears. She was often 
reminded of it in moments like these. She closed her eyes, and thought 
back on the birth of her youngest child. 

It had been a perilous event, one they never could have predicted. She 
had borne the first two children with seeming grace, easily birthed 
without too tiresome of labors. Both children had come into the world 
healthy and whole, and Eowyn had recovered her vitality and figure in 
record time with each. But the birth of Theomund had not been so 
blessed. Troubled by bleeding early into her pregnancy, she had been 
confined to bed during most of the nine months. Uncomfortable and 
bloated, she had longed during those hard months for the child's entry 
into the world, not knowing that it could get far worse before her 
time was done. Awakened in a pool of warm water, her pains came on 
suddenly and with fierceness. Faramir had been beside himself, 
fretting until the midwife arrived, and even then there was no sanity 
to be found. The baby was breeched and had to be turned for the 
survival of either she or the child. Racked in pain beyond any known 
relief, she labored for hours until her body had opened enough for a 
hand to be inserted. And then Eowyn's suffering truly began. With as 
much delicacy as could be had, the midwife palpitated and prodded and 
pushed to maneuver the baby to a position that would bring him out, 
finally forced to scoop in and twist the unborn form to a place that 
could deliver him. And all the while, Eowyn's screams of agony echoed 
through the house. Hoarsely crying out to the gods to stop this 
torment, her fevered pain was beyond comprehension, and she saw 
death's lights flash before her eyes more than once on that day. No 
man could ever have endured such torture, she was sure, and it was 
sheer desire to live that kept her alive. 

And Faramir, she remembered, had been right there with her. It was not 
required of him. Men were often dismissed from the scene when the 
delicate act of childbirth occurred. Yet Faramir would not hear of 
leaving, stroking her face and hands with cool cloths during the whole 
of her gruesome labor, consoling and encouraging her as the hours 
progressed. And even after his son was born, he refused to stray from 
her side, whispering softly to her until she slept. Only then did he 
grant a look at his newborn son. He smiled as she awakened, cradling 
their baby boy in his arms.

But the worst was not over. Infection set into Eowyn's body, and she 
limply fell into empty dreams as she fought for her life. The weeks 
that followed were vague memories to her, as healers invaded her home, 
and round-the-clock vigil was posted at her bed. And though she 
remained comatose through nearly it all, she knew Faramir stayed with 
her, holding her hand, stroking her face, telling her of their 
children's progress and antics. She remembered that, and perhaps it is 
what brought her back. She could not know, but he must have had fear 
to deign so much attention on her. It was not his norm to hover so. 
She swallowed a lump in her throat as she thought how he must have 
feared for her. And her children. Poor Denomir and Léogel! Old enough 
to be aware of her fate, they were still too young to lose a mother. 
It must have been terrifying for them. She felt a tear trickle from 
her eye as she considered their horror.

Forcing herself to push it away, she told herself, But I did not die. 
I breathe still. I am here for them. And yet, the fear that such a 
thing could happen again sent cold chills down her spine. It must 
never come again. So over the years, she had guarded herself carefully 
to assure that another pregnancy would not occur. And that had done 
damage to her marriage, for often she had pushed Faramir away when his 
needs were great. But she was certain that if there were a next time, 
another pregnancy, she would not live. The fear of it was enough to 
remove any desires for more children, and enough for her to risk the 
whole of her marriage. 

A sense came upon her that she was being watched. She felt eyes upon 
her, and nearly jumped out of her chair when she opened her own to see 
her youngest standing at her side. "Theomund," she whispered. It was a 
trait of this young one, such stealth he possessed. It was not the 
first time she had been startled by his sudden appearance. Gasping at 
her fright, she brushed the tears away from her face and she reached 
around to scoop him up into her lap. "I did not hear you, my love. 
What troubles have you?"

The child's sleepy face was betrayed by wide, tearful eyes. Careful of 
his voice (for he had often been told that he spoke too loud), his 
lips quivered as he whispered, "I had a bad dream."

Cooing to this answer, she pulled him closer to her breast. "There, 
there, my sweet. It is all gone. I am here now."

A sniffle escaped him as he nuzzled in closer, finding comfort in her 
arms. "It was very scary, Mama. There was a witch, and she was trying 
to take you and Father away." He whimpered, and Eowyn knew it must 
have been a horrible nightmare. Theomund rarely cried over dreams.

"Hush…hush…no more of that," she softly said, rocking him gently in 
her embrace. Slowly, she felt him relax in her grasp, drifting back 
into dreams, quelled by the love she could never deny him. As she 
thought on his fears, and hers, silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

****

From within the confines of a wagon, deep in a forest of pine, an old 
woman cried out as she yanked herself free of her nightmare. The words 
of an incantation rang in her ears as she bolted upright from her 
troubled sleep. She was awake! A sheen of sweat gleaned her face as 
her heart slowed to a normal pace and her breathing grew less labored. 
She sighed her relief at being release from the horrors that had 
gripped her soul.

Her mind reflected on the images that had played in her vision and she 
realized the most recent part of the dream had visited her again. The 
dream had been evolving over the last few months, and the newer scenes 
made her focus on their details. She pondered their messages as she 
replayed them again in her mind. 

Getting up from her pallet, she lit the lamp at the table and pulled 
out the stones that were part of her tools to foretell the future. She 
needed confirmation to know if this most recent premonition was real. 
There were parts in the dream that frightened her beyond any of the 
prior dreams, and she needed to know more about finding the sources 
revealed to her there. She had already put into task the effort to 
retrieve an elf. That had been shown to her weeks before in the dream, 
and although the risks for such a thing were great, the reward in the 
end would be far greater. With fortitude she told herself that her 
sons could not fail her in this. But that was not what troubled her. 
It was the other that she questioned. She suspected she knew, but she 
wanted to know with more certainty before she acted to attain the 
second and third items she would need for this magic.

Casting the stones, she studied the positions in which they tumbled 
and she scowled at the answer. It was ambiguous. A means of two roads, 
the stones said. Hesitantly, she considered this. She wished for a 
better answer, but she knew she was unlikely to receive it. Pausing to 
consider her next query, she gathered the stones once again. Freeing 
her mind of all other thought but the question, she threw down the 
stones for a second time. What of the Protected Place told to her in 
the dream? Was it near? Her eyes grew wide as she read the smooth 
pebbles before her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. It was 
close. It would be found. Now growing excited and more resolute in her 
convictions, her hands shook as she picked up the stones one last 
time. Posing the question in her quailing mind, she dropped the stones 
into the circle of cloth one last time. And what of HIS body? Who 
would be the host for him? she asked. With an expression that masked 
all her fear, she read the answer: The one who bares his resemblance. 
Tears streamed from her eyes as anguish pressed on her. She knew what 
this meant. All these things she had seen in the dreams and she knew 
they were true. She no longer had doubts.

Panic gripped her. Time was running out! The full moon would be upon 
them in less than a week and it would be many years before the time 
would be right again. She did not have the luxury to wait. Her body 
was failing her and she knew she was slowly dying. They would need to 
hurry! Her future was grim! She had to succeed, and in her twisted 
mind, she told herself she did this for her family. They would be torn 
apart without her. Never mind that some would die before they were 
through. She could not help that. Those who would live would need her 
help. She must protect them. She must protect herself. There was much 
to be gathered and that Protected Place in the dreams must be found. 
They were close. She could feel it. She knew. 

She heard a shuffle of feet and soft voices outside her wagon, and 
then a soft thud as an object was dropped. Stepping away from the 
lamp, she drew to the curtains and stepped from the vardo. Before her 
stood two men, and at their feet was the body of an elf. 

Scorn marked her features as she looked upon the corpse. Glancing up 
at her sons, she grimaced and shreiked, "It is dead! What have you 
done?"

"It could not be helped," said the younger of the two. "We did not 
know the one would fight us so. We failed..." He looked down as he 
said it, and for an instant her heart was touched with pity for her 
child. 

But then she remembered her dreams and the stones, and anger erupted 
in her at the setback this caused. Letting her vexation spill from her 
lips, she uttered caustic words. Had the two men heard them as she 
truly spoke them, they may have recoiled and fled. But her magic 
worked upon them and she knew they would hear only soothing and gentle 
tones, though the message beneath could not be hidden. They would know 
of her anger. "Failure? Yes it is, but it is not I who loses in this, 
but all our tribe! Perhaps you should think on this, yes? I am only 
puri dai, while you are our leaders. You know there is danger for our 
family! How do you think we can save them? Perhaps you will think it 
is time to rejoin our clan?" she asked in the way of her role. It was 
not a direct response. One was not expected of her. But it was the way 
of their people to seek out her wisdom. As puri dai she had told them 
she did not approve, though she had only hinted at this with her 
words. If they read her correctly, they would see that she had told 
them that they could no longer tarry and she could forgive their error 
only if they found a way to make this right again. It was a complex 
means of communicating, one an outsider might not understand, but 
beneath all the layering of this speech, the fact was that their 
society was matriarchal, even if they did not openly show it. And as a 
sorceress of darkness, they followed her will as she easily 
manipulated them in this simple guise.

The two brothers looked at each other as they pondered their reply. At 
length, the elder said, "We will find another elf for your magic, 
Mother – do not have fears! We shall gather what is needed to keep our 
tribe together. It is time we met again with the rest of our family. 
We will set off to regain them. They should only be a day or two ahead 
of our route."

Smiling at him for being able to read her intent, she said with a 
sneer licking her words, "I think that is wise. You are good to think 
we should gather. We will be stronger as one. With all helping, we 
should be able to accomplish our goals." His eyes told her he had 
heard this as a beneficent statement and he smiled at her for her 
forgiveness.

Turning her eyes from her sons, she bent down to the body that lay 
before her.

"Do you think there is anything here that is of use to you?" asked the 
younger. 

Pulling out her choori, she thrust the sharp weapon into the elf's 
chest, cutting through cartilage and bone with a strength that belied 
her frailty. She reached into the cavity and thrashed twice more with 
the knife. Her fingers emerged pulling out a still heart. "Only this," 
she said as her fingers gently cradled the bloody organ. Moving to her 
vardo, she began to climb inside.

"Is there nothing else?" said the young one.

Pausing to think, she reconsidered and smiled. "Yes. Yes there is one 
other thing. Cut off its hair. I can make a talisman to make the next 
one resistant to flight. Otherwise, do what you will of it. This body 
is worthless to me," she said as she stepped inside.

She could hear their commotion as they finished the job she had 
ordered. But she did not want to think about them for now. She had an 
elven heart before her, and that possessed her attention. It was not 
as potent as it would be if taken from a living creature, and she did 
not have nearly all the ingredients she needed to make this magic 
great, but it would do for now. With this heart, she could stave off 
some of the effects age brought her tiring body. Small though it would 
be, it was a start. She placed the heart on the plank at her bench, 
making sure she turned to face the four compass points before doing 
so. She lit a fresh candle and placed it before her, then turned to 
dim the previously lit lamp. From a drawer above the bench, she pulled 
out a handful of salt and with it created a circle around the elf 
flesh. Grasping the choori again, she forced her mind to go blank. And 
then when she was calm enough to proceed, she started to say the dark 
words that channeled the spell. She called to the elements to conjure 
her sorcery, and uttered them in time to a rhythm only she could hear. 
Locked now in concentration, she lifted the knife, unaware of her 
actions as she fell into trance. Raising and lowering the knife in 
violent strokes, she slashed the flesh into pieces as dark words 
spilled from her lips. The voice that escaped her throat was deep and 
otherworldly. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, and her whispered 
words grew louder. The sound resonated within her tented wagon as the 
spell took hold. An ethereal light illuminated the interior of the 
vardo as she reached the frenzied pinnacle of her words. The beating 
sound echoed within her mind, and she drove the knife into the board 
as her chest heaved with panted breath. Then swiftly, it stopped. 
Pulling herself away from the trance, with glazed eyes she looked down 
and saw the destruction she had made. Her hand reached out and crushed 
the cleaved flesh into her fingers. She lifted pieces of the elf's 
heart into the air, as if in offering, and then she slowly brought 
them down again to the circle. With shaking fingers stained in red, 
she lifted a ragged piece of the bloody flesh, and brought it to her 
opened mouth, smearing the tissue into her lips as it passed. She ate 
of the flesh and the magic in her black spell was complete.



vardo –covered wagon

puri dai –tribal elder

choori – hook-shaped knife



Chapter Three: Keeping the Ruse

Wake up, you fool! he told himself. Wake up! People are expecting your 
company! You cannot lie here all day! He forced his eyes awake and was 
greeted by a very blurry world and piercing pain that penetrated the 
space behind his eye sockets. He groaned aloud as he rolled to his 
side, torn between rising and staying and at last pushed his feet to 
the floor and raised his body from the comfort of the bed. He felt 
dizzy for a moment until his eyes became focused. The pain in his head 
now disbursed to cover the entirety of his cranium. He shook it to 
dislodge the cobwebs that resided there and began to do a mental 
inventory of what had transpired the night before. Oh…oh no! Dear 
Valar, what have I done, he said to himself as he rose on shaky legs. 
But having stood, he felt his weariness lifting and found it within 
himself to actually laugh lightly at last night's ordeal. 

He made his way to the wash basin and poured some cold water into the 
bowl, dousing his face in the cool of it. Looking up into the mirror, 
bloodshot eyes peered back at him. This agony is the price you must 
pay, he thought to himself as he tried to wash away the pained 
feelings in his head. Then quickly brushing back his hair and changing 
into fresh clothing, he packed away the rest of his meager belongings 
and placed the small bags on the bed. Pulling on his boots and 
fastening his belt, he departed the room and made his way down the 
stairs to where his friends would be gathered. He entered the dining 
room with little fanfare and made his way to the credenza where food 
was to be found. Few eyes looked his way, and he escaped any scrutiny 
for his tardiness. Fortunately, he was not as late as he had thought.

Actually, considering how he had felt the night before, Gimli knew he 
was really in not that bad of shape. The lightening headache rang 
through his skull, but in general, he did not really feel anything 
worse, and he knew that within a few hours, he would most likely be 
fine. Truth be told, he probably had been saved from a far more 
serious hangover by the need of Legolas for attendance last night. 
Gimli knew he owed the elf a small debt of gratitude. And a good deal 
of ribbing.

Glancing toward the table, he saw that Faramir was enjoying a hardy 
breakfast as a large forkful of potatoes and eggs slid into his mouth. 
The Prince seemed quite hale and Gimli recalled how Faramir had 
carefully nursed his drinks through the night. The Steward felt no 
pain for his pleasures. 

The same probably could not be said for Legolas, who was absent from 
the table. Gimli did a double-take at that. He had half-expected to 
see the elf there. He knew that elves did not suffer as mortals, so it 
never occurred to him that Legolas would ever feel as Gimli did at 
that moment. However, with the evidence presented of the missing elf, 
Gimli began to imagine that perhaps Legolas was feeling something for 
last night. After all, Gimli realized, he could not remember having 
ever seen Legolas in a state as extreme as that one before. A pang of 
guilt dashed the dwarf momentarily for the unseen pain inflicted upon 
his friend. It truly had not been his intent to get Legolas quite so 
drunk. Still, Gimli smiled to himself, for it had been rather amusing 
to see the lofty self-control of the elf slip away, if only a little. 
Gimli had experienced that drink himself once, and he knew well its 
effects. If it was anything near what he had known, the dwarf didn't 
envy the elf for how he would feel today. And really, the dwarf 
thought, Legolas should be commended for maintaining as well as he 
had. Except toward the end. Gimli inwardly laughed, for despite the 
small sense of guilt that plagued him, he knew that last night had 
been a historical moment in their friendship, and guilt or not, he 
could not pass on the opportunity to harass his friend at least a 
little for his behavior. But only when Legolas was recovered 
sufficiently enough to fight back. Later that day perhaps. After all, 
that was the only fitting thing to do. 

He lifted the lid to a chafing dish and peered into it. Sausages. His 
mouth began to water. In the next there were eggs. After that, fried 
potatoes. And beyond that were platters of various pastries and 
breads. Gimli quickly filled a plate, lamenting that the Hobbits were 
not there to see this wonderful spread of food. They would call it 
"Fit for a King," which of course, it was. His stomach rumbled in 
anticipation as he served himself some fruit. And then he spotted the 
thing he most desired: coffee! Ah yes, a tonic for his weary brain it 
was, and the aroma was a heavenly scent to him. Indeed, this was the 
kind of meal one needed before starting out on a leisurely adventure.

He sat himself at the table, bowing his head to Arwen as he did so. 
She was making quiet conversation with Faramir. At her side, Aragorn 
chewed on a roll as his eyes wore down a parchment he was reading. He 
barely had noticed when Gimli had entered the room, and only now 
glanced up at the dwarf on the opposite side of the table. He smiled 
in greeting, then glanced down again at his papers.

Gimli looked up as Eowyn advanced into the room. She was stunning in a 
simple riding frock and she carried a pair of smooth leather gloves. 
Her hair was pulled back into a tight braid and was wound back again 
to the base of her neck. She looked fresh and alert and ready to ride. 
"Good morning!" she said with a smile. 

"Good morning to you, Lady," Gimli said, rising from his seat at her 
entrance.

Eowyn raised a brow at his gentlemanly courtesy, nodding her head in 
answer. Gimli saw her eyes glance about to the other two males in the 
room. Neither had taken notice of her entrance and she shook her head 
in mild amusement. Smiling still, she said to no one in particular, "I 
trust you slept well?" She made her way to the sideboard and poured 
herself some tea. With a biscuit balanced on the edge of her saucer, 
she seated herself at her husband's side.

Sitting again, Gimli softly chuckled to himself as he muttered an 
aside, "And some rest ever still on."

Faramir looked up and saw the glint in Gimli's eye as he caught the 
words and their meaning. He laughed appreciably, nodding his head in 
agreement. Looking from dwarf to man, Eowyn caught the exchange 
between them and said in a mischievous tone, "You laugh, gentlemen, as 
if you have a secret. Has there been some evil brewing between you?"

"Perhaps not evil," snorted Gimli, "but a brew most definitely." 

Again, Faramir smiled, laughing into his food.

As if reading their thoughts, Arwen spoke up, "Has anyone seen Legolas 
yet this morning? He is usually early to rise. It is not like him to 
sleep late."

With the question, Faramir and Gimli both broke into louder snorted 
laughter. The Prince's eyes revealed everything of the amusement his 
memory replayed, and the looks from Arwen and Eowyn were infected with 
some of his mirth. Even Aragorn looked up to take notice. With a 
bemused expression playing up on his face, he quizzically asked, 
"Faramir? Gimli? What brings these chortles? You two act like 
pranksters?" Then, looking about at the present company and 
registering the words that had been said, Aragorn's face grew more 
serious as the absence of Legolas was noticed. His look became 
suspicious with narrowed eyes. "Legolas is not present. Do you know 
something of that?" he asked. Then seeing the restrained laughter 
between the dwarf and man, his tone changed to mild amusement as he 
said, "What have you pulled on Legolas?"

Gimli was all innocence as he replied, "Pulled on Legolas? Nothing, I 
assure you. We only laugh because we shared happy moments with him 
last eve and we know he may not, er, be feeling, hm, at his best 
today." A newly constrained laugh was broaching his lips at this last 
statement.

Arwen's brow creased in a mixture of concern and amusement as she took 
in that answer. "And what would that mean?"

Suddenly, Gimli noticed how penetrating those eyes could be as they 
fixed on him, and he realized that not only hers, but all the eyes in 
the room were now looking at him. Unlike the glee that he had felt at 
the attentions he received the prior day, today he felt the mood as 
both curious and accusing, and at the moment he felt he might do 
better to find an excuse to leave. Heat began to rise in his chest, 
and he found himself squirming under Arwen's intense gaze.

Thankfully, Faramir came to his rescue. "The elf participated in drink 
last night," he said casually. A glib smile graced his features as he 
informed them, "Too much, I fear. He was really quite happy when we 
left him." The Prince looked quite pleased with himself at that 
moment.

"You left him?" Eowyn asked, joining Arwen with an interrogative 
stare.

"No, no, he is safe!" Faramir said as the smile slowly began to fade 
from his face. "We carried him home," he answered with innocent 
honesty. 

It was the wrong answer.

"Carried him?" asked Arwen as her voice grew louder. She cornered the 
Prince with accusing eyes as she continued. His face began blush a 
deep crimson. "He was incapable of making it home on his own?" Then 
turning on Gimli, she said with unquestionable certainty, "What did 
you do to him?"

"Me?" answered the dwarf indignantly. This was not the conversation he 
expected over breakfast and he was beginning to lose his appetite as 
he found himself being looked at as if he were a menace to elves 
everywhere. He braced himself valiantly against the assault of the 
females' stares as he sputtered out, "Why am I to be held responsible 
for what Legolas chose to drink? It – it – it was his to decide…And, 
besides, he was warned. He drank it all the same! I did not hold the 
cup to his lips."

Up until that moment, Aragorn had yet to join the fray. But he did so 
with a vengeance and, unfortunately for the dwarf, he came in on the 
side of the offense. Joining Arwen and Eowyn in the interrogation, he 
directed a pointed question to the dwarf. "And what did he drink that 
would get him into a state as you describe? Surely not wine. That is 
his preferred beverage and I know well he can drink that with far more 
stamina than either you or I. He proved that to me on one occasion 
that I well recall."

Faramir snorted, perceiving a very good tale in that. "There is a 
story here, I can tell. What occasion do you speak of?" he asked with 
eager interest, a smile playing off his lips.

Aragorn broke into a grin at the memory. "Up in Haloel, long years 
ago. We aided some farmers in a small labor dispute there. It came out 
to our favor, and in celebration we spent a long night toasting our 
victory. I can say that while I was at my worst, Legolas never seemed 
to suffer. At least, I don't think that he suffered… if he did, I did 
not pay much notice as I was far too hung over to care!* He has a very 
high tolerance, that I know. I cannot even imagine what you could give 
him that would…unless…You didn't do that, did you? Gimli! You did not 
let him drink…?" Aragorn said as he added up his own conclusions. 
Faramir appeared to read the King's mind and meekly nodded 
confirmation to Aragorn's suspicions. "How could you let him do that?"

"What are you saying?" asked Arwen, confused by the path her husband's 
mind had taken.

Turning to his wife, he said, "Do you recall that beverage that they 
were serving at the Embassy Ball last winter?"

With what appeared to be complete understanding, and perhaps memories 
of her own to build upon, Arwen's expression grew as dark as her 
husband's. "Oh! Oh, Gimli! How could you?" she said as she threw her 
napkin at the dwarf.

Shrugging in his innocence, Gimli looked helpless to the attack. 
Looking across at Faramir, the dwarf saw the Steward enduring an 
equally evil glare from his wife. Sheepishly, the Prince was backing 
away.

Aragorn slyly smiled and shook his head at the dwarf and Gimli 
suspected it was only because he was not the target for the women's 
scorn himself. In his heart, the dwarf did not doubt that the King, 
had he been there, too would have found amusement in the elf's plight. 

But Gimli knew they were right. It had been wrong to goad Legolas into 
his actions. Yet in his own defense, Gimli thought, The elf surely had 
experience enough to know his own limits. Didn't he? Grimly, he 
answered himself. Perhaps not, for Gimli had to concede that Legolas 
had not known of the drink before yesterday and the elf obviously had 
not had experience with libations of this type to gauge his own 
response. He knew Legolas preferred wine and drinks of the lighter 
sort. And while there was nothing in the drink that could cause 
lasting harm to the elf, Gimli should have confessed his knowledge of 
the drink's contents so Legolas could at least have made an informed 
decision. But he had not and Gimli knew that had been wrong. With a 
rushing wave of protective zeal, the dwarf berated himself for not 
discerning the elf's innocence in this matter. Legolas had trusted 
him. And while the elf may well have been the elder between them, his 
life was far more sheltered when it came to understanding the 
pleasures of men. It was an area Legolas did not know well and Gimli 
was reminded that often he had need to act as Legolas' protector, 
asked for or not. With guilt pressing in on him, he knew he had failed 
his friend last night. He had been the one to lead Legolas into the 
tavern, and he had been the one to push the elf to participate in a 
beverage not of his own choice. Regretfully now, he knew instead of 
mercilessly teasing his comrade for his very amusing and humiliating 
behavior, the dwarf would need to apologize for his own worthless 
actions. That was the only fitting thing to do. And he would do it, 
when the elf was fully recovered. In a day or two. Or three.

Glancing up at the ladies, Gimli smiled his sweetest smile and tried 
to wile some of his own charm to break the mood. Unfortunately, from 
the returned glares, they were having none of it. Gimli scowled. It 
seemed once again that Legolas' power over women prevailed. Gimli 
shook his head, for the elf's encounters with females over the years 
had long perplexed him and the galling truth was the elf seemed 
oblivious to the knowledge that he did this. Yet Gimli knew it to be a 
fact. He had seen it more than once, this ability of the elf to bring 
females of all species to want to hover and protect him. The dwarf did 
not understand it. And Legolas certainly did not encourage it. While 
polite through and through, the former Prince of Mirkwood treated all 
females relatively the same, like a sister or a friend. Little did the 
elf know the throngs of women who would gladly throw themselves at his 
feet, if he only deigned to favor them with his notice. And here it 
was once again, in the protective gestures of Arwen and Eowyn. Their 
husbands hardly noticed, and Gimli supposed that the men were not of 
jealous natures. And then, too, he surmised, they probably already 
knew nothing more would come of it beyond a brotherly affection. 
Sighing to himself, Gimli thought, For someone who is not even 
present, the elf has most notably made himself known.

Aragorn looked again at his papers, then tapping at the notes he said 
to Faramir, "Have you seen the reports from the Poros Contingent? They 
claim there are large numbers of Haradhrim moving into their 
boundaries." Gimli sighed in relief as the attention in the room moved 
away from his actions. 

Placing her hand on the table before her, Eowyn sat up straighter. 
Glancing from Aragorn to Faramir she said with an imploring voice, "Oh 
please, kindly sirs, we had agreed no conversations of state matter on 
this holiday."

Placing his hand over hers, Faramir said, "But the holiday has yet to 
begin." Seeing this did not placate her, he squeezed her hand as he 
gave her a charming smile. "Besides," he said, "this will be the last 
of it you shall hear, I promise."

"Promises," she muttered knowingly as she rolled her eyes in answer. 
But grimly she smiled, "Very well, talk. Say what you will on the 
Haradhrim and be done with it. We well know their dispute is born on 
jealousies for what the others might have. The men of Poros are in 
want of the mineral rights established by the Harad long years ago, 
and the Haradhrim want to share power in governing the region. It 
could not be simpler since they choose to use their numbers to 
influence the bodies that rule."

"And yet the Poros Contingent is petitioning us to send military to 
the area to reinforce their stance," Aragorn pointed out to Faramir 
and Eowyn both. He did not seem to be surprised by Eowyn's knowledge 
of the subject. "They say nothing of mineral rights here."

Faramir opened his mouth to speak, but the words that answered were 
not his. "That is because they know if you force the Haradhrim from 
the region, they stand a chance of sweeping in and reclaiming the 
rights of those who would be usurped," Eowyn informed the King. 
"Gondor also holds a percentage of the mineral rights in the area. You 
could relinquish a portion and offer it to bid within the Poros 
Contingent. Tariffs need not increase substantially if the difference 
can be made up in new trade. Of course, you would need conditions…" 

"…conditions that Poros open a number of seats to the Haradhrim 
delegation. Yes, this I can see," said Aragorn nodding, then directed 
his gaze at Faramir as he said, "So we ignore the petition for 
military support?"

"Not necessarily," chimed Eowyn. Gimli could see Faramir frown 
slightly in her direction as she stepped into the answer he was about 
to give. Eowyn suddenly realized she was dominating the questioned 
answers and blushed as she said, "Pardon, Your Majesty. I seem to be 
stepping out of my place. Forgive me."

Faramir looked sidelong at her, as if he was unsure it was safe yet to 
speak, but seeing her eyes downcast, he said to his King, "Perhaps you 
should send in military to assure the free election of the Haradhrim. 
I do not think the Poros Contingent will give those seats up freely 
unless they know you mean to back up the Haradhrim. Otherwise they 
might try to slant the council with officials that were bought in 
their favor." 

Eowyn's eyes shot up, and it became apparent she was not done. "I have 
one other thought on the subject, if you would want to hear it, Your 
Majesty," she said with all formality. Faramir leaned back in his seat 
as if he had no choice to but to surrender all authority on the 
subject to her. An amused smile crossed his face on his wife's behalf.

But Aragorn seemed undaunted by Eowyn's direct knowledge of topics 
that he would normally share only with Faramir and he answered her 
with a sarcastic smile. "It seems I cannot refrain you from speaking 
on this particular state matter, especially on a holiday. Please, 
favor me with your thoughts." 

She smiled at his mockery, but went on all the same. "The need goes 
much more beyond rights and government seats. There is prejudice in 
Poros. One group vying against the other over issues of race. The real 
demon to be fought is that. I would offer to you that means of 
breaking those barriers be found. The schools are a fine example. The 
Haradhrim children have not been allowed to study along with the 
children of Poros. Segregation is rampant and the children of Harad 
are the ones to suffer. They are kept back only because of their race. 
There too with the merchants. Goods from each people are readily 
needed, and yet they do not openly trade, and a Black Market is 
dominant among the citizenry. I think these are the things that should 
be focused on to remedy the strife in the region."

Aragorn's eyes narrowed as he thought on this, his mood growing more 
serious. Nodding his head in approval, he said, "I agree. But further 
study should be made before real action can be taken." Turning his 
gaze again on Faramir, he said, "When this holiday is past, I would 
like for you to visit Poros and bring me back some recommendations for 
what we can do there. I do not think we would want to alter the 
structure significantly, but I do think we can work towards a less 
prejudicial future in the region."

Eowyn quietly gasped at this. "No," she said flatly.

"Pardon?" said Faramir, looking puzzled at her response.

Eowyn sat up rigidly. "No," she said again, an alarmed expression 
making her face grave. "Please, Your Majesty, do not send him away. 
He…I – I do not wish–" Her expression was troubled, as she broke off 
her thought, realizing that she had again overstepped her bounds. 

"Eowyn…" Faramir quietly scolded, glancing with embarrassment toward 
the King.

"I could go," said a voice that had not been heard yet in this part of 
the conversation. All eyes turned to Arwen as she repeated, "I think I 
should be the one to go."

"Arwen?" said the King in response.

"I could be your emissary, Estel. It would be prudent, do you not 
think? I could accompany the additional military, and stay through the 
duration of the elections while I gather my recommendations. My 
presence there, as a lady, would be seen as an honorary one, a gesture 
of peace, not a forced issue such as may be seen with that of a man in 
Faramir's position. If fashioned cleverly enough, with delicacy and 
charm, of which I so aptly am graced," she said with a mocking full 
smile, "I think they would be far more receptive to my querries. And I 
think, being a woman, I could have access to areas, such as the 
schools and merchant areas, that they would be more reluctant to show 
a man. I think it would be wise if you chose me," she said firmly.

But Aragorn's expression conveyed that he was not nearly as convinced. 
He shook his head as he said, "But you already have more than enough 
to keep you busy here. Do not forget that the Nimrais Governors will 
be visiting us over the coming months. There is much to be done in 
preparation for their various arrivals."

To Gimli's careful observation, Arwen's face froze momentarily as she 
registered this slight to her offer. The dwarf felt certain that he 
saw, in that brief moment, a glimmer of reproach before her expression 
softened and her lilting voice said, "I have much assistance on that 
task, Estel, and it is well under control. I could very easily 
delegate the Nimrain preparations to my staff. It would not be 
difficult and that would leave me plenty of time to be available for 
the Poros situation."

The tension in the room was nearly palpable, and Gimli could see there 
was something unspoken at play between the King and Queen of Gondor. 
Aragorn continued to hesitate, and sensing that this could not end 
well, Gimli piped in, "Mayhap Eowyn is right. This discussion does not 
involve me, and I tire of hearing it. Further, it seems it is a matter 
that will wait until our return. Could you not table it until a later 
day?"

With a small sigh of relief, Aragorn nodded to the dwarf as if in 
thanks. "You are right, my friend. Forgive us for not considering your 
interest in these issues. Let us change this discussion to one that 
concerns us all. Shall we talk on our plans?"

Eowyn's mood seemed to brighten at this suggestion, though Arwen 
seemed still locked in the prior conversation. Rising from the table, 
and drawing attention to himself, Gimli crossed the room to return to 
the sideboard. In an attempt to ease the mood in the room, he said, 
"So we head out this morning and make for the realm of the elves in 
Ithilien. We should arrive there long ere nightfall, is that not 
correct?"

"That was my understanding," said Legolas as he swept into the room. 
Bowing slightly to all, seemingly unscathed, he said, "That is, if we 
are not further delayed. My apologies for my tardiness. I will take 
little time yet, and we may be on our way." Turning his back on them, 
Legolas seemed focused on the food at the buffet. Arwen smiled in 
relief to see their friend well, and Aragorn nodded as if he had never 
had doubt.

But Gimli gawked at the elf's appearance. Although his color seemed 
vaguely off, a bit paler than usual, Legolas appeared none the worse 
for his merrymaking. As certain as the dwarf had earlier been about 
the elf not suffering, after the grilling he had received and his own 
deep regrets, he had grown convinced that just the opposite would be 
true. And now he was quite startled to see that his original 
presumption had indeed been true. Guilt had been seriously playing on 
Gimli's mind, and a chuckle of relief could not help but release 
itself from his aching conscience. The dwarf recovered from his shock 
quickly and with a glad hand, clapped his friend's back. With a small 
amount of glee for his own reprieve, he smiled to himself as he 
realized that perhaps he need not apologize after all. So like the elf 
to bounce back like that. No effect did it have, he thought happily. 
That was, until he saw the Legolas' hand shake as the elf reached for 
a roll. Fortunately, none of the others could see it from the angle in 
which he stood. But Gimli was standing at his side and couldn't miss 
it. The dwarf then realized it was a sham. Legolas indeed was unwell. 
But Gimli's mood took a turn and instead of new pity and guilt rushing 
in as it should have, a dark mirth for his friend's misery plucked the 
dwarf. The urge to poke at the elf's pretense of a healthy façade grew 
strong in him and he knew that had Legolas been true to his feelings, 
and shown that he really was unwell, the dwarf may have acted much 
differently. However, given these new circumstances, and though he 
knew it was wrong, that he should refrain from doing what he was about 
to do, Gimli found he could not help himself. He smiled at his new 
challenge. Since Legolas chose to act outwardly intact, it was only 
fair game for Gimli to try and inwardly break that guise. To his mind, 
that was the only fitting thing to do. Especially since the elf was 
pretending to be fully recovered. With a mocking voice, he said, "So 
Legless, will there be drinking and merriment tonight?" 

Turning his face to the dwarf, the elf looked momentarily startled, 
and Gimli realized in that instant that his friend had not held him in 
contempt for the previous nights activities. That is, until now. Gimli 
shuddered slightly as he saw the elf's eyes narrow, as if in warning, 
and he wondered what he had gotten himself into. It was a small move, 
and barely discernible to anyone but the dwarf. But the challenge had 
been seen, and Gimli had no choice but to follow through. Seeing now 
the slight puffiness beneath Legolas' eyes, and his less than 
wholesome pallor, a twinge of guilt played on Gimli again. But it was 
swiftly dashed away as Legolas smiled far too innocently at his 
friend. Speaking in general to reach the ears of the group, but 
keeping his eyes directed specifically at Gimli, he answered, "Nothing 
quite up to the standards set by last night, my friend. But if I have 
my way, I will see that you are delivered with twice the mirth that I 
experienced, and only then will I be satisfied that you have seen the 
hospitality of the Elves in Doro Lanthiron**." Gimli glanced about the 
room, wondering if anyone else had read that statement as a personal 
threat to the dwarf. Apparently not.

Seeing that indeed the elf was up to the challenge, the dwarf went on. 
There was no turning back now. "And song? You sang a marvelous song 
the other day." Faramir began to smirk, though he lowered his head so 
as not to be seen. "Can we hope that you will oblige us with a repeat 
performance of it this evening?" the dwarf asked.

"I have many interesting tunes within my memories, friend Gimli." The 
elf said the words rather fiercely. "Perhaps you would be so kind as 
to sing a few stanzas of the one you are thinking and I could complete 
it for you. Properly," Legolas said in challenge, fire sparking in his 
blue eyes.

Gimli was torn. He knew the elf would merely turn the joke back on the 
dwarf if he dared try and sing the song as Legolas had, for Gimli knew 
the song had a more innocent nature when sung as it truly was meant to 
be heard. He could foresee clearly the further scorn of ladies toward 
him when they heard Legolas' elven version in contrast to the tavern 
rendition. And yet the dwarf wasn't ready to concede just yet. "I 
could not do it justice and I am sure you know exactly which tune I 
mean. It was unique as it was sung in a fashion that was far more 
suggestive than that of most elven songs. I recall it being 
refreshingly different from one you might typically sing, Legless, er, 
I mean, Legolas."

Legolas was unflinching in his response, and though the eyes of their 
friends were upon them, he seemed perfectly at ease as he ignored the 
dwarf's jibes. However, behind his eyes, the dwarf could see a 
penetrating glare in full regalia. Still, Legolas maintained his 
self-possession. He said, "But I recall a very boisterous dwarven tune 
that you sang only recently. Mayhap you will share it with us as a 
prelude to my own rendering? I am sure the ladies would enjoy it 
immensely." Smiling as if that were the end, the elf turned again to 
face the serving table.

The dwarf growled deep and low as he cursed the elf. Legolas knew him 
too well. Gimli would never expose the ears of the ladies to such 
coarse words. Grumbling to himself, he tried to think of a way still 
to throw the elf off his base. He would not allow a decidedly hung 
over elf to best him. Only one thing came to mind at the moment, and 
he knew it was childish, and a wager at that, but from the color of 
Legolas' skin, he thought it could conceivably work. He recalled how 
his own stomach reacted on occasions like these, and also how, in this 
state, the workings of the brain had the ability to exaggerate food 
texture and quality. Looking about at the assortment of choices on the 
table, he picked his weapon. 

"Sausage, Legolas?" he asked, holding a link up directly before the 
elf. Seeing he momentarily had Legolas' attention, he bit into it. 
What followed was pure artistry in acting skills. Making a gruesomely 
exaggerated face, as if he had taken in something horribly repulsive, 
the dwarf spit the food back out into a napkin. Then pretending to act 
discreet, he glanced back into the napkin, to investigate the 
offending substance further. Quietly, Gimli muttered to himself, as if 
he intended no one else to hear his words, although in truth he fully 
intended that the elf should hear every word. He said, "Uch, what is 
that? Ew! Vulgar… gristle!"

The elf turned a shade of green as his shoulder hunched forward 
choking back a gag reflex. The mark was made and Gimli smiled 
maliciously. Again, no one else saw it, and Gimli was satisfied that 
while diminishing Legolas' poise, he had kept the elf's ruse in check.

Smiling as he moved on, Gimli said to the group in common, "And 
tomorrow we head north to Henneth Annûn, where thissuch," he said 
pointing his gaze at the elf as he recalled the ill-conceived word, 
"we lose your pleasant company." He bowed his head to the ladies. 

"Only during the hours of the day that you choose to leave us," said 
Arwen ignoring the strange new word. She reached over and touched 
Aragorn's hand. "Long enough for you to feel your desires to conquer 
the wild sated. What is it you will be hunting?"

"Black-tail," came Aragorn's answer.

"What?" said Eowen. "No orc? Or what was that other," she said as she 
gazed at Faramir with playful eyes, "Mûmak?"

Faramir laughed. "No, my dear. Neither of those creatures has been 
seen in Northern Ithilien for a number of years. The elves have been 
successful in ridding it of orcs, and I am afraid my forces chased off 
the last seen oliphaunt ere the war even ended. We will have to be 
satisfied shooting for buck."

"Pity," said Arwen playfully. "I should have liked a stuffed oliphaunt 
head mounted on our wall." 

"But you would not care for a stuffed orc head as well?" asked 
Faramir, continuing the jest as a twinkle glimmered in his eye.

"Already have one," came Arwen's teasing laugh in answer.

"And I thought we were the only ones," retorted Faramir with another 
laugh.

"Excuse me," said Legolas as he quickly fled the room. 

Everyone watched him exit.

"I believe it was the talk of the orc heads that did it," Aragorn 
said, nodding toward Faramir in his role in taking down Legolas' 
guise. "Although the sausage was a nice touch," he said grinning 
mischievously at Gimli, then asked, "Thissuch?"

Gimli chuckled to himself. Trust Faramir to add the finishing touches 
to what he himself had started. But then he noticed Eowyn's color 
change as she too pushed herself away from the table. "Excuse me," she 
said, repeating Legolas' words as she quickly left the room, and Gimli 
surmised that the lady had fled to administer aid to the elf. Shaking 
his head, he wondered again how the elf so easily managed to sway the 
hearts of females. If he had a mind to do it, oh, the number of women 
that elf could get, thought Gimli.



* Many thanks to Jocelyn for letting me make reference to a drunken 
interlude she is currently writing into her fiction. "A Little Nudge 
Out of the Door."

**Doro Lanthiron – the name I have chosen to give to the realm of the 
elves living in Ithilien. Translates to "Land of Many Waterfalls".



Chapter Four: Longings

The road from Minas Tirith to Doro Lanthiron was not a long one. And 
unless one chose to walk rather than travel on the back of a horse, 
the distance could be traversed in less than a day. The highway 
between those lands was hardened and well kept, and there was little 
trouble to be found there to detract a rider from his trail.

Six riders there were on the trail that day with an entourage of 
twenty posting guard over the safety of the King, and the Prince, and 
their company. A standard-bearer to the front bore the flag of Gondor, 
and five others followed to encircle the King and his Queen. Three 
horses with four riders came in succession after the King and Queen, 
the first two manned by Faramir and his Princess bride, while the last 
bore the Lord of Ithilien Elves and the Lord of the Glittering Caves, 
who shared a mount. Fourteen more guards trailed behind them as they 
made their way through Osgiliath and across the Anduin, on into 
Ithillien. Any who looked on would have remarked at the regal bearing 
of the party. 

However, there were two among the riders who were feeling far less 
than regal. If anything, they were feeling somewhat nauseated. But 
adding to this, a moody darkness pervaded them. Short though the ride 
might have been between the lands of men and elves, it was an 
extremely long one for the two riders on the single horse. Neither elf 
nor dwarf had expended much energy to converse with one another, and 
the outside observer might assume that was due to the peaked semblance 
the two bore. But the two knew it was much more than that. While Gimli 
had earlier on made an attempt to converse with his companion, he was 
met by a stone cold silence, and the dwarf could not help but be a 
little afraid of the wrath he had unleashed. And yet, the question of 
whether Gimli should dare ride with the elf never entered either of 
their minds. Legolas had made room for the dwarf on the back of his 
steed, and Gimli had joined him without thinking twice on the matter. 
For they both understood that while trouble may have festered under 
the surface of their friendship, it was only a temporary lapse, and 
their normal comradeship would return between them soon enough. Once 
the elf had his revenge.

At the front of the mount, the elf seethed. Legolas replayed again and 
again the morning's humiliation and each time he thought on it, his 
mood grew ever fouler. It did not help that he was aided in his ire by 
a pressing pain in his head that muddled his thoughts, he was still 
able to put together the pieces of everything that had happened to him 
as their ride progressed. The ridicule and harassment he had received 
at the hands of the dwarf were clear evidence alone that the incident 
of last night had not just been an accidental encounter. It had been 
intended. Legolas could not help but fume at that. He was angry, and 
not only at Gimli. With hindsight, the elf saw how the dwarf had plied 
him into such a grim ruse. No, the real anger he felt was directed at 
himself for falling easily as prey to it all. 

Priggish! Legolas thought. It came down to that one word, he knew, and 
it grated on him how a remark such as that had the power to generate 
those wretched events. Legolas' mind rumbled as he tried to remember 
it all. There were blanks in his memory and he did not like having 
them. Yet worse was the knowledge that he need not have suffered this 
loss if he had only listened to himself. I never should have let the 
dwarf goad me into that drink. I had made my selection. I should have 
stayed with it. I was a fool to let something so small affect me that 
way. These thoughts plagued his mind, and try as he might, the elf 
could not get it out of his head. He was deeply offended that Gimli 
had called him such a thing, for in Legolas' mind, his character was 
far from priggish. If anything, Legolas thought, he was fair and 
open-minded, hardly the prudent and uptight character Gimli portrayed 
him to be. If anyone should be termed a prig, Legolas scowled, it 
should be the dwarf!

As he allowed the slow cantor of his horses trot to rock him in his 
misery, Legolas scoured his mind to find examples to justify this 
thought of his friend. He thought back to the beginnings of their 
friendship, in the first days in Lórien. Galadriel's words to the 
dwarf had much swayed Legolas' opinion, which up until that time had 
not been estimated very high by the elf. But there was something in 
the way the dwarf seemed to appreciate the beauty of the Lady that 
stirred a commonality between them. It was then that Legolas wondered 
what other things he might find that could be used to build a bond, 
and so he invited Gimli to join him in his visit to that land. Many 
days they lingered there, and as they roamed the Golden Wood, Legolas 
came to appreciate the dwarf's taste in fair things. With his defenses 
down, he could see that they had far more in common than he had 
presumed. That was where it had started, and before they left 
Lothlórien, the two were as close in friendship as two beings could 
be. But it was also the place where Legolas learned how extremely 
different elves and dwarves could be.

His mind went back to a day in those beginnings of friendship. They 
had been walking down a path in the more remote parts of the wood, an 
area that none other of the fellowship had explored. Neither had said 
much to the other in the hours they had gone on, but enough had 
transpired over the course of that day that they felt at ease with one 
another and did not feel necessarily compelled to speak right then. 
Legolas' gaze, as usual, had been in the trees, but Gimli, being a 
dwarf, had had his eyes rooted to the surroundings at ground level. 
Gimli saw it much sooner than Legolas did, though the elf had heard 
the whispers and utterances far back on the trail. It was the look of 
unabashed shock on the dwarf's face that caught Legolas' attention, 
and the elf turned to see what sent such surprise to his diminutive 
companion. 

There on the grass in a small meadow enclosed within the forest were 
two maidens reposing themselves in the sun. Their bodies were bare, 
and the clothing they had shed were strewn about them. The grass about 
them was trampled in many places, and it appeared as if they had been 
playing in the lush green carpet. One of them giggled as the other 
caressed her thigh, and then as if lovers, they kissed, long and soft. 
One hand reached up as it gently cupped a breast of her lover, and the 
other reciprocated by stroking the base of a smoothly craned neck. It 
was lovely to behold the two beauties, enraptured and unbound in 
earthy passions, and Legolas paused for a moment to appreciate the 
beauty of their loving meditations. Only briefly did he linger, for to 
stay longer would have been impolite, and he turned his gaze away just 
as quickly as he had brought it up. Moving on, he expected the dwarf 
to follow his steps. But within a few paces of whence he had started, 
he realized the dwarf was not at his side. Looking back, he saw 
Gimli's expression had not changed. The dwarf's feet remained rooted 
in the spot he had stood.

Moving back to his companion, Legolas stepped into Gimli's line of 
vision, effectively breaking the spell that had been cast on the 
dwarf. Gimli's face went crimson as he sputtered and pointed to where 
the two maidens lay. Legolas looked over his shoulder to the elves in 
the grass, waving apologetically for the intrusion. He was met with 
scornful stares that were sent in the direction of the dwarf. Swiftly 
grabbing Gimli's elbow, Legolas dragged him away, moving the stolid 
figure from that place as quickly as the short legs would go.

Once free of the meadow, Legolas had released the dwarf's arm, and 
fuming at the impropriety he had seen displayed, the elf lambasted 
Gimli for his poor behavior, "By Ilúvatar's Rule, what were you 
thinking back there? I have never seen coarser behavior! That was 
rude! Did your mother never tell you it is improper to stare?"

Equally as riled, the dwarf did not flinch as he said, "BY AÜLE'S 
RULE! Unhand me! I am acting as any sane being would act, for my 
mother never told me how I should react if I were to see naked women 
frolicking on the green! You dare grow angry with me? You should be 
angry with them. Look at them! Repulsive! Repulsive that was!"

Legolas was truly aghast, blinking in surprise at the dwarf's terse 
words. He found himself backing away from the irate expression on the 
dwarf's face as he was at a loss as to what could cause it. His brow 
furrowed in confusion as he sputtered in reply, "That was a thing of 
beauty! How can you say this?" He was completely perplexed that Gimli 
could find anything obscene in the female elves' interaction. 

He could not know and did not know, that perceptions of sexuality by 
other races could be seen as anything beyond what he had come to 
understand. For that, Legolas saw the scene between the two maidens as 
nothing unusual. Trying very hard to understand the dwarf, Legolas 
pushed his mind to see their encounter from another perspective. 
Something had stirred up this deep emotional response in the dwarf. 
But he could not fathom the mystery of it. In Legolas' mind, the 
maidens' sexual act was as a genuine in its natural beauty as a voice 
lifted in song. Their feelings were only an extension of who they were 
and he felt this in itself was a gift. 

Thoroughly flummoxed by the dwarf's reaction, but determined to make 
good, he took several breaths to calm himself before moving on to 
uncover what it was that upset his stout comrade. Changing his tone 
and his tactic, Legolas asked with sincere curiosity, as if he had 
misinterpreted the dwarf's reason to anger, "Would it have been 
different had they been two males?"

Gimli's face went a shade more crimson as he bellowed his response. 
"That would be worse!" the dwarf answered. "Do not even speak of 
THAT!" Legolas involuntarily backed even further away, subconsciously 
fearing a rupture of some vessel might occur. 

But the sight before him was comical and the corners of Legolas' mouth 
lifted at the sight of Gimli's reddened face and bulging eyes. It was 
rather humorous to look at and Legolas had to snicker in amusement. 
The elf was beginning to comprehend the dwarf's discomfort even though 
he didn't fully appreciate its cause. "Ah, I see," said Legolas, 
laughing softly. "So only if it were a male-female dalliance would you 
have reacted with propriety."

"Male-female, yes. But the propriety should come from them. They 
should keep their personal matters to themselves, and their clothing 
on their bodies! To be seen out in public like that, naked for all the 
world to see," the dwarf tsked, looking back in the direction of the 
two forms. 

Legolas couldn't help laughing. Still, he tried to qualify the dwarf's 
response. "Please tell me why you say this, Gimli, for truly I do not 
understand. Mayhap it is part of being a dwarf? Is it their nakedness 
that embarrasses you? Or their sexuality? To an elf, there is nothing 
more enchanting, more lovely, than the sharing of oneself through body 
and soul. Do you not think that mating is a part of nature? Look 
around you, it is everywhere. The flowers, the insects, the animals, 
the birds — all let their bodies merge, without shame." 

"Yes, I will grant you, it is in nature. But there it is primal, a 
yearning — something done between male and female for purposes of 
baring offspring. As elves do not die or show much need for children, 
I thought they might be more highly evolved in their behavior than 
what I have seen. I should have known better, I suppose — I have never 
held elves highly and it is only because of the Lady's words that I 
gave you more credit than I should have. I imagined that your people 
had far more sense than that of — of — of bugs," Gimli growled, 
stuttering over the last of his words.

"You think elves live in chastity? You think we have not needs? 
Yearnings?" Legolas asked with disbelief, sighing at Gimli's mockery. 
It was really a mystery to the elf that there would be so much 
animosity towards so simple a thing. And over the pairing, 
female-female, male-male, female-male, it was all the same to Legolas. 
Sharing a moment of love and gratification with another, that was what 
mattered. That was the gift. Gimli's attitude on this was completely 
alien to the elf. He could find nothing to justify the dwarf's 
repulsion. And yet still, he attempted to grasp the significance of 
the dwarf's argument. In innocence he asked, "Do not dwarves have 
sexual urges?"

With blustering rage, the dwarf answered, "That is no business of 
yours!"

But Legolas persisted, not to be cruel or insensitive, but because he 
had no experience with feelings of this sort. The scene they had come 
across was so typical in the life of an elf on a peaceful days 
passing, that had the dwarf not stopped, he probably never would have 
even noticed. But by Gimli's answer he could see he was close to 
nearing the dwarf's breaking point, and so he tempered his comments as 
more jibe than rebuke in the hopes that Gimli would lighten his 
stance. "And yet you yourself are modestly more evolved than a bug. I 
know that you can appreciate female beauty. You hold awe for the Lady 
Galadriel, do you not? Passionate feeling is not much further removed, 
and the admiration and appreciation of a beautiful face could be said 
to be the preface of intentions much greater," Legolas said pointedly.

With narrowed eyes, Gimli threatened through gritted teeth, "Be 
careful, elf! You are walking A VERY TREACHEROUS PATH!"

Holding up his hands, Legolas reconsidered as he laughed, "Peace, 
Gimli. I see you are troubled by this. Perhaps the Lady is too lofty 
an example for you. I will not persist. But try to respect that elves 
do not hold as staunch an opinion as you would have us. And try not to 
gawk should we encounter another tryst."

Gimli sputtered as his eyes widened, "Another? Have elves no bed 
chambers in which to do this most intimate activity?"

Legolas laughed, easing the mood with his merriment. "Certainly. 
Bedchambers, stables, kitchens, libraries, floors, walls, chairs, 
railings, stairs, trees, grass, pools… shall I go on? All are abundant 
here," he said with a raised brow and a smirk, trying with some 
success to raise a smile on the dwarf's face.

"Please do not continue," said the dwarf as he eyed the landscape, as 
if warily expecting another intimate scene to pop out on him at any 
moment. Finally recognizing how silly he must have looked, he chuckled 
softly as he turned his attention back on the elf. It was his turn to 
ponder the elf's ease at this happenstance. His mood visibly lightened 
as he looked up at Legolas and asked, "Tell me, elf, if this is such a 
natural thing to your people, why have none other in the Fellowship 
made comment of it? Think of me prudish if you will, but I know this 
behavior is not common outside of your borders? The others would not 
accept it any better than I. Why did we not see it when we were in 
Rivendell?"

"It was there in Imladris, though perhaps you and the others were not 
attentive enough to notice it. For to an elf, even something so small 
as a touch can convey sexual feelings. We can find pleasure just in 
that. And in this way, elves tend to be discreet, despite what you may 
think. And even in more forthright displays, they intimacy is kept 
candid. Let us not forget who intruded upon whom with the maidens, 
Gimli. Perhaps you will understand if I tell you that elves do not 
consider sexuality a vulgarity. Therefore we do not treat it that way. 
We do not feel compelled to hide it. But neither do we feel compelled 
to foist our passions on others to witness. As you would assume, that 
would be callous and unnecessary and, as you point out, bad mannered. 
We see acts of love and sensuality as intimacies that are strictly 
personal. Our eyes may glance upon the physical actions of it, but the 
feelings within are respected as something to be kept strictly between 
the two." Then glancing at the dwarf to see if he could get another 
humorous reaction, he added, "Or the three." He was not disappointed. 
Legolas laughed quite merrily at the shocked face Gimli had given him.

"All the same," said the dwarf shaking his head in response to the 
elf's joke, "I will be very conscious of whom I may touch or remark 
upon while I am here. I would not want anyone to get the wrong 
impression." Legolas laughed again and they had continued on their 
way.

Legolas' horse trotted on, and the dwarf dozed at his back. It had 
been more than twelve years since that event, and yet to Legolas it 
was merely a short span of time. And yet sometimes, he mused to 
himself, I feel as if I have changed more than my friend, for Legolas 
was open to the opportunities of learning from his experiences. That 
in itself made him unique as an elf, for so many of his kind stayed 
complacent in their mindsets. To Legolas, that thinking was the doom 
of the elves. He was sure of it. To never appreciate the world beyond 
that of elven creation is to put a limit on oneself, he thought. His 
own father was guilty of that flaw. And so, in some ways was Gimli (in 
the dwarven extreme, of course), for Legolas knew, without asking, 
that the dwarf's opinion on the intimacy of the elves had not changed. 
But with Gimli, at least, Legolas had hope. Among dwarves there was no 
other he had encountered who had been so open-minded and eager to try 
and improve upon himself than his friend. Maybe someday the dwarf 
would truly understand every facet of the elf he called his friend. 
And this was a remarkable compliment in Legolas' mind, despite his 
anger at Gimli's pranks. 

With his mind drifting onward through these wayward thoughts, the ones 
at the forefront returned now to his father. More and more so he had 
strayed in that direction over the past few months. Not because he 
wanted to, but because he had need to. Despite all appearances, things 
were not well for the elves of Ithilien, and much to Legolas' chagrin, 
an infusion of capital is what the elves of Doro Lanthiron needed 
most. There had been great growth of the elf population in the region, 
far greater than any he or his counselors had considered, for their 
projections on trade had been based on a number much smaller than what 
Ithilien now housed. Their exports were far less than what they 
imported, and their fiscal straits were growing troublesome to 
Legolas' mind. It was this that had brought his mind more often of 
late to think of his father. He had considered petitioning Thranduil 
for support, as one elven realm to another. And truthfully, the 
majority of Ithilien's new citizenry came from that land. A request 
for share of Greenwood's wealth at the cost of taking some of her 
populace would not be unwarranted. And were Greenwood ruled by any 
other leader than Thranduil, Legolas would not have hesitated to do 
so. But somehow, the idea of asking his father for anything made 
Legolas shudder. 

It was not that Thranduil was unkind to the elf. If anything, the 
opposite was true. The good King doted on his son, when Legolas would 
allow it. No, the source of Legolas' ambivalence towards his father 
was simply their difference in approaches. It would be safe to say 
that the two were complete opposites of each other. Consciously or 
not, the younger elf went out of his way to do exactly the contrary of 
what his father would do. It was a benchmark for Legolas to say to 
himself, And Thranduil would handle this how? Yet, truly the part that 
rankled Legolas the most was the way his father found to take credit 
for all the younger one's accomplishments. Fierce pride in his son 
made him boastful, Legolas could see, but the elder King, in his 
conceit, was able to rob his son of the merits he had attained on his 
own. He didn't actually claim he had done the actions himself, but 
somehow he would manage to convey that he was the true cause for his 
son's good sense. Legolas remembered the first time he had returned 
home after battle as a warrior for the King. He was young and 
inexperienced, and though well trained, he was not savvy enough to 
know strategies well. It was sheer luck and cleverness that had 
Legolas' first campaign succeed, and yet on his return, Thranduil's 
response had been not what the younger had expected. Instead of 
lauding the Prince for his quick wits and fortitude in the engagement, 
the good King had said, "Tis only to be expected. For is he not my 
son?" Legolas' ego quickly deflated. And so had been the course of 
their long history as father and son. Thranduil seemed to swallow any 
acts of bravery or wisdom on Legolas' part and add it to his own 
showcase of ego. And so, to the casual observer, was it any wonder 
that Legolas fled Mirkwood upon the end to the war to take up 
residence in the land that had housed the foulness of Mordor? Such was 
the strength of Legolas' chagrin. To Legolas, it was not that the King 
would deny him. Most anything of Thranduil's could be had by the 
King's heir. He had only to ask. But the price for the King's 
generosity was that the son would have to acknowledge his father's 
role in the endeavor. Legolas did not think he had not grown quite 
that desperate. Not yet.

He mused to himself, Perhaps if I married he would loosen his purse 
and go so far as to share some of the wealth that he hoards. Without 
my having to ask, that is. It was only a passing thought and nothing 
that the Lord of Doro Lanthiron would consider even seriously. Legolas 
knew, above all other things, that Thranduil wished to see his son 
wed. It was something the younger elf could not understand, for he did 
not love anyone enough to bind himself to their troth, especially for 
the rest of eternity. But in his misguided logic, the old King somehow 
felt a bride was needed to fulfill Legolas' role as a leader of elves. 
The younger could only shake his head, though he wished he could point 
out that both Thranduil and Elrond had both ruled sufficiently without 
a wife at their sides, and for many a long year at that. Sighing he 
knew it was another point that would be lost on his father. And so the 
King of Greenwood continued to send lovely she-elves of high lineage 
to visit with the former Prince of Eryn Lasgallen. Legolas was 
appalled by the behavior, and shocked all the worse that most of the 
females were aware of what was happening. Legolas found it all quite 
repulsive but Thranduil just shrugged. Love was not a factor in the 
King's thinking and he was fond of saying that Legolas would learn his 
affection. Still, the elf resisted this too of his father. He knew 
when he wed, it would be love that would move him, and there would be 
nothing of politics to interfere with his reasoning. He saw no reason 
to hasten his search for a mate. Valar willing, he would live a very 
long life. He could wait a while more to find his true love.

And with these nagging thoughts of his father rolling through his 
mind, accompanied by the gnawing anger he still felt toward Gimli, 
Legolas suddenly realized what truly bothered him most. 

Manipulation. He had been manipulated. By a word, no less, and that 
was unacceptable in Legolas' mind. And most particularly, he had been 
maneuvered by that word, for now that he thought on it, had he not 
heard his father wield it often in his own realm? Legolas came to see 
that this is what had been the impetus of the other night's ordeal. 
His father, or more correctly the silent desire to please and conform 
to the ways of his father. Unknowingly, he had been pushed him to 
behave as he had. The word stirred old memories, for his father was a 
master at getting his way. Using words deceptively was not an unusual 
tactic for the Eldar King. In his younger days, Legolas had fallen 
gullible prey to such maneuvers often, molding himself into the form 
that Thranduil saw fit as his son. But over many centuries of time, 
hard-pressed battles of will had given Legolas his freedom and upon 
his departure from Greenwood, and even far before that time, Legolas 
had shed his father's direct influence to his actions. Or so he had 
thought. Realizing he was still susceptible, Legolas felt shame. And 
what do I have to show for it, thought the elf. I was cowed and acted 
just like the elf my father is. Repulsion to that realization made 
Legolas shudder. But I can learn, he thought. I can make sure I do not 
repeat this mistake again.

"Priggish," he muttered to himself, surprised he had said the word 
aloud at all. Gimli was wrong in this characterization. If he only 
knew! Legolas' mind screamed in abject anger. It was evidence to him 
that there was still a long way to go before Gimli would truly 
understand everything there was to know about the elf. He conceded 
that while his actions last night were not typical for him, neither 
was the gift of Gimli's word. Priggish. Legolas felt certain that had 
Gimli seen him only a few months earlier, at the Spring festivals in 
his realm, the dwarf would have abolished the word from his vocabulary 
entirely. Now that was an event that would have sent Gimli running for 
sure! Legolas thought with amusement. It was the time of the year in 
which the elves decanted the earliest of their vintages, and in turn 
they celebrated the return of the warmer seasons. He thought now that 
that word certainly did not fit with the role Legolas had played as 
host to the festivities and as the Lord of Doro Lanthiron. Chucking to 
himself he mused on the most recent event. Oh yes, much wine had been 
consumed by the elves on that day — and that night — and the mirth and 
the physical interludes that had followed afterward might have curled 
the hair on the dwarf's mighty beard. Recalling his own very intimate 
exchange on that occasion, Legolas smiled at the thought of the dancer 
who had caught his attention. A sensual pleasure his body had been to 
the elf and a happy sigh escaped him, almost eliminating the queasy 
feeling that had haunted him all that day. 

And then suddenly, all these thoughts whirled to a head and an idea 
came to him. Perhaps this was how he would find his retribution toward 
the dwarf. He could invite Gimli to attend the festival next year! 
Yes! An uptight dwarf amidst a phalanx of passion-driven elves? Now 
that would be a sight to behold. Just thinking of it made Legolas 
laugh aloud, and he had to clap his hand to his mouth to refrain the 
noise from being heard. His spirits immediately began to soar. Of 
course, he would need to get the dwarf drunk beforehand or he would 
never even be able to get him near any of it. But that would be easy 
enough to do. Perhaps something like what he had experienced with 
Aragorn in Haloel might do it.* And perhaps he could even get Gimli to 
appreciate elven wines after all. Too bad he would have to wait so 
long to get his revenge, but it would be worth it to see the dwarf in 
the midst an orgy. Besides, for Legolas time held little meaning. He 
could easily wait, even if it meant having to endure Gimli's taunts in 
the meantime. And now Legolas knew he could get past his anger and 
return to the normal course of his friendship with the dwarf. Why, 
just the change in his mood might be enough to set Gimli on edge. The 
anticipation would be sheer torture alone, and Legolas laughed again 
at the cleverness of his plan.**

After all, given the circumstances of Gimli's role in inducing 
Legolas' drunkenness, and the subsequent humiliation that had 
followed, revenge was the only fitting thing to do. And when it came, 
Legolas was going to enjoy it. He smiled wickedly.

****

Riding ahead of the elf, Aragorn also smiled, though not wickedly, and 
not for the same reasons. The King could not help but notice the 
authority of their entourage as they rode onward. He was glad there 
came fewer and fewer to observe them, for their appearance was meant 
only as a deception, and soon it would be coming to an end. Once 
reaching the home of the elves in that region, he knew the lands grew 
more sparse to the populace of men, and the dire safety of he and his 
friends became less a factor to their journey. No one aside from his 
court knew his intentions on this trip, and he was glad, for he longed 
to be free to roam the wilds, unhindered.

Finding safety in Legolas' home among the woodland elves, the guard 
would be dismissed to go on their way leaving the King and his friends 
to the open lands that they sought for respite. With assurances that 
they would be isolated in a protected place, Elessar had conceded to 
his court's plan, arguing only in regards to the perceived need of the 
King for supervision. He gave in at last, but not without a fight. 

Six of his men would linger a league or two from their camp, checking 
in on the King and his party at the end of the first week, serving as 
an escort to the company again when Elessar deemed he was ready to 
depart. 

Aragorn had wanted no men, but his generals wanted all of them, and in 
the end they had agreed to a total of six soldiers in waiting. Small 
and unobtrusive was that number, and their removal from his party 
would make it seem that he and his friends were alone and had privacy. 
As for his safety or the safety of his wife and friends, he had no 
fear. The cleanness of the land from fell creatures was a gift from 
the elves. They had done fine work in making the land whole again and 
no orc, or warg, or even a wayward wizard could be found there 
further. And because of this, and this alone, the King was granted a 
reprieve with only the six men nearby. At least, he thought, we will 
have a place to keep the horses, as that was the only benefit he saw 
to keeping the men about. He felt their presence was ludicrous. It had 
long been decided that warrior elves would accompany their return when 
the visit was complete, and until then, he and his companions were 
more than capable of taking care of themselves. The King had not grown 
rusty in his time at the throne.

To his minister's chagrin, Elessar refused to dictate an itinerary for 
his journey, saying only that the timetable for their return would be 
within a month. He did it more to annoy them than for any other 
reason, but for the trouble they caused him, he felt they more than 
deserved his vacillation. At least he had been good enough to leave 
those in charge the discretion to give minor rulings on his behalf. 
More than that was not deemed necessary as Gondor lived in peacetime. 
And if needed, the six guards could retrieve their King and return him 
to Minas Tirith within a day. But Aragorn expected nothing like that 
to occur, and he was looking forward to his long-earned solitude.

Aragorn shook his head. Such dealings he had endured for so little a 
thing. A small break from his role, that is all he had asked. As the 
King he had much in the way of privilege and comforts, but the price 
for those things was a complete lack of privacy that he could have 
never anticipated before he came to power. To be rid of an entourage 
and alone at last, that was a freedom he had fought hard to keep and, 
oh, how he longed for it now! He thought back on the days when he had 
nothing to claim but his sword and his horse, and he had meandered 
middle-earth with open abandon. Wistfully he sighed as he thought on 
times past. 

Not that he wanted to go back. Not completely at least. Those days had 
been hard and had been plagued by dangers unknown, and the haunting 
yearning to be at Arwen's side had wakened him on many a cold night. 
Life was far better now. He would never deny it. But still there was a 
part of him that longed to regain some of the wildness lost from that 
former life. And he missed the bond that had been there with Arwen in 
those days of separateness. Back then all they had longed for was to 
be at each other's side.

It bothered him that he always was accompanied by a throng of guards 
on every outing, despite his own skills with a sword. And despite his 
demands to be left to his peace, he was overruled by his ministers or 
generals in this matter. He may have been the King, but not every 
action in his realm was ratified by his word. Some things went by the 
order of others, and in matters of his personal safety, Elessar had no 
choice but to follow orders. Although he obliged, he at times felt as 
their prisoner rather than their leader.

Arwen could see his frustration at being penned. Her feelings were 
similar, he supposed, though she was not as repressed as he was, and 
she could tolerate it better than he. Having grown up in unsafe lands, 
she had long grown used to the idea of escorts to travel from realm to 
realm. But once in the safety of those far away places, her companions 
had always relinquished their claim on her and she was allowed freedom 
of her own again. As the Queen of Gondor, however, even within the 
safe confines of her city, complete freedom was not hers to have. It 
was only when she was quietly sequestered within the palace that she 
ever truly was given privacy. The adjustment to being Queen was not an 
easy thing. It was, he suspected, a small part of the cause for their 
current difficulties. He understood what she wished for — something 
more as well. How could she help it. He hoped that this trip would 
ease some of that troubling her and would aid him in pursuing the 
direction he sought for their lives together. Somehow, things had to 
change between them, for Aragorn knew he could not remain quiet on 
this topic much more.

It was Arwen's idea, really, this trip of theirs, and she and Eowyn 
had plotted it out carefully over time. That pleased him. With stealth 
minds they had planned out the ruse of the guard, a pretense that 
would have them leave the city as they must. And it was their idea to 
go to Ithilien, on the pretense of visiting the elves for an 
undisclosed time. And it was their idea for the party to sneak north, 
and to camp at the old stronghold of Henneth Annûn, for there they 
could relax and live among the beauty of the wood, and still feel as 
if safety were being considered in their plans. And it was Aragorn's 
idea to go hunting, for he wished to walk freely in the woods once 
more. 

With freedom so near at hand, Aragorn felt himself beginning to relax. 
Every eventuality had been considered as they had planned for this 
journey. It was strange to put so much effort into the leisure of 
freedom, but in the end it would be worth it. He was sure nothing 
could go wrong.

********

She hummed a strange tune to herself as the wagon rolled forward over 
the smooth forest floor. Her body and head rocked with the motion, but 
she was not distracted by it. All around her, her furnishings and 
goods jangled to the swaying of the vardo, though all were secure in 
their place. The sound of those objects making cling clang noises 
within there own caches added to the sound of her humming. It was 
almost a hypnotic din. Her music, if music it could be called, carried 
no rhythm or melody. It was a low droning noise, deep and resonating 
from her throat. Its quality was mysterious and haunting.

Her gaze was directed to her knotty fingers which pulled and spun 
flaxen threads into a fine silk cord that she rolled around her 
fingers as she completed the fine roping. The song seemed to urge on 
her hands, and with dexterity, she twisted and pulled the long fibers, 
braiding them nimbly into each other. 

In the palm of her hand she held an object. It was the thing that the 
cord latched onto. A simple piece of wood it was, unshaped and crude, 
significant only in that it was made from a piece of lightning-struck 
beech wood. She had been savoring this found treasure, for it had 
special strengths. Strong and rare and touched by the dark forces of 
nature, it was the perfect element to use in her sorcery. On the 
surface of the wood fragment, she had burned in a picture of the sun, 
the symbol for power, and within that she had drawn the outline of a 
running figure. These markings honed in on the power within the wood 
and aided her in completing the charm.

She continued to hum as her fingers finished the braid. Then picking 
up a bead she had earlier carved, she added it into the ornament to 
seal off the ends. She smiled and brought her tune to an end. Admiring 
her work, she wrapped the cord back into her hands while she grabbed 
the pile of extra hair she had used to construct the string, and 
tucked it into a drawer at her table. Then lifting her hand in the 
air, she allowed the talisman to swing down and sway to the motion of 
the wagon. She laughed as she watched it weave through the air. 

The owl opened its eyes and craned its head at the old woman's musing 
cackle. She drew her attention to where it sat on its perch and she 
decided it was time for the creature to do its job on her behalf. A 
wicked grimace decorated her face as she laughed at it and said, "No 
elf shall escape us now, Rartichirilo. No fight will there be in it 
and this will keep it in place." She held up the ornament for the 
speckled bird to see. "It is time. I need your sharp eyes again." The 
bird blinked at her words. "I have longings that need to be fulfilled. 
Find it for me! Find me an elf!" 

She held out her arm to the bird of prey, and the owl stepped upon it. 
Balancing herself as she stood and walked to the back of the wagon, 
she drew back the curtain with her unused arm. Looking one last time 
at the creature before allowing her release, she said, "Drive ahead of 
our course and tell us where we may go. Return to me when you have 
found one. You must hurry, my friend! We are only days away from our 
end." And with that she propelled the owl into the cooling air. The 
wolfhounds that trailed the wagon barked as the bird of prey flew over 
their heads, calling out their encouragement to their sister-hunter. 
The night creature swooped once over the wagon and then brought her 
tail feathers downward as her strong wings pumped the air and she 
soared onward into the setting face of the sun. 



Rartichirilo — night bird



Chapter Five: Moments of Apprehension

In all of middle-earth, no secret was as well-kept as the one that 
revealed the hidden passageways into Henneth Annûn. Few men knew of 
this secret refuge, and fewer still had ever been in it. And no man 
who looked upon it from the outside would have known it existed had he 
not some prior knowledge to the fact. It was a fortress guarded in 
stealth and it melded seamlessly with its environment.

To come upon the retreat, one would think they had entered a small 
oasis of lushness and beauty. To the uninformed observer, it would 
have taken shrewd wisdom to have discerned something so secretive in a 
place so mystically lovely. And that mind would become suspect to its 
intent had it not seen the beauty first before growing wary of deeper 
mistrust. In a relaxed frame, the scene partaken was of natural charm, 
surely one of Yavanna's greatest gifts. Only the darkest of souls, 
darker than the orcs or fell creatures of Mordor, could have suspected 
something more was here than the fairest of lands.

In seeing it, the eye was immediately riveted to the centerpiece of 
the scene: a cascade of water that fell from stories above a rocky 
platform into a river of water and stone. Deep green shrubbery 
canopied the cliffs of its descent, and the sound of the water falling 
to the staggered bed below was thunderous and bold. The craggy rocks 
at her base were jagged incisors of stone, pushed up from the earth, 
and about them were smaller remnants of the same stone, shattered over 
time into razor sharp fragments of their former selves. The water 
flattened as the depth became great beneath the rocks, and a wide 
expanse of water filled that basin before the river narrowed and 
carried on its course. A pool of conjoined cerulean and indigo formed 
there, and when the sun shone down on that spot, the water took on the 
color of liquid sapphires studded with diamonds. The flow of the water 
slowed at this point to only a slight current and fish of all types 
gathered here to feed and to mate. Hanging branches of nearby trees 
bowed gracefully to the pristine waters beneath them, as smooth and 
slick stones outlined the shore that led to the rock wall that stood 
witness to it all. The terrain was laced with ferns and mosses and 
vines cascading downward to meet the water's edge. Boxwood and ilex in 
deep penetrating greens dotted the hillsides leading away from it as 
the river left the lagooned area. It tapered into a deep and narrow 
channel that continued its course down the long, sloping lands, until 
eventually, it meandered its way into the Anduin. And from that peak 
near the falls, looking into the setting sun, one could plainly see 
the great expanse of that river from the vistas offered. 

They paused on their horses before dismounting, gazing upon the 
serenity of the place that would be their temporary home. They 
breathed in the freshness of the cool, breezy air, and a cleansing 
aroma of water and earth wafted in the breeze. A sense of tranquility 
settled upon them. The sound of the falls echoed off of the rocks and 
added a sort of music to the scene, giving a backdrop to the carefree 
chirping of the birds playing in the treetops. Eowyn smiled, while 
Arwen closed her eyes and let her senses absorb the atmosphere. 
Faramir sighed happily, and Legolas looked most pleased, while Gimli 
gazed back at the view of the Anduin. The six accompanying soldiers 
looked on, awed and proud that in a way this was a part of their 
Gondor home. Aragorn's chuckle broke the reverie as he looked upon all 
of their faces. His laughter told them that he was the happiest among 
them to be there.

It was Faramir who spoke first. He turned to Legolas and said, "I 
don't think I remember seeing so many waterfalls in the course of this 
trail. Has my memory gone wrong?"

The elf smiled at this. "Nay," he said, "Your memory serves you well. 
It is the land that has changed. She seems to be filled with a joy 
unnamed. Many underground rivers have sprung to the surface, and new 
fountains abound of late. The elves believe that it is brought on by 
the new growth in the region and that the water has found a new course 
for her routes. I only know that I am glad and proud of the work we 
have done here. We have been able to coax out more hidden beauty. That 
was an unimaginable feat to the tarnish that was here a dozen years 
past."

"It is a magnificent accomplishment," Eowyn echoed, and even Gimli 
grunted his approval.



The elf kept his eyes fixed on the landscape as a shy smile accepted 
the compliment. They had reached the hidden entrance of their resting 
place and he was glad to be here. And while they could appreciate the 
beauty of this place for more, no others who would have wandered the 
region could know that a fortress lie buried within the heart of that 
waterfall. It had been built by men over a century past as a refuge 
from the attacks of the orcs and Southron men in that land, and it was 
well concealed. This was a safe place for the company.

The entries to Henneth Annûn were hidden. So well hidden, in fact, 
that in all the long years of Sauron's reign over the lands on which 
it stood, Henneth Annûn had never been discovered by the fell 
creatures that wandered there. The doors were camouflaged in the rocky 
places on the hills about it, concealed well by boulders and stone 
protrusions and penetrating shrubberies. They had long been kept 
secret by the Rangers and militia that guarded this territory, and now 
they fell under the protection of the elves. The tedious passageways 
to the main hall were vastly dark in places, varying greatly in 
texture and pitch. The corridors widened and narrowed so precariously 
that in times of need for stealth, the way could be guarded against 
intruders by guards who could lay in wait.

Once in the main hall, the scene quickly changed from that of the 
winding, dark corridors. The sound of rushing waters was consistent 
and bold, though not so loud that one could not speak, and after a 
while it grew to be a continuous background sound, easily absorbed for 
its naturalness as a din perceivable only if thought upon. A slow, 
consistent breeze stirred within the room, brought on by the play of 
the water. Water was everywhere forming a curtain wall before a great 
opening in the stone face. And at this point, one would realize they 
were looking through the falls that regaled the view of the Anduin 
River far beyond. At sunset, the room was alive in colors that bounced 
off the walls, ricocheting fire within the chamber. If one were a 
careful observer, peering at the falls from the outside at that moment 
of sunset, when the light played most magnificently on the chamber, 
then one might see there was a cavern within that great fountain as 
all shadows within it were revealed. 

Beyond the doorways, there was one other means of exit from the cavern 
within the waterfall. The popular routes were invariably the two paths 
that brought any visitor in, but the alternative method for departure 
was through the curtain of water. No one ever went this way though, 
for to do so would surely mean death. The craggy stones at a distance 
below would gladly meet anyone who dared leave by this route.

Legolas dismounted and began unloading their supplies. The others 
followed suit. He was rejoicing their arrival at this stronghold. This 
place would be their home and it felt safe to him. He had feared it 
would not. But he sensed no evil in these woods, only the innocence of 
nature, and he felt the wall of anxiety that had building within him 
all this last portion of the trip begin to ease.

It had started that morning, just as they had begun to leave Doro 
Lanthiron. A messenger from one of the northern restoration teams 
arrived just as they were making ready the horses for departure. 
Legolas recognized the guardsman. The soldier's face carried an 
expression that betrayed deep concern and as he saw his Lord standing 
by, he dismounted quickly and immediately made his way to bow before 
Legolas. The elven lord could not help but feel anxiety.

"What is it, Hallathôn?" Legolas asked.

"Your pardon, my Lord," the tall guardsman said, rising to face the 
ruler of the elven land. "I do not mean to interrupt your departure, 
but I have news of distress to report. I did not think it could wait."

"You may speak freely here, Hallathôn. What is your news?"

The fair-haired elf regarded the rest of the party before going on. 
Aragorn and Faramir exchanged small smiles between themselves at the 
wariness of the elf. Out of respect for Legolas' authority, they 
remained back, but listened attentively to what he had to say. 
Glancing back to Legolas, Hallathôn said with visible fear, "Three 
elves are missing from the team we were leading, my Lord."

Legolas' stiffened and he felt more than saw several of his friends 
within earshot tense up at these words. This was not the type of news 
he would have wanted to hear at the moment, and he understood the 
other elf's anxious manner. "How long have they been gone?" he asked. 
Concern made his brow crease. At his side he saw Aragorn and Faramir 
step forward and he glimpsed similar expressions of worry on their 
faces. 

"Only a day," came the reply, and Legolas breathed a silent sigh of 
relief. It was not that long to be gone and he forced his hands to 
relax their almost automatic tendency to clench into fists. Hallathôn 
went on, "They were to have reported to our base camp yesterday 
afternoon. They were at the northernmost point where the forests meet 
the wash in Nindalf. There is still much harm to the plants and the 
soils there. We have been working to repair the damage." 

"Were they there with horses?" asked Legolas.

"No, my Lord. The lands are still too boggy in that area. Horses would 
be swamped down if they rode into the region. The three traveled on 
foot," Hallathôn answered.

Legolas looked at his friends as he considered this. He pondered the 
time and location for the missing elves, and he began to deduce that 
nature might be more to blame in the disappearance of his fellows than 
things unnatural. He reminded himself to first always look for answers 
that were the most obvious as he continued, "There has been more rain 
in that territory this season than in past years, has there not? And 
in the past week especially so?" When he received an affirmative nod 
to both questions, he went on, "Then is it possible the answer is 
that? Perhaps they were only slowed in their return by the foulness of 
weather. That region is a flood plain for the Anduin. If there is 
reason for concern, it should be only to help free them from any 
dangers the elements may impose on them. As they were without horses, 
it will be harder to track them, but you must try. I will assume you 
are already in search of them, but gather a second team and bring them 
into the area immediately. Find them, Hallathôn. I do not wish to 
report losses to their families." 

The elf bowed to Legolas and backed away, leaving the Lord of the 
elves to his friends. Legolas looked to them and took in and expelled 
a deep breath. He initially had concluded foul play was at work and he 
chided himself for those grim thoughts. He knew well that these lands 
were cleared of the evil of Sauron's rule, even if his natural 
instinct had been to suspect darkness at play. It was a natural 
defense, his wont from long years of battle, and it seemed it was his 
friends' as well. They had mirrored his expressions, but had noticably 
relaxed when Legolas continued the line of questioning and other 
theories began to take shape. Still, he felt the need to take a wary 
stance. Despite the reassurance his solution offered, a tug of anxiety 
nagged at his mind and Legolas warred with himself as he looked 
directly at Aragorn and frowned. A fear of something unknown brushed 
lightly through his soul. He said to the King, "It might be wise to 
postpone this trip for a few days, until these elves are found."

Aragorn's eyes narrowed. Grim distress was clearly evident within the 
depth of his dismay. He clearly wanted to continue their journey. He 
said, "I do not understand, Legolas. I agree with your assessment. 
Weather seems most probable a cause. Do you think there is reason to 
suspect more?"

Legolas could only shake his head. His fear was undefined, a glancing 
apprehension at best. He began to doubt his own intuition. Still, he 
spoke. "I believe that you are under my care while in this region. Be 
their disappearance weather-related or not, it would serve best to be 
cautious when it comes to your welfare, your Highness," Legolas 
answered with formality. 

Faramir looked disappointed and thus chimed in with his opinion, "But 
these lands are safe, Legolas. I foresee no harm in going on as we 
planned."

Legolas looked apologetic for his concern. "I am only trying to guard 
your safety. And I am thinking of my duty to those missing and their 
families. I believe these lands are clean as well, but there are three 
elves missing, and that must weigh in our decision. I will do as you 
order, my Lords, but allow me to be prudent in my part of it," he said 
in answer. He knew how much his friends, especially Aragorn, wanted 
and needed this break. They were not alone in this. He too felt the 
need to be free of his burdens for a time. Legolas did not wish to see 
the journey postponed any more than they did, but he took his position 
seriously, and he had agreed to safeguard this trip.

Legolas and Faramir directed their gaze to Aragorn. The handsome King 
frowned as he raised his hand to his chin in thought. At last he 
answered, "I comprehend your part in this, Legolas, and I respect the 
protection you are trying to offer us. But I think it may be overly 
cautious and not worth a delay. We travel in your realm. Your men may 
find you if your services are needed. But I believe there is little to 
fear. They have not been gone that long and the area the elves were 
reported lost is nigh twenty leagues from where we are destined. 
Henneth Annûn is a stronghold. I believe we will be safe to journey 
on. And most probably we will learn along the way that the culprit for 
the elves' delay was weather indeed." Aragorn looked to Faramir, who 
exchanged a pleased smile with this answer, but Legolas cast his eyes 
down. Aragorn placed a hand to the elf's forearm in a kindly gesture 
and said, "Come, my friend. I put my faith in your people. I know well 
that there is nothing of darkness to fear. Let us break from this 
place, and continue on our way."

Legolas nodded his assent, but in the back of his mind, the worry 
continued to sing to his soul. Somehow, he felt, this trip would not 
go as they wished it. That worry stayed with him still, but it had 
grown considerably smaller upon there arrival at Henneth Annûn. 

And yet, as the adventurers dismounted and began to unload and make 
their way forth into the hidden entrances of this fortress, they did 
not perceive that they were being watched. Two forward looking eyes 
took them in with its sharp vision. The bright yellow orbs saw two 
elves in their party, and it knew this is what she had asked for. The 
bird of prey spread her great wings to a width greater than a man's 
arm, and vaulted herself upward to find her way back to her mistress.



****

"Help me…" 

She could hear his pale words lick her ear, and knew it was beginning 
again. 

She was fully aware of where she was. She was sitting on the bench at 
the front of the vardo, driving onward to meet the rest of her tribe. 
They had been on the road one full day, and they had this one yet to 
complete before they would rejoin their family in the appointed place. 
She had dozed off with the rocking motion the wagon offered on the 
long day of travel over this empty road, and though her eyes were 
closed, she was hyperaware of everything about her. She could feel the 
strong arms of her youngest son graze against her as he flicked the 
reins to the team, clicking his tongue in urging their forward 
progress. She could hear the rattling of pots and pans and goods 
within the confines of the wagon as the muffled snores of her middle 
son echoed with the incessant rattle. She could feel the soft brush of 
wind caress her face as flickers of sun radiated between the tree 
branches over her head warming her skin when they reached it. She 
could smell the heady scent of earth and moss and flora mixing as they 
reached her nostrils creating an intoxicating perfume. The snorts of 
the horses and the soft thuds of their feet echoed in the hollow path 
the road made as it crossed through the corridor of trees. And even 
the minutest sounds of buzzing flies near the flicking tails of the 
quarterhorses, the rasping pants of the dogs that followed the wagon, 
and the chomping on the metal bits within the horses' mouths was 
received and digested by her sensitive ears. And yet she was asleep, 
held there by a power that seemed to overwhelm and control her and she 
felt the world spinning miserably away as the dream took possession of 
her again.

It was strange, the sensation of the dream, for though she could 
clearly remember it, each time her reactions were the same, as if she 
had learned nothing from her prior visits there. In some ways, it 
always seemed fresh and anew to her, and in other ways she knew every 
word that would be said, every image she would see. The dream had been 
replayed in her mind so many times in the last several months and 
though it was the same, it always seemed to be changing.

She could hear his words so clearly, speaking as if he were there at 
her side, the brush of his breath tickling her skin. She trembled as 
she thought to herself, Bäla. She felt him taking her ragged hand in 
his own. It was as if that had the power to wake her, for she found 
that suddenly she could lift her head and gaze upon him. But he was 
not there and she was no longer in the wagon. Instead, she was somehow 
standing at the base of a pool with a great fountain of water 
cascading down into it. The lagoon was deep azure, and its beauty was 
stunning. It took her breath away. As she had looked at the vision, 
all terror faded from her mind. She found she could walk freely about 
this cool place, and she strolled to the edge of the water, touching 
her finger to it. She laughed at the cool, cleansing quality of it, so 
real it was. A strong urge made her want to step into the water, as if 
there was something within it that could wash away all her ugliness 
and sin. She was tempted, but a hand touched her shoulder, and as she 
spun around, she realized she was no longer beside the pool. Her place 
had been transformed and she saw she was actually within the waterfall 
as it crashed down into the pool. She looked with awe, for she had 
never seen the world from this perspective. Before her stood a curtain 
of water, and the setting sun beyond created a rainbow of fire, 
flickering its light wildly about her. A light breeze brushed against 
her face. "Fire. Water. Wind," she uttered, reciting three of the 
elements in the most powerful of incantations. "Earth," she continued 
as she layed her hand to the smooth, stone walls. The four elements 
were here and this hold could be made a Protected Place. Magic of 
great power could be conceived with that. An electric thrill ran down 
her spine, for places like this were quite rare.

"Three more suns will rise and set hence it will be as this, and on 
that night, the moon will be at its fullest. The magic will be at its 
greatest between the sun's and the moon's departure in the sky on that 
night. Our dreams may then be fulfilled."

She spun around to see him and gasped at his appearance before her. It 
was Bäla – Bäla as he had been in his younger years, when she had 
first met him, when she had fallen in love. She felt unheralded joy at 
seeing him again. She was so lost in the waking world without him. He 
smiled his beautiful smile at her, and she felt instantly serene and 
happy in his presence. Young and handsome he was, with sandy hair and 
sparkling grey eyes. A rugged, strong jaw set off his light beard, and 
he was tall and broad, and she wanted to melt into his arms. "Bäla," 
she softly whispered to the man she loved.

"Bring me back," he whispered. "Bring me back, my love, and we will 
rule together." Then he took her in his arms and she felt safe. His 
words went on, growing stronger as her arms wrapped about him. He 
stroked her hair. "We shall be young once again and we shall live 
forever!" 

"Yes," she said without thinking. Just the feel of his arms about her 
was enough to make her do anything he asked. She wanted him. She 
needed him. 

"Then shall we begin with the lesson?" he said as he drew back a step. 
She nodded her head eagerly, happy to do whatever it was that would 
please him. She knew what was to come in her pre-warned mind, just as 
she could feel the rocking of the wagon on which she really sat, but 
she could not break away from the dream and so she went on, wanting 
only to gain his pleasure. He held something in his hands and her 
dreaming mind was peaked in curiosity as her foreknowledge told her 
exactly what was there.

He revealed what he held. Two lumps of raw flesh lay in his hands, one 
large and one quite small. They moved and she recognized that they 
were hearts, still pulsing, still beating, though severed from their 
natural bodies. "These things you will need to stave off the demons: 
the heart of an immortal being; and the heart of one as yet unborn. 
They will free you from death's hold." Blood poured from the pools 
forming in his hands as he shifted the organs into hers. Suddenly 
grown frightened, she raised her face to him, looking into his eyes. 
Evil resided there, piercing and impenetrable, and yet she still 
followed his words, mesmerized by his power. It was magic darker than 
any she had delved in thus far, and her fingers trembled at it. Yet 
she instinctively knew how to complete the taking of this power. He 
heart pulsed a rhythm that throbbed at her temples. She felt leaden 
and weak and it took a moment to regain her strength as the energy of 
his spell slid into her hands. In her mind, she was almost removed, 
drifting away from the scene as it transpired about her. She watched 
with apathy as his hands cupped around hers and urged her next 
motions. He pulled away, and she lifted the flesh to the light and 
pushed the two beating hearts into one form, uttering a grim blackness 
of words as she did so. Fire welled on her fingertips as the two 
organs merged into one.

The cavern grew brighter. A flash of light caught the corner of her 
eye as she saw the knife he wielded. He came to her side and she 
nodded for him to proceed. Raising his hand, he thrust the blade 
deeply into her chest. She gasped though she knew there was nothing 
she would do to stop it, and was surprised to find she felt no pain. 
His deft skills were startling as she looked to see that his incision 
became a rapidly opening hole where her heart lie. Except that it was 
void. She grimaced at the vacant emptiness of the cavity and the power 
that seemed to reside in that darkness. It seemed hungry, yearning, 
like an open mouth and she placed the gift of the melded hearts into 
its greedy blackness. It swallowed the beating mass whole and then 
quickly disappeared again back into her form. And all the while, the 
glowing light within the cavern sparked ever brighter, like a fire 
stoked to a bright intensity, ever-changing and fierce. It highlighted 
his rapt features as she continued the incantations.

She stumbled as a resonating tremble coursed through her body. She 
felt her soul expand and contract as the new organ began to take hold 
of her body. A breath of wind wrapped itself around her, working its 
way up her form starting at her feet and roughly pulled at her as it 
wound its way around, growing stronger as it went. The walls of the 
cavern rumbled in threat as if they were about to crash in on her 
while the sounds of the water grew thunderously loud. Fire glanced in 
her eyes from the setting sun and she felt momentarily blinded as all 
these things descended on her simultaneously. And then suddenly they 
ceased and the world came back as it was meant to be. Except for her. 
She was different. She was better. She was more alive than she could 
ever remember feeling before. She looked up at him and she could see 
his reaction to it all. Her loveliness was reflected in the mirrors of 
his eyes and she could see an instance of lust gripping him. She 
laughed at the pleasure of that old feeling. She was young and fresh 
and beautiful again. She no longer stood hunched and crippled and 
sickly. Vitality ran rapid through her veins and the joy in that gave 
her strength. She loved this feeling. She had nearly forgotten what it 
was like, but in regaining it, she knew she would willingly do 
whatever was needed to bring this to her. The reward of a youthful 
body was worth any risks. She desperately wanted this. 

And then she remembered herself. 

"But how can I have this? You tease me with this desire," she sobbed, 
"I do not have this Place. I do not have the elf. And the unborn… I 
could take it from the girl, but it would destroy Mattias!" 

He looked at her with cold eyes, penetrating her mind with the depth 
of his blackest thoughts, and she cringed, knowing well what he wanted 
from her. "Shall we continue the lesson?" he asked, and she knew that 
whether she wished it or not, she could not look away. Time sped 
rapidly forward as the mood in the cavern changed with the 
substitution of moonlight playing on the curtain of water. He lay 
himself down on the floor before her, the beginnings of evil 
recitations slipping from his lips as he positioned himself before the 
torrent of water. She knelt down and touched him, stroking her hands 
over his body, his hair, his face, her voice rising up to meet his. 
The room grew dimmer in the cool light as they went on, just the 
opposite of the incantation that brought her back her youth. His words 
went on, the pitch growing stronger as the sound of his voice began to 
rend harm to her ears. She winced as the noise that was her voice as 
well grew painful to hear. She was echoing his words, though they came 
not from her own conscious thoughts. They slipped from her mouth 
without her intent to say them. Louder and louder they grew. She tried 
to raise her hands to her ears to shut them out but she was captive to 
his body, unable to do anything but touch him and issue the spell 
forward. Her voice went on with it. She could not control it. It hurt 
her ears, and her throat grew parched from the heat that her voice 
threw out. Her head ached at the noise echoing over and over again 
within the chamber and she squinted her eyes shut. She felt as if she 
would collapse from the sound alone, splitting her skull with the 
heaviness of the repercussions. Between words, she sobbed in agony. 
Tears leaked from the corners of her closed eyes as pain rang through 
her head. And then it grew deadly quiet. 

She opened her eyes. There was barely any light to see, and she knelt 
in closer to see him. He did not move, and she brushed her hands up to 
his face as she crept nearer. Her ears rang in their recovery from the 
sound, and her voice sounded tinny and small as she called his name. 
"Bäla?" and then a shock rocked her mind as the playing light in the 
falls registered the outline of his face. She cried for what she came 
to see. Mattias! Her son. Her eldest, dearest child. She was 
astounded. It had been Bäla before, and now here layed her son? But 
how? He was unmoving and she realized he was dead! Her heart quailed. 
Truly did she love him, and now he was gone. No! She threw herself on 
the still body, shrieking out her lament, willing him back to life. 
No! No! No!

She stayed like that for long minutes, burying her face into the cold 
flesh of his neck and chest as she lay against them. It cannot be, she 
thought. Not my son!

And then his corpse drew breath. She jumped aright as his eyes opened. 
She gasped! Alive? Oh, yes! Alive! Mattias! But her joy was only 
momentary. It was not right! It was not Mattias who gazed up at her. 
It was Bäla. He was there, his soul, gazing at her from within her 
son's body. "No!" she screamed out in anger understanding now what had 
happened, returning again to her loss. She looked at him in disbelief. 
"How could you do this? He is your son as well as mine! How can you 
take him so blithely?"

He stared at her, ignoring the tears welling in her eyes as a cold 
smile crested his lips. "There is no time to argue this, Bregus. The 
moon comes too fast…this will be done!" he said, gripping her face in 
his hand. "Unless there is another body to host my soul, this will 
have to do."

She cried inwardly. My son? I must sacrifice my son?

"You have work, Bregus!" he pointed to the cascading water with his 
free hand. "Find it! It is needed for us both!" 

Then his mood drastically changed as he recognized her dread, and his 
grip softened. He lightly stroked her cheek. "We will be lovers again. 
Do you not want this? Do you not want me again in your life?" He 
nuzzled into the nape of her neck, hot breath whispering onto the 
flesh there, his lips brushing the rim of her ear. Involuntarily, she 
moaned, and in shock, she knew she had given her answer. 

As instantly as the intimacy had appeared, it was gone, and she saw 
again her son's face gleaming with light of his evil shining in his 
eyes. He was a wretched thing to behold, and she sobbed. He held her 
jaw fiercely with his strong hand and she felt his fingers dig into 
her cheeks as he whispered harshly, "Do not fail me! Your doom lies 
with mine!" Pushing her away, his eyes were afire and they burned to 
her soul and his voice reached into her chest and tugged at her newly 
immortal soul. "You must succeed, or we shall both suffer forever!"

He truly frightened her. She backed away, shaking her head to him. 
"No! There is not time enough. I do not have the things we need. I 
would need to get all of them to help me. The girl… I would need her 
help too, and she will not! Not knowing her own life is to be 
sacrificed!"

"The elf is coming with others. They are coming to you now."

Her knees buckled at the wave of the words. This was new news! She 
gasped at the suddenness of this information as he went on.

"They bring with them the secret of this Place."

She found she could not breathe. This was not a regular part of the 
dream. What had happened to cause this change? She found her 
equilibrium faulty at the revelation of this news. Could this be true? 
She remembered the stones and what they had said to her question of 
the Protected Place. It is close. It will be found. She felt her 
confidence renewing. "…When?" she gushed.

His face grew impassive. "They are coming now. They bring even more to 
you if you will see it," he said.

"But how? Where?" she asked in utter disbelief.

"You are clever, Bregus. You will find a way to get everything you 
need. I know you will."

"Yes, yes, of course," she whispered back. She did not like being 
pushed into solutions on her own. He desired that she find a way to 
get this done yet she was torn. She wanted him, wanted this body, but 
did she want it enough to sacrifice her son? She was unsure. And the 
girl still posed a problem. It gave her strength to argue, "She will 
fight any spell I cast her way. She is opposed to us!"

"She does not know of us! She knows you! Fix this! Threaten her! 
Overpower her! It matters not! Find a way! There is no more time!"

She shrank back. She knew he did not like to be opposed, and she 
regretted that she had spoken out. An evil grin gleaned his face as he 
said, "Do I need to remind you what will occur if you fail? Another 
lesson perhaps?"

"No! No!" she cried out, knowing even in her innocence within the 
dream that something horrific would come. She glanced desperately 
about her, but she could already feel the burning tentacles of the 
demons licking her skin. 

His smile grew wider as her fear increased. He whispered as his face 
came within inches of hers, "Do not disappoint me, my love. See now 
our fate if you fail me." His eyes shown with malice as he moistened 
his lips with the tip of his tongue. And then he kissed her as the 
demons began to devour her body. Her skin began to char where they 
touched her and the pain was overwhelming.

"NO!" she cried out. 

And then she was awake and her youngest son was at her side on the 
bench of the wagon.

"Mother?" he asked in concern.

She looked around her, taking in all of her surroundings, her heart 
racing in her panic. She did not answer. She had barely heard him.

"Mother? Are you well?" he asked again as he reined the horses to a 
halt.

"No, do not stop! Keep moving forward!" she shrieked out. And then as 
he flicked the reins across the backs of the horses, she leaned back 
and sighed. Her eyes were panicky and lost, but a small smile of 
relief crept on her face. She resigned herself. She knew she would do 
this thing as she recalled the new contents revealed to her. She said, 
"It was only the dream again, Curtik. Do not fear. It is a good thing. 
I saw our salvation, my son. We never needed to leave the others. In 
this I was wrong. We must reach our camp tonight. We are about to be 
saved."

Then she whispered to herself the words she had heard in the dream, 
"They are coming."





Chapter Six: The Stirring of Souls

He stood before the wall of falling water that was Henneth Annûn and 
sighed at the utter beauty of it. Faramir had always loved this place, 
even when the darkness of Mordor had pressed in upon it. His father 
had shown it to him as a boy, and as a result, it still held much of 
the magical mystery that children's imaginations conjure in their 
early years. In those days, he had imagined fighting off evil 
sorcerers and dragons from the coveted holds, as he and Boromir would 
clamber in its tunnels endlessly for hours, encouraging the soldiers 
at his father's call to participate in their play. In later years, 
when he had grown and become a soldier himself, he had used it as a 
stealthy place to plan strategies and replenish the energies and 
spirits of his men. And as he grew to far more serious of roles, he 
came to appreciate the outward beauty of this hold for the aesthetic 
of it in hiding its trove. For him, in the end, it held rank as one of 
the fairest abodes in all middle-earth, and he was thusly proud that 
Gondor had prevailed and he had been able to share it with Eowyn. He 
had brought her here shortly after they married, and she readily fell 
in love with the same fervor and awe as he.

Faramir looked to the sky. He considered climbing up the passageway to 
the higher of the two entries in order to appreciate the waxing moon 
better, but he decided this place would suffice for the ethereal 
solitude it offered and the enchantment of its scenery. He was very 
content with the sight before his eyes and in his mind he compared it 
with the sights of Doro Lanthiron. Of course, it could never meet 
those standards, but it was still majestic to his mind.

As he recalled their arrival into the elven realm, he realized that 
all in the party who had not made recent visit gushed their amazement 
at seeing the beauty of that place. There was an aura that let them 
know that they were among the elves. A luster came over everything in 
that valley, and yet the source for the light was hidden, as if 
concocted from a heavenly means. The architecture of the elves' homes 
alone was enough to inspire awe as they were nearly invisible to the 
eye at ground level. Stairs had lead into the higher perches melding 
into clusters of trees, meandering through paths going from branch to 
branch, as if determined by nature's own judgement. Platforms emerged 
at higher points, melting into the structures of the trees, and talans 
were borne into the branches, seemingly floating on air, intertwined 
with the limbs of the trees and tucked into the walls of the valley 
itself. The rails of the spaces were braided vines of wisteria and 
grape and graceful tumbles of flowering clusters perfumed the air. 
Screens of woven lattice closed out the elements to each of the 
skyward rooms, but the serenity and peace of the outdoors was still 
felt, even when all sides were enclosed. This is where they had slept, 
each separately in their own flet within the peace of the treetops. It 
was a memory Faramir would long hold onto, for he had never before 
beheld anything as lovely as what the elves brought to his boyhood 
lands. 

And yet despite the mystical qualities and overwhelming beauty of the 
elves' home, his preference was for this place and he noted with pride 
that those same hushed gasps had occurred when they had arrived here 
as well. It did not hold the aura of Doro Lanthiron, and in ways, it 
was a pale comparison being a somewhat manmade structure, but for 
Faramir, it was a comfortable space, almost like man's attempt to 
imitate what the elves had done, and it brought him peace to think his 
people could carve out something of nature too. And besides, with the 
work of the elves, this place now also seemed enhanced.

He walked forward a few steps down toward the water's edge where there 
sat a large rock. It was actually a boulder near the rapid eddy of 
water that emptied into the pool, but it was large enough and dry 
enough that he had used it on many an occasion as a place for deep 
contemplation. He took a few long strides over smaller stones to reach 
it, then climbed up to its peak and sat down on his perch. 

He looked at the waterfall before him as his mind wandered. He thought 
about the companions he had left behind only moments ago in the cave 
somewhere within that cascade of water. Their place was secure, for he 
saw from his seat no hints of their position within. Assured, he 
smiled to himself. A better gathering of friends he could not ask for, 
and already he was enjoying his time amongst them immensely. Their 
spirits made him laugh, and he found he easily dropped any pretense 
when he was about them. His comfort in their company was so great, in 
fact, that often he had to remind himself that they were answerable to 
each other in their deeds and their duties. He smiled when he thought 
how different their personalities were when they talked of their 
business and their peoples.

He thought about Aragorn, and the friendship he had built there. It 
had been easy to take a part in the new kingdom under this man. He was 
an obvious leader, even if he objected at times to being thrust into 
the role. And although it was Aragorn's birthright, he had taken it 
almost apologetically, as if he had usurped Faramir's place as the 
leader of Gondor. Yet Faramir had never felt forced out. He had never 
expected to be anything higher in rank than the Steward of Gondor, so 
he did not feel slighted at losing his reign. If anything his merit 
had increased under Aragorn and his only regret was that his father 
and brother had had to die for his promotion in rank. But he did not 
blame Aragorn for that, only the evil taint of Mordor's gloom that 
shadowed their home that long while. Even still, Faramir did 
everything he could to prove himself worthy for the King's trust. And 
if that meant traveling to foreign lands, or directing relief from 
quells in warring city-states, or inspecting and recommending remedies 
after natural disaster, then by all means, he would be there. He would 
do nearly anything to maintain the trust the King had placed upon him. 
His father and brother would expect no less of him. And the friendship 
Aragorn had given him was a worthy reward. And as such, he fulfilled 
his duties as well as the King expected, if not even better. And yet, 
for all his love of the man, there was a small rivalry between the two 
of them. Truly was it insignificant, for never would Faramir allow it 
to hinder his role to his friend, the King. Still, like a younger 
sibling, sometimes the Prince had the urge to outshine his friend. 
That had been especially true when the two had talked of the 
magnificent buck they had seen on the ride up. Both were vying for its 
antlered crown as their prize, and Faramir longed for this trophy to 
hang from his walls.

But that was not why Faramir had taken his place on this rock. He was 
there because he was concerned, and for good reason. Something was not 
right with Eowyn. He knew this, though her appearance seemed normal. 
But he had been watching her since their breakfast yesterday morning. 
Her behavior at that meal had struck him as unusual. That she had been 
so forthright with the King was not unique. There had been many a 
dinner in the halls of his own home that had gone like the 
conversation at breakfast. So many, in fact, that there had been 
several nights when he had sat quietly listening as Aragorn and Eowyn 
debated state issues, unaware that Faramir had scarce said a word. But 
the Prince did not mind. Eowyn was sharp and her keen mind easily 
grasped nuances of politics, some that even he did not perceive. He 
knew that at yesterday's breakfast, she had been showing off her 
knowledge. That was plain to see, and amusing to him as well. But what 
troubled Faramir was her sudden panic at the thought of his departure. 
That bit of news had astounded her, and her fears in turn astonished 
him. It was not like her to argue against a part of his job post. She 
would never knowingly stand in the way of his progress. Yet she had 
begged that he not be sent away. Why? He understood her well, and he 
knew something was amiss. And so, he had been watching her carefully 
since.

It would have been easy had he been able to confront her directly with 
his queries. But Eowyn would not have taken that well and would have 
probably brushed him aside in a scolding tone. It riled her to have 
her motivations questioned, and she often took it with offense. And 
Eowyn, when her temper was riled, was as calming as a kettledrum. She 
invariably took a reactionary stance if charges were laid before her 
and the duel of words that could follow was not always pleasant. In 
the aftermath of her ire, she always showed regret, but her temper at 
first was nearly always blind to the damage it caused. For his part, 
Faramir made a concerted effort to avoid direct confrontations with 
his wife. Not because he feared her wrath (he was about the only one 
who could well hold his ground against her), but because he understood 
her. He knew why she reacted the way she did. She was a perfectionist. 
She strove each day to better herself over what she had been on the 
prior. He had found long ago that it was really very unnecessary to 
point out a flaw or a concern of her own make. She was her own worst 
critic, and silently berated herself for any mistakes she made long 
before anyone could dare comment on them. Needless to say, Eowyn 
rarely made the same mistake twice. He already knew she had most 
likely endured a mental flogging for the embarrassment she had caused 
them before the King. He knew he need not broach it. But that did 
nothing to ease his concerns or make her more readily available to 
question.

She had been reticent on their journey, and perhaps even before that, 
he now recalled. He had caught her at unawares several times since, a 
troubled expression gracing her brow, and he knew Arwen had seen it 
too. The elven Queen, in her observation, had glanced to Faramir to 
acknowledge that he was aware. No words had they spoken, but he knew 
that if he could not reveal the wrongs soon, he and Arwen would be 
conversing for the sake of his wife.

Eowyn's behavior, in some ways, reminded him of how she acted when she 
was angry with him. But what he could have done to anger her was 
beyond his comprehension. Still her actions were fitting. After twelve 
years of marriage, he had come to see that Eowyn really had two ways 
of getting to her points when vexed. One was as he had previously 
noted: with the driven force of confronting anger. And the other was 
with a far more dangerous weapon: subtlety. When her anger took this 
route, he could almost always count on her to be indirect, smoldering, 
uncertain and dreadful for that, for it could take months to wheedle 
from her the wrongs of her perceptions. Often she would hint or strike 
quiet moods, but rarely did she outright express her thoughts. 

If she was flawed, it was in this way, and he mused that though a 
perfectionist in trait, she had never been able to remedy this in 
herself. He wondered if she even recognized her quick temper and 
brooding moodiness as a mar in her personality. Most likely not, he 
decided. It was infuriating really. He did not understand, but somehow 
this was her way of dealing with her feelings. It seemed silly to him, 
really, for after months of repressed fury, she would cry out all her 
misgivings, and in return he would grope with trying to understand her 
scorn, and then they would reveal to each other their true intentions 
in the faulted actions. And then, after both had said their part, they 
would forgive. He knew it was a strange way to argue, to share their 
emotions, to bare their scorns, but this is what worked for them. For 
her. It might have been better, he thought, if there was a way to 
temper Eowyn's approach, to make it more direct, for in his mind all 
she need do was tell him, with kindly words, what moved her at the 
start. He would have complied. It was easy to give in when it was 
something minor, which it usually was. But this was the pattern of 
their marriage. 

There were days when he wished that they could quietly pass their 
concerns back and forth, without the heat of argument, more as it 
seemed done between Aragorn and Arwen. A tamer relationship at times 
would be refreshing, Faramir thought. But then again, he perceived 
trouble there as well, and he knew one should not judge from the 
surface what one does not fully see. The relationship between Aragorn 
and Arwen was not what he had married.

He had known what she was like, fiery and passionate, when he had 
asked her to be his wife. Standing at the wall at the warden's house 
those many years ago, he had seen Eowyn's spirit, and he knew exactly 
what life with her would be like. Challenging and perfecting, and 
never, ever dull. 

But then, had they a different course for her anger, a different means 
of expressing her disapproval, they would have to forsake the 
forgiving afterward that was part of their ritual. And for Faramir, 
that in itself was a sweetness that made all that they endured 
worthwhile! He thought back on their last serious row, almost two 
months past. It had been an issue that he could barely remember. But 
the unbridled passion that came with her wrath on that night had been 
indefatigable. He smiled. Their rare lovemaking session afterwards had 
gone on all night. To Faramir's sly mind, the feasting she had taken 
of his body was evidence of more than just anger repressed, for it had 
been long since their expressions of love had been done with such 
sensual abandon. She had desired his touch as much as he desired hers. 
In the morning, she had apologized, as if she were ashamed of her 
actions. He laughed. How could she feel bad over something that felt 
so intimately right? But he said nothing of this and only kissed her 
as he had not kissed her in many long years. She melted into it, as 
she had the night before, and for a few weeks after, all had been 
blissfully well between them. 

Yet still, if her current mood was caused from anger, he could not 
understand why she had spoken out. She never before had objected to 
his leaving on matter of duty. He could not establish a reason for her 
scorn.

He gave up. He did not understand her motivations. He would have to 
wait and see how it resolved itself. Doubtless Eowyn would eventually 
tell him.

He rose from the rock. It was time to return to their party. Turning, 
he gasped at the unexpected sight of Eowyn as she emerged seemingly 
from nowhere, appearing through the doorway he himself had come 
through only minutes before. Hearing his stifled cry, she smiled 
gently at him, knowing automatically that he would be there on the 
rock. "Forgive me," she smiled, and he caught his breath at how lovely 
she appeared under the starlight canopy. "I did not mean to startle. I 
only sought to reflect on the beauty of this place. I thought I might 
share the moonlight with you."

"There is plenty to behold," he said gesturing to the pale white orb 
climbing above them over the falls. "What tales can you bring me of 
our friends in my absence?" he asked, reaching out a hand to help her 
as she came to sit with him on the stone.

She laughed aloud, "They still talk of weapons. Gimli…" she began with 
a laugh. "I swear, Faramir, as a shield-maiden in my younger days, I 
was familiarized with nearly every make of weapon and its use, and I 
fair say I know well how to wield most. But in all my learning I have 
yet to come across a weapon such as that that Gimli carries today."

Faramir laughed. "I believe it is called a halberd," he said.

She looked quizzically at him for this answer as she asked, "And what 
will he do with it?"

Faramir laughed openly in answer, "I have not the slightest idea."

Eowyn smiled softly, chuckling in memory of the dwarf's defense of the 
weapon, but it was brief and she looked away as if distracted. Faramir 
allowed the moment to progress on its own, and he watched as her mood 
quickly grew somber. Looking at the water as it poured down from the 
mossy cliffs, she sighed, "I am glad we have this moment to speak. I 
have to apologize to you."

Faramir was startled. It was rare indeed for Eowyn to apologize, and 
he wondered if she were about to venture into the topic that had been 
only now playing on his mind. He considered what he might say in 
answer to this, and he decided that nothing might be best. Yet to 
acknowledge that he was attentive to her words, he took her hand.

She went on and she looked terribly troubled at the words that began 
to tumble from her lips. "Yesterday morning… I overstepped my bounds. 
I should not have spoken in your place. It was not asked of me, and it 
– it was wrong. I know not why I said it, accept that…" She stopped 
and collected herself. "I apologize to you, my husband," she said, 
looking him in the eyes. Hers were pools of liquid and within their 
depth he knew the greatness of her sorrow. So unusual for her. "I know 
not what else to say."

"Eowyn," he whispered, utterly moved by her sadness. This was not 
typical, and again in his heart, he knew something was seriously 
wrong. He took her other hand in his as he said softly, "My love, it 
is plain to me that something aches in your heart. Please tell me what 
troubles you?"

She looked down, hiding her face from him, but he caught a glimpse of 
a grimace slide over her mouth before her expression was hidden in 
shadow. The sound of a small sob revealed to him her tears. He pulled 
her close to him, and tucked her head into the crook of his neck as he 
gently stroked her hair. Stirring in his arms, he loosened his hold 
and allowed her to bring her face up to meet his. And then she softly 
spoke. "I am with child."

"Oh, Eowyn…" he said, unsure of what else he could say. From her 
reaction he could tell she was not pleased, but he was uncertain if 
this was wholly a bad event, and waited for more of a clue from her to 
know what he ought to say.

A long moment passed without words, and as if judging him by this, her 
temper flared. "No," she spoke sharply, pushing him away. Her back 
stiffened in her anger. "You do not see it!" Shaking her head at his 
failure, she stood in retreat, stepping back across to the shore. She 
turned and said, "I cannot bare this child! Do you not understand what 
we have done? I will die!"

"Eowyn," he began again, knowing more rightly what was expected from 
him, "what happened with Theomund – that may well never repeat. The 
healers told us you could bare children again. They said your body was 
not seriously damaged. There is no reason to believe…"

"There is no reason for you to believe. It did not happen to you! How 
can you wait to see if I feel joy over this horror? I nearly died that 
day, and the weeks that followed were a nightmare. Surely you have not 
forgotten?"

He stepped up to her, and resisting her steely stare, he put his arms 
about her and pulled her into him. She did not fight him. The 
sorrowful look in her eyes drew a lump in his chest, and he found his 
throat constricting as he whispered in her ear, "I have forgotten none 
of it. How could I? I nearly lost you." He pulled her head into his 
chest as he continued. "But Eowyn, what choice is there? You are with 
child…" He heard her sobbing into his breast and he stopped. He knew 
this was pointless. Pausing a moment, he thought on what might be said 
to make her feel more empowered. At last he said with a sterner voice 
and firm optimism, "We will seek out the best of healers. It is within 
my powers to do so. We will make sure you are carefully tended. You 
will remain well. We will see to it that the nightmare is not 
repeated." 

She said nothing for a long while and then she spoke. It was barely a 
whisper. "There is another way," he heard her say. Looking down on 
her, she lifted her head. Her lashes were clustered into wet points 
and her cheeks were stained with tears. Her mouth was creased into the 
thin line of a frown as she repeated her words, "There is another way, 
though I fear you will loathe me for even uttering the possibility."

"What way? You are with child. There is no undoing such a thing," he 
said in puzzlement.

"But there is, my love," she replied forlornly. She looked down in 
shame as she said, "There is always a way to undo these things, if a 
woman is willing to let it be done to her. There are places one might 
go, healers who will administer it. I could have the child removed 
from my womb." 

Astonished at what he was hearing from her, he replied in horror, 
"Eowyn, no! You cannot!" He knew of such places, such healers. He 
could not think of it. He could not see Eowyn ever deeming to have her 
body violated in that way. 

Her face screwed up into an anguished expression. Her answer was a 
whispered cry. "Faramir, I will die if I carry it. I feel certain of 
this." Then she paused and she looked at him, but no more tears came 
from her, and she seemed more resigned to her fears for confessing 
them. She sighed, "You would hate me if I end it, I can see."

"No! No, I could never hate you! But– but, how? How can you even think 
this way…" tears glistened in his eyes as his breaking voice trailed 
off. 

She touched his face in a comforting gesture as she explained, "Nor 
would I have ever have considered it before. I love you, Faramir. I 
love our children. I would never wish to see harm on any of you. But I 
feel this shadow will cast a pall upon our family." She turned his 
face to hers as she cried out, "I am afraid! I am not ready to die! I 
have so much I wish to see and do…but this baby threatens all of our 
futures, and I am torn by it. I would want this child, Faramir. I do 
not want to destroy it and I agonize over losing a life before it is 
even born. But I would do it to protect our family. I should not see 
us harmed by it."

He grabbed her shoulders into a fierce embrace as his words spilled 
out. "But this way… Eowyn, I would fear for you! What you suggest – it 
could kill you! Is there no other way that you will consider? Please, 
my darling, I would rather we take our chances with the healers than 
this route that you offer!"

"I do not know yet my answer. A part of me agrees. And a part of me 
quakes in fear. This baby is a terrible grievance on my soul. But at 
least do me this: concede to me that it I am the one who bares the 
brunt of this decision. I beg you, Faramir, do not scorn me," she said 
with pleading eyes. "To make the choice, it is not an easy thing, but 
please allow me to do it. I will not choose without consulting you in 
my decision." She stopped as she gazed at his reaction before she 
spoke with calm resolve. She bowed her head to him as she said, "But 
if it will cost me your love, I will do as you wish. We will face the 
consequences laid before us, no matter what they be."

He looked at her long. He knew this could not be easy for her. He saw 
all too well how she loved her children. And his feelings for her were 
the same, despite his shock at her proposal. "I love you, Eowyn. I 
only wish to see your happiness." He could see her pain. He stopped 
and he thought carefully before he said, "I – I will trust you to 
choose."

Embracing him firmly in affirmation of his trust, she said, "I will 
ponder long on this, my love. I will not decide anything until I have 
considered all the possibilities, I promise."

Resting his chin on the crown of her head, he let his lips brush a 
kiss along her hair as a salted tear alit to it. He rested his cheek 
there as if to comfort, effectively concealing the trail of the 
droplet's path.

****

Kattica stretched her aching back as she stood. The extra weight that 
she carried seemed to plague her most as the day came to an end and 
the toils of her labors set into her bones. She rubbed her swollen 
belly absently as she resumed her wide-legged stance and began to move 
about the camp, collecting the empty tins, utensils and enamelware to 
begin the clean up that followed their meal. They were a large group, 
over twenty among them of mature age, and another eight young ones in 
the gathering. There were many plates to collect and clean. The other 
women followed her lead.

A small flutter stirred in her womb and she stopped for a moment to 
appreciate the feeling. Sighing with joy, a smile pressed her lips as 
she moved her hand to the place where the motion was felt. A larger 
hand joined hers, and she looked up to the sweet expression of 
Mattias, her husband. Her voice was assured and happy as she said to 
him, "Our daughter has hiccups."

He patiently waited, a look of mixed awe and anticipation gracing his 
face. He laughed as he felt a repeat of the fluttered movement from 
within her belly and he kept his hand in place there for a long moment 
before he pulled it away. "It will not be much longer now, will it?" 
he asked. 

She laughed, "A little more still. But surely before the weather grows 
cooler."

Then lifting her hand briefly, he squeezed it gently as if exchanging 
his appreciation to her before he departed to make company with the 
men. She could see in his eyes that he was very happy. And so was she, 
for at last their greatest desire was before them. A baby. They had 
tried so many times before, always with heartbreaking anguish. But 
this time, they were blessed, and Kattica's womb had accepted the egg 
that implanted itself there. It was a joyous day when they had felt 
the first stirrings of life within her, and Kattica relished each 
repeat of that discovery as if it were the first. 

Such happiness! Kattica had never thought this much bliss could be 
found. Certainly her life had not been meant for the extravagance of 
joy. And yet here she was – the orphaned child of a remote and 
impoverished clan, scarred and crippled in early life, raised by a 
grandmother who died before she had come of age – and she was happy. 
And she knew she owed it all to finding her one true love. Had Mattias 
not revealed himself to her at the clan gathering five years past, she 
may still be crisscrossing the plains in a broken down vardo and a 
sickly horse with the other pitiable cousins that made up her family. 
It had not been a happy life there – hunger and thievery, constant 
moving, long days of grueling indentured work to pay off their debts. 
But worst of it were the nights and the dread of a wayward uncle who 
might climb into her pallet and force his wicked body on hers. 
Happily, Kattica had given that all up when she had given herself to 
Mattias.

Of course, there was a price for such tradeoffs. Bregus had not been 
kind in her assessment of her new daughter-in-law and the puri dai had 
openly accused Kattica of bewitching her son. With shock, Kattica 
swore it untrue. She was believed, but it had not been a good start at 
her immersion into the clan. Yet despite her innocence, Bregus held 
the girl in abeyance and scorn. It would not be an easy relationship. 
Kattica had been raised by the shuv'ni for her own tribe, so it was 
expected that she would continue her apprenticeship under Bregus. But 
the black witch gave Kattica little in the way of instruction, and it 
was innate talent and prior learning that gave the young woman any 
skills she acquired. For her part, Kattica did not really mind that 
Bregus ignored her. Kattica had been taught by her grandmother that 
black magic was evil and corrupting. She was happy she was not forced 
to perform it for the sake of the tribe.

Bregus had been equally as cruel when it came to Kattica's appearance, 
though to some, the girl might actually be pretty. With dirty blond 
hair, and piercing brown eyes, she was fetching to behold at the 
campfire, and that is where Mattias first set eyes upon her. But her 
smile was flawed. The scar that disfigured her face became visible 
when a glimmer of a smile was there, snaking its way across her mouth. 
It was a wicked slash that ran from her nostril to the base of her 
chin, and it left her with a grin that looked lopsided and strange. 
Because of it, Kattica rarely smiled. Except for now. Now more than 
ever. 

But there was a flaw far greater that Bregus used to torment the girl: 
her gait. Kattica was crippled. It was a small deformity really, one 
leg slightly longer than the other. It had been the result of the same 
incident that had given Kattica the scar. Simultaneously, it had cost 
her the life of her parents, and the very near use of both her legs. 
More painfully, however, it had been the cause of the young 
apprentice's numerous miscarriages. Bregus quietly enjoyed seeing 
Kattica's pain at the mention of this flaw, and she berated the girl 
for being the instrument for her own bad fortune. 

Kattica shook her head, chasing away the bad thoughts. They served her 
no good. No one else seemed to notice the ill-feelings of the elder 
shuv'ni, and the girl did not want to disturb her good mood with 
thoughts on something so bad.

Stacking the dirty plates in the wash basin, she ambled to the fire to 
check on the water slowly simmering there. No steam rose yet, and she 
felt impatience at the wait. Uttering a small spell under her breath, 
the fire grew larger, licking the sides of the pot. She sat down on a 
log as she waited for the water to heat. There was plenty of it to be 
had in this place. And because she need not fear lack of it, she 
considered, perhaps, she might warm some for herself and use it to 
bathe. She had not had that luxury in their travels prior to arriving 
in this place. Not for a very long time, but she had been taking 
advantage of the abundance since their arrival.

This place is lovely, she thought as she smelled the scent of pine 
needles laying like a carpet over the forest floor. Kattica could have 
easily seen herself and Mattias and their unborn child settling into 
this region for a long stay. It was the nature of her people to be 
wanderers, but that did not mean they could not linger when they found 
a place that suited their needs. They lived off what the earth made 
bountiful to them, and this place was certainly plentiful in her 
wealth. But Kattica knew Bregus was in search of something unknown to 
them all. She had set out with Gordash and Curtik a week ago, 
separating from the clan in search of a thing that Kattica could not 
guess at. In her absence, as instructed, their caravan had settled 
here, and the young woman could not remember more peaceful days within 
the clan. 

She heard the sound of dogs barking and stiffened. It is them. They 
are back. An uneasy feeling washed over her. Bregus is back.

Kattica felt a dread weight pull down on her shoulders. All the 
happiness she had been feeling was suddenly gone. They would not find 
contentment in this place because Bregus would not allow it. Whatever 
it was that she was searching for overrode everything else that the 
family could desire. They would again be off in pursuit of some 
nameless thing that she shared only with the men. No doubt they were 
sure to be headed to a place less hospitable, where the land was not 
so forthcoming. There was no consideration for where best they might 
settle, only a mysterious obsession that haunted the old woman and led 
them on this chase.

Her people came with a reputation. They were not often welcomed in new 
lands. There were many tribes that got by stealing or cheating from 
the locals, doing what they could to eke out a means for survival. Her 
former tribe had been like that. The girl did not like being reviled. 
And she knew if they continued on the haphazard path Bregus was 
leading them on, that was sure to come for this clan as well. 

It seemed strange to Kattica that no one ever questioned the word of 
the puri dai or dared try to fight her. While Bregus was the tribe 
matriarch, the men still held claim as the leaders. And Mattias most 
of all, as he was the eldest of the brothers. Their word was the last 
to be said on any issue regarding the well-being for their people, and 
yet Bregus seemed to rule their every move. Kattica was uncertain how 
she did it, but she felt sorcery of some dark sort was at play. Any 
magic that manipulated souls was black, and Bregus was a master of her 
dark power. But why she would need to cast magic over her own family, 
Kattica was unsure. One thing was certain, Bregus' words had little 
sway over her. Perhaps it was her own white magic that protected her, 
or the simple amulet that she carried in her pouch. Or perhaps it was 
because Bregus found little of challenge in the girl. This last was 
probably most true. While Kattica saw through the mask of the puri 
dai, she would never speak out or act against her. Spell or no spell, 
it was not proper to question the elder, and unless she wanted to be 
cast out for insolence, Kattica knew what her place was. And in her 
own mind and judgement, Bregus' deeds, while manipulative and dark, 
appeared done with no intent to do harm to others, at least as far as 
she could see. Kattica knew she could tolerate that. So long as she 
and her family were safe, so long as others were not harmed, she could 
live with the black magic. For really, she had little choice.

Involuntarily she flinched at the sound of the dogs. They barked and 
yelped in greeting as they entered the camp. The wagon pulled up near 
the bender tent she shared with Mattias. They would be hungry, she 
knew, and she stirred herself away from the steaming pot to gather 
plates and dish out the remains of the evening meal. She watched from 
the corner of her eye as Mattias approached the vardo.

In his delight, he pulled his two brothers down and into his arms, 
showing off his strength as he hauled them both off the ground in the 
embrace. "Tell me you were successful! Tell me our worries are over!" 
he said with a fierce grin on his lips. They smiled at his 
good-natured welcome, but his exuberance was not returned. Without 
words he read their failure. "I am sorry," he muttered, placing a hand 
on each shoulder in condolence. Then he changed the subject. "How is 
she?"

"See for yourself," Curtik nodded toward the back of the wagon as a 
foot stepped over the intricately carved and painted threshold and 
onto the platform. Mattias stepped quickly to aid his mother, then 
drew back as if he realized he need not.

"Welcome, Mother! I am pleased to see your return," he said as he 
gazed at her more upright posture. Kattica looked past him as she saw 
his questioning eyes. There was a difference in Bregus' appearance, 
though what exactly it was she could not lay claim to know. The old 
woman seemed less stooped, and her movements seemed lighter, quicker. 
But there was something more and the girl wondered what had caused the 
transformation. "You look well, Mother. I trust your journey met with 
some success at least?"

Bregus reached out to touch him. A gentle hand rested on his shoulder, 
balancing her last steps before she landed safely on solid earth. 
Kattica scowled as she saw this. The manipulative skills of the old 
woman did not allude her. She used sympathy from her sons and the rest 
of the extended family to gain her wants. Her expression was sad, and 
the effect to Mattias was immediate in his eagerness to bring her a 
smile. Kattica heard the shuv'ni speak, and the words came out coarse 
and menacing to the girl's ears. But she knew Bregus must have renewed 
her spell over the tribe, for the young woman also heard the voice 
sound pitiable in sweet sadness, "No, my son, it did not, and my fears 
for us grow greater by the day. If my tasks are not completed in the 
next few days, our family will suffer for it. In their wisdom, Gordash 
and Curtik have returned us to enlist the help of all the family. I 
hope it will suffice."

Mattias answered sympathetically, "Of course we will do everything in 
our power to bring you what you need. How may we serve you?" More of 
the men in the camp came to gather around and the blur of words that 
came next alluded her comprehension. Talk amongst them ensued and 
their voices became whispered and stern.

Kattica busied herself, silently bringing the three travelers their 
food and drink, keeping her eyes cast down as if oblivious to what 
they said. The discussions grew louder, with talk about salvation. She 
did not understand their mumblings, only that they seemed unfocused as 
yet, like they were passing a rumor. It was not her place to see or 
speak before them. She had no rights in tribal decisions. Yet she 
could not break away from their grouping. There was something new 
about Bregus that mystified her, and she desired to know what it was. 
She was caught off guard by the unflinching gaze Bregus bestowed on 
her eldest son. Kattica was astonished at the depth of emotion shown 
in that look, almost as if the elder were memorizing his face and 
gestures. And then she broke her glance and stared directly at 
Kattica. The girl looked away, but too late. She had already caught 
the tribal witch's eye. 

"You! Girl! Go into my wagon and bring my drum. I need it now," she 
said to Kattica in her part-scornful, part-loving voice. Kattica shook 
her head, trying to break the double emotions conveyed in the words. 
Bregus was conjuring black magic, and the girl could feel the fringes 
of it touching her. But she obeyed as was expected and she hauled 
herself into the carriage.

Heavy aromas of incense and herb hung about the vardo. The confines of 
the space were dark, and her eyes were unadjusted to the light, but 
she felt her way across to where she knew the drum would be, hanging 
from a peg where it always was. Lifting it down, she could see the 
beauty of the instrument, decorated finely with intricate paint work 
and streaming beads. Turning about to leave, she spun into the table, 
brushing her hand lightly over the surface to balance herself. A 
scattering of dried flowers and herbs covered its top, a gauze sheet 
underneath it, as if used in the gathering of the plants from Bregus' 
stores. She looked carefully at the flowers as her eyes adjusted to 
the darkness. There were poppy heads, yarrow, fennel, dried clover 
blossoms along with valerian root and skullcap. A length of passion 
flower vine was coiled in the dusty fray of leaves, and dogwood 
branches laden with berries added color to the mix. There were a few 
other herbs that stood out and Kattica was troubled that she could not 
discern them. She sniffed at their sharp and pungent aromas to find a 
clue to their identities, but she did not know them. Many of these 
plants had the power to bring on sleep, and to do other things as 
well, but she wondered at what they would do if used in combination, 
and by what means they were meant to be diffused. She dared not ponder 
these thoughts any longer, for she knew Bregus would not like her to 
linger in the vardo. Kattica picked up the drum and carried it to the 
curtained door.

The girl was nearly knocked off her feet as a flutter of wings beat 
against her as she drew the curtain open in order to step out. The 
great owl bowled past her and into the vardo, sweeping directly up to 
its perch without pause. Its sudden appearance was startling.

Shaking off the fear she had felt at what had seemed like an attack, 
she looked down to see Bregus standing at the rear steps, waiting. 
Kattica was pleased she had not lingered longer, for she would not 
have enjoyed the elders berating. Instead, Bregus brusquely took the 
instrument from the girl's hand and readily strode away with lively 
steps to the edge of the camp. No one seemed to notice or watch as the 
old woman walked away, but Kattica gazed intently, uncertain as to 
what the elder was doing. Closing her eyes and spinning herself to 
face each of the navigational directions before facing north, the old 
woman squatted to the ground. She began to chant softly to herself as 
a soft tapping beat was picked up on the drum. Three beats, then two 
and then another two beats were the repetition that began to drone 
through the camp. After a minute or two of the continuous rhythm, the 
elder stood up and slowly stepped, shuffling her feet as she went, 
marking the circular perimeter of the camp in a counterclockwise 
direction, always beating the drum as she went. She stopped at four 
other points, each time again facing north, east, south, and west and 
chanting and squatting before moving on. She is making a pentacle, 
Kattica told herself. Why?

But no one paid the old woman any heed, and the girl wondered if the 
others of the camp were already under some kind of enchantment. She 
glanced about, but all things seemed as they should, and she wondered 
if she should resume normality herself. There did not appear to be any 
foul play at work. 

When the shuv'ni was done with her ritual, she stood again at the 
northern point and called out words into the heavens. Kattica did not 
recognize them, and she worried for what was being asked, but then the 
elder stepped into the circle of the camp and she knew the spell was 
already at work. Slowly, the old woman walked to each adult member of 
the tribe and touched them, sometimes pausing to say more unknown 
words, and sometimes only moving on after the contact. Each person in 
turn seemed oblivious to her wanderings and words, and went on as if 
this were a normal thing, pausing a moment with each touch, as if lost 
in thought, and then resuming their prior activity, even engaging her 
at times in their conversations. But Bregus did not pause. She was 
determined to make contact with everyone, and thus made her way 
through the camp like this. And when she had seen every adult or 
nearly grown child, she stopped.

She had touched everyone, everyone but Kattica, and now she was 
smiling at the girl from across the camp, muttering more words to 
herself. Kattica felt as if she were a trapped animal as she glanced 
about, hoping to see that someone might notice. Unfortunately, she, 
too, seemed to be an ignored entity within the camp. She decided to 
use this to her advantage and used the opportunity to speak to the 
witch. Quietly at first, as if she were testing the ground, she found 
her voice. 

"What is this you are doing, Bregus?" Kattica softly uttered. The 
elder drew nearer and the girl knew she had heard.

"So you can see my actions? The others cannot. No matter, though. I am 
only seeking out help," the old woman said as she continued to move 
forward. Her voice was still a strange cacophony of lightness and 
darkness, but the girl ignored the sound of it. 

Kattica realized Bregus had her hand out, as if she were intent to 
touch the girl, and she stepped back a few steps. The shuv'ni smiled 
to the girl's movement as Kattica again spoke. Her voice remained 
neutral as she asked. "What help do you seek from me?" Bregus was mere 
meters away.

"Only the aid of an apprentice, as it should be. You will deny me?" 
the woman asked in her multiple voices, her smile remaining fixed as 
she continued her slow steps toward the girl.

Kattica did not fear Bregus. She knew, despite the quickened steps, 
that she could outrun the old woman and break the hold the elder 
placed toward her by simply stepping out of the circle of the camp. 
But she was curious as to what the elder wanted of her, so she 
continued questioning as she evaded the other's touch. "I have been 
your apprentice since I came to this clan. You have never wanted my 
help before. Why do you need me now?"

"The time is drawing near. I need everyone's help to do what I must do 
… and their innocence. Too much information will not benefit you. You 
must trust that I only want your aid."

Kattica laughed. Her voice grew more assertive as the elder's 
movements came quicker. "You have enslaved your family. Why would I 
simply trust you when you cast such dark magic. You want more than 
innocence and aid, Bregus. It is time to share with me what it is that 
you seek out. For what does the time draw nigh?"

The shuv'ni's eyes momentarily lingered to the girl's belly. They 
betrayed her thoughts. The glance was brief, but steeped in greed. 
Kattica's eyes flashed in horror. Nostrils flared as she gasped out 
her surprise. Protectively, Kattica's hand went to her protruding 
abdomen to protect the unborn child resting there. She backed away 
further. The old woman wanted her baby!

Instinctively, Kattica began uttering a protective incantation her 
grandmother had taught her. She reached into her putsi to tug at the 
amulet that rested there. But as she did, a hand reached around and 
pulled it away, effectively flinging the small pendant into the brush 
outside the encampment. Her eyes could not follow where it had gone. 
She was flung around by the one who had disrupted her spell and her 
eyes raced up to see the face of her betrayer. It was Mattias! He 
grabbed her wrist in a painful hold, and she cried at the pain, but 
his eyes showed no evidence of his sight of her. He was blank. And 
then the girl realized for the first time just how terrible her plight 
had become. She cursed herself for not fleeing sooner as she struggled 
and prayed for a way to awaken her husband. Bregus had cast a spell of 
dark horror, and the girl feared for how evil it would become. Yelling 
out to Mattias, she tried to pull away. But his grip was too strong. 
She looked over her shoulder to cry out for help, though she knew it 
was useless. No one saw or heard her. She saw the outstretched hand of 
the puri dai drawing near. Too near. Bregus was going to touch her, 
and then something horrible would happen. Something. What? She needed 
to flee. Now! Now!

"NO!" she screamed as she again tried to run. Flailing in terror, she 
shrieked out, pulling and prying at her husband's grip. Frantic now, 
she was fighting him with every ounce of her strength. She kicked and 
scratched and tore, crying raggedly through it all, "Mattias, please!" 
But his grip was too strong. "NO! NO!" she wailed into his unseeing 
face. 

And then she felt the witch's cold fingers touch her shoulder, and 
everything changed.





Chapter Seven: Encounters in the Wood

The buck raised its head to the sound of a snapping twig. All but its 
ears froze as they twitched and flicked, pivoting in their radius to 
find the source of the noise. It froze in its stance like this, almost 
becoming invisible in its pausing gesture. And then dismissing the 
sound as no evidence of further movement could be found, the graceful 
creature bowed its head again to mix its form into the long grass of 
the meadow about it. White moths flitted about the grasses adding to 
the masquerade of the deer's hidden place as it grazed.

The hunter waited patiently, kneeling in the brush at the edge of the 
forest, his bow made ready with a notched arrow resting against the 
riser. His partner at his side looked equally as poised. They quietly 
sat in anticipation as the great buck drew slowly closer. 
Unsuspecting, the handsome animal did not see their forms, camouflaged 
within the darker shadows of the wood.

The forest about them was lush and unspoiled. A smattering of oxalis 
and ferns littered the forest floor near them, standing out in harsh 
contrast to the rusty red carpet of pine needles. Mosses and trilium 
crept along the bases of the thick pines, their colors almost 
iridescent in the cool shade of the trees. Round burls sprouted from 
the trunks of the larger conifers with shoots of small saplings rising 
from the mounds. Mighty roots crisscrossed the ground in complex 
patterns as downed branches created blockades along the varied terrain 
of the deer trails. Streams of light filtered through the branches on 
the immensely high ceiling, and a mist of light fog descended away 
into the limbs like the steam off a teacup. The echo of bird calls and 
insect stirrings rattled within the cavernous walls of the forest 
space, and every noise seemed amplified by the density of the overhead 
bramble. 

The buck's head once again shot up, glancing in the direction of the 
two hunters. Its ears twitched again wildly as its body stood taut 
while its nose sniffed the air. And then purposefully, the animal 
turned away from the clearing, leading its body in the direction 
opposite of the men. The antlers crowning its magnificent head meshed 
quickly into the surroundings, and in an instant, the creature was 
gone from all sight. 

The two men stood up as their quarry fled, grimacing at the loss of a 
prize so handsome. Four points on each rack this one stood. It was not 
the buck they had sought out, but it was still a nice consolation 
prize if their efforts didn't pay off on this trip. But now, to their 
chagrin, even the consolation prize had disappeared. 

In the pathways behind them they heard voices and quick heavy steps 
approaching. To their human senses the noise only now reached their 
ears, though the buck had heard their sound much sooner, and was 
hearkened away by it. 

Aragorn turned to face the disturbance that was elf and dwarf. At his 
side, Faramir frowned as he shook his head in disbelief. Aragorn 
concurred with a grunting sigh. This was the third time that the 
unlikely pair had chased away their catch, and although they looked 
innocent, the former Ranger was beginning to think that their actions 
were intentional. All of his arguments of the night before about their 
hunting together in group were gone and he wished for all his soul at 
that moment that they had agreed to split apart. The thought presented 
itself to desert these two and leave them to their wiles in the wood, 
but Aragorn was certain that they were out to spoil the kill and 
Legolas was an excellent tracker. Even separated, no doubt did he have 
that the elf and dwarf would find a way to disrupt their hunt. The 
King was beginning to regret bringing these two along at all.

But angry though he was, he could not repress a smile that was 
creeping along his face at the sound of their argument. They were up 
to their usual antics. This time the discussion settled on the halberd 
that Gimli carried.

"It is a useless weapon for hunting," he heard Legolas answer a 
previously unheard response.

"It is not if you hunt in the ways of a dwarf," Gimli retorted.

"It is a strange pairing indeed when the weapon is nearly twice the 
stature of its wielder. You look rather odd with it, Gimli, as if 
either your axe has grown or your body has shrunk. That is truly a sad 
statement, as you can hardly afford to get shorter," Legolas chuckled.

"You have no respect for dwarven ingenuity," Gimli grumbled.

Legolas continued to vex the dwarf as his laughter grew, "Very well, 
tell me then. How is it that you would use this weapon? No, wait! Do 
not say. Allow me to guess," he said holding up his hand in thought. 
"Ah, I know! I know!" Then in his amusement he laughed and began a 
pantomime out his thoughts. In mock seriousness, he said, lowering his 
voice dramatically as if telling a wondrous tale, "The Great Hunter, 
Gimli, Master of the Glittering Caves, steps out of his earthen hollow 
as the light of day emerges across the horizon. Refreshed and ready to 
show the world the prowess of his hunting technique, he steps forward 
into the forest. Stealthfully, he works his way through the wood, 
working to creep up on the animal that dwells there. As he makes his 
way about, he takes extreme caution to conceal the ever-present 
plodding of his heavy feet. He is careful hide the sound of his 
breathing as he goes along, for the noise of his normal exhales alone 
sound like the winds off the Redhorn. And then, he sees it! A creature 
stands before him, locked in his sights and caught at its least 
awares. And then, Gimli, The Great Hunter, steps forward, brandishing 
his weapon at his side, showing the animal the mighty force that is 
dwarven armament and ingenuity. Of course, Gimli is knowledgeable in 
what it is that he carries and he knows it will be too much for the 
poor, helpless creature to bear. As predicted, the animal falls before 
Gimli's feet, overcome by the comic apparition of a dwarf and his 
overgrown axe. And while the pitiful animal writhes on the ground, 
struggling in the pain of its laughter, that is when Gimli, The Great 
Hunter, Master of the Glittering Caves, ever-so-mercifully slays it," 
the elf said, snorting to refrain his own laughter. "Is that not it?"

Gimli did not appear to see the humor. In a haughty voice, he said, "I 
will have you know that with a weapon of this sort, the best way to 
hunt is as a team…a concept I'm sure the preoccupied nature of elves 
has prevented you from learning." 

"Apparently you have not noticed that the rest of us hunt with other 
weapons," Legolas said as an aside, smirking as he attempted to 
refrain his mirth. Then he said, "If you should ask me, I think you 
fear being seen with an elven weapon."

Gimli stopped on the spot and placed his hands on his hips as he 
answered, "I fear no such thing!"

"Then why do you carry such a useless instrument?" Legolas asked 
flicking a hand toward the shafted axe. "Are you afraid I will 
critique your use of a weapon that is my choice."

The dwarf's cheeks puffed out as he was about to answer when Aragorn 
piped in. He had been unnoticed by the two up until then, and they had 
not seen his mirth on their behalf. The former Ranger skillfully 
schooled his expression and managed to convey a stern, disapproving 
stare as his voice carried clearly. "MY CHOICE…," he said in a loud 
voice to gain their attention, then he brought it down to a harsh 
whisper to convey the extreme depth of his chagrin, "is to ask the two 
of you to cease your discussion, at least while we are out in the 
wilds. We may as well be wearing bells for all the noise you make. I 
begin to have doubt that either of you have any skill in the hunt. At 
least you have yet to prove it by me. You have managed to chase off 
again the animal Faramir and I were pursuing," he said.

Aragorn watched their expressions at this accusation. Wide-eyed with 
reproach, like a pair of children caught stealing sweets from a 
confectioner they appeared, both endeavoring unsuccessfully to look of 
innocence, but in fact fully guilty of their actions. The corners of 
their mouths tugged at their effort not to laugh, as their eyes tried 
to blink back the amusement within them. It was the dwarf who pulled 
off the more convincing of faces as he said with a breaking voice, "We 
are very sorry, Aragorn. We will try not to make further disturbing 
noises." Immediately he and the elf exchanged glances, and a 
snickering laugh escaped the lips of them both. Gimli clapped a hand 
to his mouth to repress his chuckles, while Legolas spun around, 
hunched over as his shoulders rocked to silent laughter. So much for 
innocence, the Ranger thought.

"Perhaps we should break for a meal," Faramir said in an effort to 
stay his quickening anger. He had been in a distracted mood all 
morning and he did not appear to see the humor in the dwarf's 
rejoinder. 

"We are indeed sorry, gentlemen, for disturbing your pleasures," 
Legolas said with an apologetic expression. "It was not our original 
intent to interfere, as admittedly we have, but I – actually we – are 
having some troubles understanding the concept of why we hunt today. 
We are doing this for sport? Please explain this to me. I thought 
hunting was done for supplying meat to the table, but clearly that is 
not your goal. Or at least I hope it is not. How is killing an 
innocent animal a sport?" Legolas asked as he opened his pack and 
broke out their rations.

Aragorn heard Faramir answer in a resigned voice that relayed the 
depth of his mood. "But we do do it for the sake of eating. At least 
partially. We would not waste what is found. But, yes, in sport, the 
antlers are the object of the hunter's praise and worth. The more 
points the deer has on the rack, the more respected the hunter is who 
has snagged it." 

Legolas and Gimli both snorted lightly and exchanged glances before 
Gimli put forth the words for this logic in elven and dwarven terms. 
"To you perhaps the more respected the catch may be, but for us, the 
tougher the flesh procured. And you would eat this? Hmm. Legolas, I 
did not realize that men's preference in venison was bitter, pungent, 
bootleather."

"Nor I. The elves would choose a younger buck yielding a sweeter meat 
– more tender to the tooth. And so it seems that choice would be the 
preference of dwarves as well. Am I correct? Congratulations then, 
Gimli! My opinion of your people has just surpassed that of men!" 

The dwarf chortled a gruff laugh. 

"Jest away, you two," Aragorn replied, "but I intend to go home with 
that crown for a trophy. I have never seen anything of its like!"

"A trophy it will be, but it will reside in my house," Faramir said to 
the King with solemnity, but smiling lightly for the first time that 
day, "as I intend to be the one to attain it."

"Not if I see it first," answered Aragorn. "That was the largest buck 
I have ever laid eyes on. Its rack was at least a full arms length and 
I could have sworn it was at least a six by five."

"Six," corrected Faramir. "Six by six. And this is why you will fail 
in your attempt to capture that deer. Your eyesight is weakening and 
you cannot see. Your Numenorean blood may be strong, but it does not 
prevent you from growing blind with your age."

"Be kind enough then to respect your elders and allow them the folly 
of their handicaps," Aragorn retorted with a smile.

"You would have me lay down my weapon then? Is that an order, my 
Liege" Faramir asked with a smile dancing in his eyes, "or is it 
simply a request for mercy made by an old man?"

Legolas and Gimli exchanged a glance and simultaneously rolled their 
eyes in annoyance over the foolish posturing in this conversation. It 
had started since they had arrived at Henneth Annûn, and the stag in 
question, sighted along the way, had continued to grow in both stature 
and magnificence as they went further into the wood. Legolas spoke 
out, effectively ending the banter between King and Prince, 
"Gentlemen, while I can understand the desire to revere a creature 
that has lived long, for obviously the knowledge in that one is of 
superior value," he said with smug smile that implied he was speaking 
of something beyond just a deer, "it still does not explain to me why 
you need to kill the buck. Would it not serve its purpose better to be 
left to the wilds? A buck that old is best left to sire. I cannot see 
a reason to kill it unless it is for food, and there is no shortage of 
that in our stores." 

It was Aragorn's turn to attempt a clearer explanation. He said, 
"Perhaps you can understand this then, my friend. Hunting for sport is 
a mortal way of immortalizing a moment. A buck of that age and size is 
rare, and it is a privilege among men to have opportunity to take down 
a creature so extraordinary."

The elf made a face, "But Aragorn, you adorn your home with remnants 
of its body! That is not repulsive to you?"

"And you adorn your body with portions of its hide, for your people 
are well-renowned for their skills in tanning. Your riding gloves and 
quiver straps are made from this material. Is that not repulsive to 
you?" the former Ranger parried.

Legolas sighed, and Aragorn knew that, though the elf was willing to 
concede this point, he still thought it wrong. The king braced 
himself, for he could see that this debate could go on for many long 
hours without conclusion. Elves held no shortage for words, and when a 
topic was passionately embraced by them, they were tenacious in their 
hold on it. The four of them would need to find a solution to this 
problem if they were going to do any kind of worthwhile hunting on 
this trip. For the moment though, Aragorn knew their progress on this 
day had probably come to a halt. 

Suddenly, Legolas stood stiffly, and to Aragorn's mind he looked for 
the moment very much like the buck they had just chased off. In 
natural response, despite the number of years that had passed, Aragorn 
reached his hand for his bow. Again watching Legolas, he saw the elf 
turn his head to listen, his eyes fixed into the branches though the 
King knew he was not really looking there for answer. "What is it?" he 
asked in a whisper.

"I hear voices," Legolas whispered back. "Someone approaches."

With little time to press thought, the four of them separated and took 
cover in different parts about them. Legolas nimbly scrambled up the 
trunk of a course barked pine to perch himself on one of the branches 
far up in the rafters. Gimli found refuge at the base of a fallen 
tree, easily immersing himself in the undercarriage of exposed roots. 
And Aragorn and Faramir hid themselves stealthily in the brush that 
neared the widening trail. As before with the buck, Aragorn silently 
sat in waiting for their visitors to appear, an arrow notched on his 
string.

Within a few moments voices began to echo in the forest green as 
plodding feet stepped along. With his senses keened to their noise, 
the Ranger determined there were four of them. Their heavy footfalls 
told him they were men, though their steps were more furtively placed 
than those of an average human, and this told him they knew well their 
ways in the wild. He could also detect the grunts in their voices that 
informed him that they carried a heavy load.

Apparently unaware of their presence or any danger, the men talked 
readily among themselves in a language Aragorn had trouble placing. He 
heard laughter rise among them before he saw any of their faces, but 
once seeing who they were, he revised his perception. Not four men 
were they, but two men and two boys. Or at least two young men would 
he call them, for the two youngest amongst them were barely more than 
that. And the burden he thought they hauled was more so as well. Two 
young, field-dressed bucks they transported spitted over two heavy 
rods across their shoulders. Although it was not a priority, in the 
back of Aragorn's mind he rejoiced that they did not haul the buck he 
and Faramir sought.

He considered letting them pass without answer, but their own actions 
forced him to come forward. Strong though they looked, the burden of 
the deer was far too heavy for the boys, and with the weight from the 
rod pressing on their shoulders, and their poised steps leading them 
to tread lightly, the youngest amongst them lost his footing and fell. 
Almost immediately, the buck, balanced between he and his partner slid 
forward toward the boy, and the bulk of the creature came forward, 
effectively knocking him further off balance. Awkwardly, his older 
partner lost his footing as well, and the rod that had been carrying 
the deer fell away from his shoulder. In the helpless tumble of the 
spill, the roughened end of the rod lashed across the boys right calf, 
cutting cleanly through his trouser and gashing open a wound. The boy 
cried out in pain, and his other companions dropped their burden and 
rushed to his side. Aragorn was faced with a choice as he glanced to 
see Faramir and Gimli watching him. They could stand in their braced 
postures until this group left, or they could reveal themselves. The 
foreign hunters were immersed in their fallen companion only a few 
meters before them, and Aragorn wondered at the extent of the young 
man's injury. If it was bad, it might be a while before they could 
depart, and in turn they might have need to seek help. In any case, it 
did not appear that the younger would be able to resume his burden, 
and that alone posed a worry as to how long they might be standing in 
wait for this passage. In addition to these concerns, a strong urge 
within the Ranger was compelling him to draw near and to see how the 
boy fared. So with a glance to his friends as his decision was made, 
he stepped forward. The strangers had their backs turned, and they did 
not see as Aragorn, Faramir and Gimli stepped out from their hiding 
places, weapons ready. Glancing up into the tree branches Aragorn 
tried unsuccessfully to detect the form of the elf. Nonetheless, he 
did not doubt the elf's stance remained at alert.

Lowering his own bow, he spoke in Westron, "That is a very large 
burden for one so young to bare."

The four strangers turned around in unison. Surprise gripped them as 
they reached for their weapons, though they quickly ceased when they 
saw that they were surrounded by Aragorn's companions. A lean, 
sandy-haired man stepped forward. He appeared to be the eldest, though 
his age was only close to that of Faramir's. He glanced from side to 
side, sizing up the King and his men. Then, holding his hands opened 
out in a gesture of surrender, he said, also speaking in the Westron 
tongue, "And yet our lives are not easy, and it sometimes becomes 
necessary for our young to take on the burdens of men."

Aragorn smiled lightly to ease any tension as Faramir and Gimli read 
him and lowered their weapons. "It must be a difficult life indeed if 
your children must suffer injury to accommodate those needs."

"I am not a child!" the injured lad said from his position on the 
ground. The hand of other elder pressed down on his shoulder to quell 
his glaring anger.

Aragorn chuckled quietly, then returned his gaze to the leader. "And 
yet he speaks as a man. Strange customs your people have. Among my own 
we would teach our underlings to remain quiet in times of danger."

The elder grimaced as he glanced back at the youth, and it was clear 
to see that he felt discomfort for the young man's open response. He 
looked back at Aragorn with a rueful expression as he said, "So it is 
with us as well. Please forgive Yulli for his outburst. He speaks out 
of turn, as is the impetuousness of youth, and he has much more 
learning to do. His maturity does not sit well on his shoulders as 
yet."

"And neither does that rod. Perhaps you would allow us to offer you 
some aid," Aragorn said.

The lighter-haired man turned to face the three others in his company 
and seemed to gauge the extent of the youngest one's wound. Taking a 
step back toward the lad, he gazed around to Aragorn and said, "It 
does not appear to be bad, and certainly he can walk, but your 
assistance would be appreciated. It is a rather heavy load for someone 
so young," he knelt down to attend the boy's leg as he teased, "and so 
injured." Yulli hissed in pain to his touch.

Aragorn took a step forward as he handed his bow to Faramir. "If I 
may," he said as he took his turn to kneel before the boy, "I have 
some skills as a healer."

The leader moved aside to give Aragorn a better look. The boy hissed 
again as the King touched the area near his wound. Examining it 
carefully he said, "This should heal easily enough on its own. It is 
not deep and the blood is not profuse. It will not require more than a 
clean bandage and a few days time. Let it bleed for now as it will 
help cleanse the wound, and it should stop on its own. Later it can be 
washed and bandaged properly. How far is it to your camp?"

"Not far," said the leader, pointing, "just over that rise." Then 
standing up straight and meeting Aragorn's eyes, he said, "I am 
Matthias." He held out his arm in a warrior's greeting.

Aragorn returned the greeting as he said, "I am called Strider," the 
name they had agreed to call him if they met up with others on the 
trail. Then gesturing to the others he said, "And this is Anborn," the 
alias they had agreed upon for Faramir, "and Gimli, the dwarf," he 
said gesturing to his other companion. They had decided to omit the 
names of their forefathers in any introductions to make it appear that 
they were of common blood. They had also decided there was little 
danger in the revelation of Gimli's true identity, and though the 
dwarf had argued that he would have found an alternative name amusing, 
he had never offered one. "And this…" his eyes trailed behind them as 
the elf landed softly on the ground.

"I am Legolas," said the elf as all eyes turned in his direction. It 
appeared that Legolas also felt it unnecessary to hide his true name. 
Again the men looked surprised to be taken so off guard, but this time 
it appeared they were also stunned by the elf's unique features. 

After a moment, the former Ranger realized they were perplexed by the 
creature before them, and so he said, "Legolas is an elf," as if that 
explained everything. 

And perhaps it did, for Mattias nodded his head in affirmation to the 
statement. "Pardon our poor behavior, Master Elf. Dwarves we have 
knowledge of, but we have only ever heard of elves, as if in myth. 
Never did we think that we would see one before us." Turning his eyes 
back on Aragorn, he said as if in awe, "It is a strange company you 
travel in."

"I travel in the company of my friends," Aragorn said with a touch of 
pride. Then turning his gaze to Mattias' companions he said, "And who 
do you travel with?"

"My family," he answered equally as proud, "or at least, a few of them 
that you see before you. My cousin Szandor, and his sons Cheiro and 
Yulli." Aragorn and the others nodded in acknowledgement. "There are 
many more of us you will meet at our camp," he said with a chuckle and 
the others of his family echoed his smile. 

"So you travel in a large company?" asked the Ranger as he took back 
his bow and helped bring Yulli to a stand. The boy winced as he took a 
hobbled step ahead, away from the fallen deer, but quieted himself as 
he proceeded forward. Faramir stepped into the boy's place and easily 
lifted the shaft that supported his end of the buck as Legolas took 
the rear. Mattias resumed his burden with Szandor at his back, and he 
lead the group forward.

In answer to the question, Mattias said, "It is large enough that a 
catch of this kind will feed us only a short while. But this forest 
seems to be plentiful in her gifts, and we do not have fear of being 
hungry here."

Faramir smirked, his earlier wariness now hidden and he spoke for the 
first time to the strangers, "She may be plentiful for you, Sir, but 
for us, our prey is elusive."

"Then you must be hungry. You shall sup with us as repayment for your 
kindness."

Aragorn's eyes sparkled in understanding of Faramir statement. He 
explained, "I think Anborn speaks of something beyond our hunger, 
though we thank you for your offer. We will take you up on the meal, 
though we are ample of provisions in our camp and do not suffer. My 
friend speaks that our shoulders are bare of our own burden because we 
specifically seek out a rare bounty. Perhaps you have seen it."

"Oh? And what might it be?" Mattias asked.

"A stag of great height and crown we seek. His antlers are yea wide," 
Aragorn gestured with outstretched arms, "And he was nearly a six by 
six in points," the Ranger said repeating the previous exaggeration.

Mattias nodded, "That is truly a large creature and I cannot say I 
have seen one quite so large, but a five by five did we see yesterday 
on a hillock just east of here."

"East?" Aragorn echoed taking note of the information. "What time of 
day was it?"

"Just shortly after sunrise," Mattias said. "If we had been desperate, 
we would have taken it ourselves, but being that the meat in a beast 
that old would be coarse and harshly flavored, we spared it in favor 
of a younger animal."

Aragorn heard the stifled laughs of Legolas and Gimli at his back and 
decided to ignore it. He said to Mattias, "In our culture," indicating 
he and Faramir, "it is done for the sport, not so much the meat, but 
among the elves and dwarves it is perceived the same way as your 
people seem to see it."

Mattias laughed in amusement. "We have heard of hunting for sport. It 
is done so in many cultures we have seen and visited. I see nothing 
wrong in doing this." Aragorn looked back over his shoulder to see the 
disapproval on the elf and dwarf faces. Mattias went on, "It is 
interesting for me to learn this of the elves though. My people know 
so little of them. I have many questions I would ask you," he said, 
directing this statement to Legolas and Aragorn both. "How did you 
come to be companions?

"You know so little of them and yet you have wandered into their 
realm. Or did you not know this?" Faramir asked, effectively cutting 
off the direct question.

"We are in a land of the elves?" Mattias asked in obvious wide-eyed 
awe. His companions looked equally as startled. 

"You are in Ithilien," answered Legolas, "and our colony is called 
Doro Lanthiron, and the lands on which you roam and hunt are guarded 
by my people. How is it that you do not know the place to which you 
travel?"

Mattias stopped and turned. He looked troubled. "Forgive me Master 
Legolas. We did not mean to intrude. It is not of our nature to look 
to borders to halt our progress. We mostly go as we please, but if we 
offend, we will leave."

"I have seen nothing of offense, but I am curious of the nature of 
your travels. Are all your ventures aimless? Does it not seem 
dangerous to go where you do not know what lies ahead?" Legolas 
queried further.

"Yes, it does, and for the most part we travel across lands of which 
we have some prior knowledge," Mattias answered calmly as he continued 
to walk. They could now hear the sounds of the camp as they drew near. 

Aragorn asked the question he could see the elf was about to ask, "But 
you were unaware of these lands. What brings you to Ithilien?"

Mattias answered directly, without hesitation. He looked about as they 
entered his camp and the activity within it as he spoke, "We have come 
to save my people."

Aragorn looked about him also as he took in the sights of the camp. 
"Save your people? From what?" he asked.

"A danger that threatens to tear our family apart. Mother has foreseen 
it."

"What danger?" Aragorn asked as he quickly looked back to Mattias, 
puzzlement in his eyes. A tremor of apprehension ran through the 
Ranger with these words.

"The details of this danger are sketchy to me. She says she is 
protecting us. We have no reason not to believe her. She has the gift 
of Sight and she is puri dai."

Aragorn did not know this term, but he assumed it was meant as a 
position of importance. His curiosity was not sated by this answer 
though. "But how will these lands save you?"

"So many questions, my friend. Come. Meet her yourself and you may 
ask," Mattias said with a smile as he led them into the gathering. 
There were many tasks proceeding about them, and for a few moments 
they were able to see the goings of normal life for these people 
before their presence was noted and all activity ceased.

Gimli spoke as he took in the surroundings, recognizing and 
understanding what they had encountered, "You are gypsies then?"

Mattias smiled at that. "We have been called that, yes, but we prefer 
to call ourselves Romany. We are nomads. We have no real home, except 
the one we make with each other."

They now entered the gypsy camp, and while the four companions looked 
on with astonished eyes, the residents of the camp stared back at them 
with equal amazement. For his part, Aragorn could not remember a more 
colorful, highly decorated scene in the wilds than the one he now 
beheld. There were numerous wagons and tents in the clearing, and 
several cook fires with women working and children clambering about 
them. The people seemed to imitate the appearance of the wagons, and 
by that it could be said that they were elaborately clad. The women 
were attired in voluminous multi-hued and patterned dresses, with 
layers of aprons, pouches, and embroidered and fringed shawls tied 
into their broad-fronted waistbands. The men were more plainly 
dressed, though still elaborate in comparison to their Gondorian 
counterparts. They wore heavy-waled trousers with flapped pockets, and 
shirts of brightly colored hues that bloused over their torsos. Some 
wore over-tunics and a few had sashes tied about their waists and gold 
jewelry about their ears. The hair for both the men and women was 
plaited or held back from their faces with bright scarves.

The encampment was large and immersed within the trees of the forest, 
dappled with sunlight, but for the most part canopied by the trees and 
each wagon and tent appeared organized and tidy, with everything 
seemingly in its own place. Aragorn quickly assessed that there were 
about thirty in their group counting all the men, women and children. 
Their faces were a mixture of ages and features, some bearing striking 
resemblance to one another, and others quite unique for their lighter 
hair or eyes. They all looked well-kept, healthy and clean, hair 
brushed and tied back, and it seemed that they paid close attention to 
their appearance, despite their rugged outdoor lifestyle.

The activities in the camp were largely varied, divided into communal 
activities. One group of women tended laundry, while another was 
preparing food for the midday meal. Two men were stretching and 
tanning hides, while several more were repairing a wagon wheel, and 
another few were sharpening tools. Small children ran about playing 
under the discerning eyes of the adults among them, but they seemed to 
be the youngest, and the elder children seemed to have tasks within 
the varied activities of the camp or looked to be tending the youngest 
as well.

As the faces of the Romany turned to stare at them, all activity 
stopped, and Aragorn realized that he and his company must have made a 
startling appearance to the tribe. The families within this clan 
clustered together protectively where they could, apprehensive of the 
intrusion of strangers within their midst. Whispers between them were 
murmured as the four made their way through the camp following Mattias 
and the others. They carried their burden to where the men were 
working the skins and dropped the days hunt to the ground there. All 
eyes followed them warily. And to Aragorn's discerning eye, the one 
who drew the sharpest attention was Legolas. Aragorn had expected this 
as he looked to his friend to see how he would be holding up under 
their close scrutiny. The Ranger was amused to see Legolas staring 
back with equal intensity, his eyes darting quickly about to take in 
every detail and nuance of the camp. Aragorn watched carefully to see 
how the elf would react, reading Legolas' body language to gauge their 
own danger. But the elf's weapon remained at his back, and his hands 
were unclenched and relaxed. He could see curiosity flitting the elven 
lords eyes, numerous questions obviously taking hold there, for it 
seemed these people were as much a mystery to the elf as he was to 
them.

For Aragorn's part, he too had little knowledge of the Romany. He had 
encountered gypsies a few times in his travels in his youth, and for 
what he did know, he had found them to be harmless folk who kept 
mostly to themselves. They had their own language, their own religion 
and their own value systems, though he had never been among them long 
enough to learn much on any of these topics. As a race, they were 
travelers, he knew, never spending much time in any one place, trading 
goods and services when they came upon civilized lands, but having 
more highly attuned skills for living in the wilds. They could speak 
the Westron tongue, and had been to enough places to learn how to 
assimilate the customs of the people they encountered, but they seemed 
more content to travel onward, never taking refuge in any one place 
for very long. They took from the land what they found, never 
questioning ownership or legitimate rights, believing everything that 
could be had was provided to them by their gods. And that in itself 
had caused strife for them, Aragorn had found. For if anything, 
Aragorn knew more of these people by their reputation then by his 
personal contact. He knew that the settled folk who encountered them 
did not care to lose their hard-earned crops or livestock to the 
taking of the Romany. Many a village had a not-so-pleasant story to 
share about gypsies and of their thieving ways. But the Ranger also 
knew these people were innocent in their knowledge of the goods that 
they stole. For the most part, their morals were pure, paying back if 
accused with gold, silver and mithril forged coin, or trading services 
if they had no precious metals of which to barter.

As they stood for the moment near the skinning frames, he saw the 
people slowly begin to resume their tasks. The women went back to 
their activities, though they still observed Aragorn's party through 
sideways glances and tilted glances directed their way. The men were 
more forthcoming, drawing near, as if Mattias and Szandor's 
accompaniment were approval for their approach. And in the background, 
the children, young and old, watched with unrestrained curiosity, 
prodding each other and darting forward and back. Then Mattias gently 
directed Aragorn's attention to the men who drew nearest, and made 
brief introductions. Cousins, uncles, in-laws, and so on. They all 
were related in some distinct way.

Slowly, they edged their way around the camp making small talk and 
exchanging pleasantries with the people as they did, and Aragorn could 
see the wariness of everyone, his company included, had lifted. But he 
also soon became aware that the women were not being introduced and he 
remembered this too about the Romany people. Women were not highly 
regarded in the tribal rule. Faramir seemed to notice as well, and he 
voiced the query, "Do your women not have names? I notice you have not 
made mention of them." Aragorn was glad it had been said. For all that 
they were strangers to these people and invading their space, he was 
more than willing to assimilate to their customs. But he also wanted 
to show that he and his people were fair and equal in their judgements 
and regarded women equally to men, even if the Romany were a 
male-dominant society.

Mattias blushed lightly. He also seemed eager to show they were a fair 
people. He answered, "Forgive me, I had forgotten your people's ways. 
Our women are not used to being drawn out this way, but I will happily 
introduce them to you as well." And so he did, encircling the camp 
again to make the necessary introductions. Aragorn and his friends 
made special efforts to engage the women in converse, and before long, 
the women too seemed to ease up on their wariness, laughing and 
teasing the company as they moved about them. The camp life began to 
seem normal again.

Mattias turned and smiled as two men slowly approached. Aragorn could 
immediately tell they were the brothers of Mattias, as they all shared 
similar eyes and general features, though their coloring was darker. 
They appeared to be younger than Mattias, though the elder of the two 
was larger in size, barrel-chested, while the younger was of a more 
wiry build. They looked at the strangers with eyes that conveyed 
wonder and, like the others, their attention was drawn in particular 
to Legolas. Mattias' eyes held amusement as they approached. He said, 
"These are my brothers, Gordash and Curtik." 

Aragorn looked at the two younger men and a brief wariness traveled 
through him at their gawking stares. They appeared transfixed. He 
tried to read them, and found there was something more than simple awe 
in their stares. In many respects, they shared the appearance of most 
of the people in the camp, looking wildly dismayed to see strangers, 
particularly an elf, in their midst. Aragorn tried to relate to their 
feelings, imaging how he might feel if a creature that he had only 
known in tales, say as a dragon, were to wander into his home. No 
doubt he too would be as incredulous as they, and so he felt a twang 
of sympathy and understanding for their poor behavior. But still, 
there was something in their gaze and sidelong glances to each other 
that conveyed an expectation of sorts, as if they knew Aragorn's 
company would be arriving. 

Mattias interrupted Aragorn's thoughts, saying, "Mayhap my brothers 
can tell you more about of the fears Mother has for our people. They 
have just returned from travels with her and they had journeyed to 
seek the salvation we need to survive."

Aragorn looked from Mattias to the brothers to see if they had answer 
to this, for it could well explain what he had already observed. Yet 
they were oblivious to everything but Legolas, grinning madly in 
anticipation for what was to come. The youngest said lightly to his 
brother, as if not even considering that others were about, "She was 
right, Gordash! She said this would come to pass, and it has! We have 
found our salvation!"

The previous wave of apprehension moved through Aragorn with 
invigorated strength. These words sent a chill up his spine and an 
alarm went off in his mind. He saw Legolas shift uneasily in his 
stance, and at his side he felt Gimli and Faramir tense as well. There 
was something not right here. 

With his face lit in joy, the youngest looked to Mattias with 
glistening eyes, as if his older brother might understand the wonder 
he felt at their good fortune. Breathlessly he said, "Mattias, this 
cannot wait. We cannot let his appearance escape our attention…he is 
what we need to be saved! We must tell Mother! She will want to see 
him! NOW!"



A/N: I'm going to follow suit as many other authors have done before 
me. Our cast has expanded and some of you might find this supplement 
helpful in remembering who is who among our characters.

Strider – okay that's easy, Aragorn's alias Anborn – Faramir's alias 
Mattias – the eldest son of the witch Gordash – the middle son of the 
witch Curtik – the youngest son of the witch Bregus – the witch, also 
called Mother, shuv'ni (another word for witch) and puri dai (tribe 
elder) Szandor – Mattias' cousin Cheiro and Yulli – Szandor's sons

Bäla — Bregus' dead husband Kattica — Mattias' wife Süzika— a gypsy 
woman in the camp



Chapter Eight: The Workings of Spells

Words were uttered. A whispered plea was made. The workings of her 
magic were intertwined with the thoughts that echoed in her head. She 
could see them from where she was hidden. She was near enough to hear 
their conversation. And she could hear the thoughts of those under her 
spell. She prayed to her gods that what she had planted in their 
minds, what she uttered for them to say, would hold true. Everything 
hinged upon the conviction of their words. With bated breath, she 
watched and listened.

****

"Mother should know about this! An elf is what she has been seeking!"

Legolas looked at Aragorn with eyes widening in alarm. Aragorn could 
tell he was about to say that they should depart immediately, and he 
readily agreed. But then the elder of Mattias' brothers recovered his 
discomfiture. Shaking his head and blinking back his penetrating gaze, 
he snapped at his younger brother, "Fool! Do you not see what an idiot 
you are being? You make it sound as if he is the instrument of our 
salvation!" Then seeming to realize the tension in the air, he sighed 
and did what he could to relieve it. He smiled. Directing his gaze 
equally upon all four of Aragorn's companions, not just the elf, he 
said with sincerity, "Forgive my brother and I. Please. We do not mean 
to cause you any fears, although I can see that is exactly what we 
have done. It is just that — that we have been traveling hard with 
Mother for many days, returning only last night. There was a goal in 
this. She told us when we found an elf, our family's salvation would 
be at hand. I am sorry we have frightened you. We do not mean to be 
rude. Truly we do not! We are just elated to find you here. Our 
journey was pointless, it seems. Had we known you were coming we would 
have never had need to leave our family," he said with a look that was 
both hopeful and apologetic. 

"Our luck is with us as then," Mattias said to him softly. "Our new 
friends have told us that we find ourselves in a realm of elves. 
Evidence of them is all about us." 

"Truly?" Curtik asked in gushing disbelief, looking about as if 
looking for more elves to come walking out of the woods. Legolas and 
Aragorn both smiled wanly, but their apprehension was still clearly 
there. "A land full of elves? Imagine it! I had begun to have doubts. 
I thought certain we were chasing only dreams!" 

Aragorn was not so convinced at the honesty in this, perceiving that 
there was more to their statement than what they were saying. He could 
see Legolas' distrust remained as well. "Tell me then, please," the 
Ranger began, "I keep hearing tale that your mother was trying to find 
salvation for your people and that there is danger for you, but what 
this danger and salvation are I have not heard explained. What did she 
say would happen when you found an elf?" 

Mattias looked down, effectively conveying his uncertainty to the 
answer as he peered sidelong at his brothers. Gordash and Curtik 
exchanged glances, as if trying to discern if it was sage to reveal 
what they knew. At last Curtik shrugged and said, "She had not told 
us."

Aragorn bristled. He did not care for this answer. His wariness held 
true. "But surely you have asked…" he began to say. 

Mattias looked up and turned to face the Ranger. A stern expression 
creased his brow. A serious and defensive light shone in the Romany's 
eyes. Aragorn had not seen this part of the man's personality until 
now. "It is obvious this puzzles you, Strider, so please try to 
understand and forgive our exploits: Mother is old. She is puri dai — 
our tribal elder and she has garnered our respect. It is not our 
custom to question her wisdom. If she says she senses danger, we will 
believe her. Further, she is our shuv'ni — the chief healer amongst 
us. She is gifted with Sight. Few others of us know or understand this 
gift, but as much as we can, we do cater to her visions, for truly 
they cause us no harm, and many times in the past they have indeed 
been correct. Perchance in this case she is right again? Then we will 
know we have been of aid and indeed we will have saved our own people. 
Can you not understand this? A reverence such as this cannot be unique 
to the Romany people alone? Surely you can think of others among your 
own to whom you would follow without question?" he asked with 
conviction. Behind him, Gordash and Curtik stood, their faces belying 
nothing that would contradict this last plea. 

Aragorn sighed. He did understand. The customs among these people were 
obviously different from his own, but not so far as to distrust the 
wisdom of an elder. He could think of several beings he had 
encountered over the years whose wisdom he had trusted without 
question. Gandalf, Elrond, Galadriel, to name a few. Many others would 
say he possessed this power as well. Perhaps this was what these 
people felt. It really was not his to ask or push for more, and with 
the respect he felt for the examples he conjured, he felt shame for 
having questioned the brothers' motives so. The earnest expression on 
Mattias' face conveyed much to him, and he knew pressing the three 
brothers for better answer would not endear him to them. He looked to 
Faramir, who silently read him and nodded his agreement. Aragorn would 
postpone his questioning until he met 'Mother'. Only she could really 
answer his concerns, he decided. And most likely they would find the 
case here to be related to superstition, and his worry for naught. 

However, with a wince he thought, it would have helped to appease him 
more if Curtik were not persistently gawking at Legolas. He glanced 
again at the youngest brother with a hint of a frown. Legolas had 
already looked away from the men, apparently tired of being the object 
to such scrutiny. 

Gordash saw their looks and grimaced as he glared at his younger 
brother. Utterly humiliated for the disgrace of his sibling and 
growing red-faced for it, Gordash cuffed him to the back of the head. 
"Curtik! Stop staring!" he said with annoyance. And with that, 
everyone about them, including Legolas, chuckled at the comic gesture. 
Partially amused at the innocent awe of the youngest man, and 
partially embarrassed for their own part in the tense situation, the 
four companions smiled to one another. The group around them began to 
murmur. Sheepishly Gordash said directly to Legolas, "Forgive him, 
please, Master Legolas. Sometimes I think we found him under a bush."

Laughing with renewed vigor, Legolas said, "I understand," and gave a 
look of pardon as he said, "I too have many questions I would ask. 
Mayhap you will tell me more of yourself, Curtik." He accompanied this 
statement with the full intensity of a direct elven stare. The 
youngest brother squeaked in answer, turning a bright shade of red, 
and nearly tripped over his feet as he backed away. Again, everyone 
laughed, and the mood of the gathering was greatly lifted.

"Did you see his eyes?" the youngest loudly whispered to his larger 
brother. "Like they could see right through me!"

Gordash winced and simply shook his head, sighing, as if in dismay of 
the continual humiliation his brother was bestowing upon him. Mattias 
looked chagrined at his brother's behavior as well, and Aragorn 
suspected he might have a few words to say to the younger man after 
they left. For the moment though, he laughed and the Ranger felt the 
wariness that had been attacking him diminish. It was replaced by a 
growing like for the three brothers. He found their candor refreshing. 
Glancing back at his companions, he could see the mood lightening 
among Faramir and Gimli as well, but Aragorn felt his brow crease 
again when he looked at the face of the elf. 

Legolas appeared troubled. There was a look of question and concern 
written on the fleeting glances he flashed though the camp. He made 
eye contact with Aragorn before turning away to continue the survey he 
did of the camp.

Gimli noticed his friend's reaction, and began searching with his eyes 
too for the source of concern. "What is it?" he asked.

Legolas voiced his worry with a frown. "Dogs," he said with an air of 
certainty. Then he looked to Mattias and Gordash for confirmation. 
"You have dogs."

"Yes. We use them for large hunts and to help protect our camp," 
Mattias said, though he seemed to read the elf's confusion. He too 
began to search, his brow creased with trepidation.

"They are not barking," Gimli stated, perceiving what it was that 
troubled his friend.

"Would they not be alerted to strangers in your camp?" Legolas asked.

Aragorn saw that Gordash and Mattias were upset by this truth. The 
dogs were not barking, and he knew that by nature they should have 
sounded their greeting bark when the hunters had neared the camp, 
alerting the residents that there were strangers about. But they had 
not. 

The two older brothers began searching, peering about, looking under 
the wagons for the beasts. Curtik fell back, returning again to his 
work, though Aragorn and his friends followed behind the other two. It 
did not take long to find the wolfhounds. The dogs laid beneath the 
meal wagon. But curiously none of them moved as they approached. At a 
glance they all appeared to be sleeping, panting deeply in their rest. 
But then one dog whimpered and crawled forward. It rested its head 
before the foot of Gordash as it emerged from beneath the wagon and he 
stooped down to examine it. "This dog is ill," he said as he 
scrutinized the animal. Glancing at the dogs more carefully, he said, 
"They all are ill." With a worried look, Legolas bent down to 
investigate as well. The animal at Gordash's feet opened its eyes 
briefly, then whimpered again at his touch.

Mattias looked troubled, and then began looking frantically about, as 
if seeking something or someone. He called to one of the nearby women, 
"Do you know where Kattica is?"

"Ai! There," she said as she pointed to a pregnant woman emerging from 
the woods. The eyes of Aragorn and his companion turned to look at the 
figure. The girl was rather young. Aragorn would guess her to be in 
her early twenties, with straw-colored hair and fair skin. She walked 
with a pronounced limp that made the bucket of water she carried slosh 
with each step, though she appeared not to notice. She looked tired 
with dark circles beneath the cast brown eyes. She seemed to be locked 
in deep thought. Her brow was creased. Rapt was her distraction as she 
noticed not her surroundings nor the people about her. Her attention 
seemed focused entirely on something within her while her body toiled 
on in its labor. She looked up only when she came near the cook fire. 
Then startled and frightened by the strangers before, she dropped the 
bucket she carried.

Water melted away into the crushed pine needles at her feet as Gimli 
stepped forward. "Allow me to help you with that, Lady," he said. She 
looked unbalanced and shaken at the sight of him as he bent down to 
take the empty vessel.

She stumbled backwards and bumped into Mattias as her eyes grew round 
to the shock of her encounter. 

"I would like to introduce my wife, Kattica," Mattias said, wrapping 
an arm about her waist to steady her. The girl tried to regain 
herself, growing red-faced for her awkwardness, but she nodded 
politely as they were each in turn introduced. Still, she remained 
frightened by the chance meeting, and Aragorn thought it might be best 
if she sat for a moment.

"Are you well?" he asked.

"Yes. Yes, I am fine," she softly responded, though her pallor and 
trembling voice said otherwise.

Mattias watched her carefully as he spoke, concern written on his 
face. "The dogs are sick," he said grimly. "Do you think you could 
tend them?"

Regaining herself, she looked directly at him and calmly she said with 
a somber expression, "I am already seeing to it. I was just attending 
to Yulli's wound, and I will look to them now. I already know what 
ails the animals."

"What is it?" Gordash asked cautiously from where he knealed.

"Poison," she said flatly.

"Poison?" Faramir asked loudly.

She glanced down, as if realizing again she stood among strangers and 
was ashamed to admit this before them. But then they saw her lips curl 
upward, giving her face a crooked smile. Shyly she looked up and said, 
"It was a mistake really. Something silly, my husband."

"How is a poisoning silly?" Mattias asked.

"Süzika and I were cooking some mushrooms we had found this morning," 
Kattica began, nodding her head to one of the women near the fire. "We 
were uncertain if they were poisonous as I do not know the vegetation 
yet for this region. So we decided to test them on one of the dogs.* 
Unfortunately…" she glanced to the animals laying beneath the wagon, 
"they were a greedy lot today, and not one, but all of them, ate the 
vile food. Actually, that is probably to their benefit. I can cure 
them. Had it been but one beast who had eaten them all, he would 
probably be dead by now," she said as she squatted with difficulty 
near Gordash and Legolas. She looked carefully into the eyes and mouth 
of the animal before her. 

Mattias shrugged toward Aragorn and Faramir. "So we have it. Not such 
a mystery really," he said. Smiling at the serious look of 
apprehension Aragorn, wore, he continued, "Have no fear for the 
animals, my friend. My wife is a shuv'ni apprentice. She is quite 
gifted in healing skills. Although I will confess, I have some concern 
regarding her cooking. With her aid, we could quickly run out of dogs, 
and I might find myself directly on the receiving end of some of her 
experiments," he teased. "Come. Our meal awaits us."

Aragorn nodded as he allowed Faramir and himself to be led away. 
"There will not be mushrooms, will there?" Faramir asked with a small 
grin. Gordash laughed as he rose to join them. 

Looking back at his friends, Aragorn asked, "Will you join us?" 
Without looking to the other for answer, simultaneously they shook 
their heads to the negative. He need not have inquired. He already 
knew their answers before even asking. It was very apparent to the 
Ranger that Legolas would remain, choosing to see the animals healed 
before taking any personal comfort. And Gimli, he was certain, would 
want to be of aid to the girl, especially given her present condition. 
The gruff exterior of the dwarf belies a soft spot for helpless 
maidens, Aragorn mused.

The men gathered at the makeshift table where they were to dine. They 
hastily took places and gestured Aragorn and Faramir to sit alongside 
them. As the food was placed before them, Aragorn noticed a seat at 
the head of the table that remained empty, and he wondered if that was 
to be 'Mother's' chair. "Mattias," he said with a questioning voice. 
He nodded toward the chair, assuming his guess correct. "We have not 
yet met her," he said. "Will she be joining us?"

Mattias looked deeply into Aragorn's eyes and said nothing. His only 
reply was a smile.

****

Behind him in the vardo, a curtain fell back into place where a set of 
eyes had been watching the activity surrounding the strangers' 
arrival. A similar smile glanced the lips of the elder woman, and she 
had to restrain the laughter that threatened to tear from her throat. 
It was all going well and very much according to plan… the dogs… the 
girl… her sons' answers … the elf. Everything. And now there was 
something more. Something she had not anticipated. Bregus realized as 
she had gazed out that he had been right. Bäla had hinted as much, and 
it was all coming true. 

She was very pleased with her spell. Her younger sons had spoken well, 
as if innocent to any knowledge of the evil intent of their last 
journey together. And in a way, they were innocent, thanks to her 
magic. Her latest enchantment had all but erased any memories of their 
encounter with the three elves in the swamp. After so many years, it 
was easy to manipulate these two. Still, she was very glad she had not 
shared her intentions with any others in the camp, for covering her 
tracks, as they were, would have required a far greater spell, and she 
had felt she had reached her limits already with just this one. She 
saw it as a gift, the fading of her sons' memories. They would bear no 
guilt for their actions as they had no memory of them. And the only 
other ones who had been present to the elves' deaths were the dogs and 
the owl. The dogs could not talk, so therefore they could not tell, 
and only she could hear the voice of the owl. Still, the dogs had to 
be silenced. Doubtless after tasting the blood of the past-fated elf, 
they would be difficult to control if they had been aware that another 
entered their camp. It was better this way, and Bregus knew that the 
girl would see to their remedy. Tomorrow the beasts would be well 
again, for that is when she would really need their services. That 
left only the owl.

She turned and smiled at her familiar at the back of the wagon. The 
owl blinked back as she approached. As if in answer, she said, "Yes. 
Yes, you are right. You do deserve a reward. You had said that they 
were near." Reaching her hand deep into the pouch of her apron she 
drew out a live field mouse. Holding it out to the owl in offering, 
she laughed as the night creature snatched the small animal from her 
hand without hesitation. She chuckled as she watched it devour the 
rodent, shredding the small body within a few seconds. 

"Even the girl is no trouble," she said as she watched the bird feed. 
"My magic has taken her as well. Thank the gods! That child of a woman 
has no idea the potential she bears in her powers. I dare say she 
would be a challenge were she to fight me."

She turned back to gathering the dried plants and herbs that were 
spread across the table. A gauzy swash of cloth lay beneath them. She 
gathered the corners and knotted the ends into each other as the 
flowers crushed inward. She felt, heard and smelled evidence that the 
plants were disintegrating into themselves and the cloth, and she was 
careful not to inhale too deeply their aroma. The crushed remains made 
a small parcel. She placed it into her gathering basket that laid near 
the door. And then she turned back to face the owl. 

"And now to the test, my friend. Which way do we choose? Do we keep 
them today, or let them go? Would they do better together, or split 
apart? You say you saw them go into a cave near a waterfall, and I 
would venture that this is the passage we seek to the Protected Place. 
But I should see it for myself to know certain. And yet I am troubled, 
my friend. We do not really know their numbers, do we? You have told 
me there were more men upon horses, and others that entered the cave. 
This frightens me. What if there are too many for me to control? Too 
bad owls cannot count or take notice to such details, for I might know 
my enemy better. Still, it was not what was asked of you, was it?" she 
said in a softly cooing voice as she allowed the owl to peck at the 
field mouse's scent left in her hand. "No worries then. They have not 
come under my influence yet, and once I have broached that, the 
information I need will come. We have time. We will find a way. We are 
still two days from the setting sun to the full moon. That is when 
this comes to an end." Then she laughed. "Is it not amusing, my pet, 
that before yesterday, we were panicked with what need be done in this 
time? Bäla must have a part in this. I sense his skills at play. The 
plans are working brilliantly."

Then she went back to the curtain, and gazed out again at the four 
strangers in her camp. Her eyes fixed on the one in the party that 
captivated her attention the most. Yes, she thought, this is going 
better than hoped.

****

There was something wrong. Not only did she feel immeasurably unlike 
her normal self, but there was something not right in the scene of the 
camp. And yet, she could not discern what it could be. To Kattica's 
eyes, everything was seemingly placid. The arrival of the foreigners 
had quickly dissolved from something fearful and strange, to something 
fascinating and enlightening to her people. The family seemed more 
than willing to allow these beings into their world, and the four were 
easily absorbed into the lifestyle of the camp. Mattias and the rest 
of the men were eating their meal, sharing their hospitality with two 
of the four strangers — the ones called Strider and Anborn — and a 
round of laughter broke out as the dark-haired Strider regaled them 
with a tale from their hunting exploits. A boom of laughter erupted 
from the group, and the men appeared mirthful. That appeared right. So 
why did everything else feel so wrong?

The other two, Legolas and Gimli, were standing by, offering their aid 
where they could. And Kattica was very glad to have it. She could not 
remember ever feeling as drained as she did now. Not just tired, but 
thoroughly spent, as if her entire body and mind were immersed in a 
wet blanket. She felt limp, though no other symptoms accompanied her 
ill-feeling, and try as she might, she could not identify it. Not like 
diagnosing the dogs, she thought. That had been simple. Too simple, 
though she dared not say this to anyone aloud. Poisons in mushrooms 
were often trickier to detect, and it seemed odd to her that the dogs 
had succumbed to their bad turn so quickly. Yet poison the mushrooms 
must have been, for indeed the dogs were sick, and she had no other 
explanation. She berated herself for not detecting it sooner. Still, 
she had felt certain the mushrooms were safe when she and Süzika had 
picked them and she had almost argued against testing them on the 
dogs. A part of her still held true to that conviction. It did not 
seem like the poison of a mushroom that felled them. In fact, it was 
almost as if something else had tainted the dogs' food. But what? She 
could not decipher the mystery, especially in the foggy state of mind 
she now found herself. No matter, she mentally countered. The cure I 
have is a general remedy. It should heal them regardless of how they 
came to be ill. Now if she could only find a cure for what ailed her. 

"Perhaps you should lay down for a while," a melodious voice said, 
breaking her thoughts as if seeming to read them. 

"My weariness shows," she stated, then shrugged. "Have no fears, 
Master Elf, it is merely the exhaustion of a woman bearing child. It 
will pass."

"Will it?" Legolas asked. "I sense your fatigue is more than surface 
depletion. Even now, you look as if you are struggling against 
something much deeper."

"I suppose I am. It is the baby, I am sure. It is not unusual for a 
woman in my condition to act this way, I think."

"Rest might do you some good then," he offered. 

"My people do not take such luxuries. We all have our jobs to do. And 
mine, for the moment, is to heal these dogs," she said as she crushed 
fresh herbs into her mortar from where she sat at a small bench. 

"You could instruct me to do it for you."

She looked at him with eyes widened in wonderment, momentarily 
forgetting her fatigue. "I have heard that elves are magical in 
nature. Are you a shuv'ni as well?"

"Explain this word."

"A witch?"

Legolas looked both shocked and amused. He laughed at the thought. 
"Nay," he said. "I know no magic. If elves possess anything, it is an 
understanding of nature. We hear the songs of life."

Kattica blinked. She had never heard of such a thing. "Can you heal 
the dogs with this skill?"

"If I could, I would have done so by now. No, it is more a sense than 
an action. What I do know, what I can sense, is that they suffer, and 
I do not think an animal should be made to hurt like this. It is 
cruel," Legolas said as he looked sympathetically at the animal before 
him. 

"You might not say that if you know of their normal temperament. They 
frighten me," the girl said with a shudder. 

"Yes, I understand how you might feel that. I sense that from them as 
well. But they only do their job, as you would say. They act on both 
instinct and on what they have been taught. I cannot begrudge them 
their nature for that which they had no choice," he said, stroking the 
large grey hound's coat. Then changing the subject, he said, "I have 
met a few wizards before, but never a mortal witch. Tell me about what 
you do as a shuv'ni apprentice."

She gave a weak smile in answer. "You see it before you in all its 
glory. I tend to the sick as needed, be they people… or dogs. And I 
serve Bregus, our shuv'ni, when she desires it."

Then she looked at Legolas with her dulled eyes and tried to muster 
her curiosity. This was a rare opportunity, she realized, and the 
chance to learn of the life of an elf would probably never come to her 
again. She stirred her mind into motion. "Tell me of the healers among 
your people. Surely they must employ means of magic in their work."

"Our healers work much as I see you, with herbal infusions and 
extracts. Their magic is in knowing how to utilize the song in 
applying these remedies. Do you employ magic in your work?" Legolas 
redirected.

"When needed, I do. But my magic is not very powerful. Being an 
apprentice, I have many more years of tutelage before I will become 
knowledgeable in the full force of what I can do," she answered, then 
said, "I practice white magic." She did not know if Legolas knew what 
that meant — that she used natures forces to aid willing subjects. She 
considered telling him that Bregus used just the opposite, black 
magic, but she felt her lethargy increase in revealing just this much 
of herself. She hoped he would not ask more of her, for she was 
uncertain that she had the strength to speak of it.

Through her fatigue, Kattica ceased whirling the ingredients in the 
mortar. She rested the bowl in her lap as she took a deep breath, then 
looked up at him. "This is ready. I only need the water," she said, 
glancing about for Gimli, who had gone to refill the bucket she had 
dropped.

"He comes now," Legolas said, smiling faintly as he nodded his head in 
the direction of his friend. Emerging into the camp from the slope of 
a hill, the dwarf carried the bucket with ease, foisting it to the 
bench before the girl without shedding a drop. 

She took the small bowl that had held the herbs, tapped it out, and 
then scooped it partially full with the water. She scraped half of the 
pasty concoction into it, stirring it with her pestle. Handing the 
bowl to Legolas along with a small, wooden spoon, she said, "I now 
make you my apprentice. Help me please as it is difficult for me to 
get down to them in my present condition. Do me the favor of dribbling 
five spoonfuls of this medicine into each of the dog's throats. But be 
careful as you do. They may be weak, but I'm sure they will revive 
quickly. And they bite."

Legolas nodded and returned to the dogs to do as she had told him. 
Meanwhile, with the remainder of the paste and the water in the 
bucket, she prepared a larger bowl of the draught. Behind her she 
heard a low growl, and she turned just in time to see Legolas jump 
back as a one of the dogs snapped its jaws at him, bearing fangs in 
the process. At her side, she heard Gimli chuckle. Though still unable 
to move, the hackles on the crreatures back stood on end. "I told you 
they were not such friendly creatures," she chided.

"They have just not learned that I am their friend," Legolas said with 
patience, ignoring the laughing dwarf and slowly drawing near again. 
He whispered soft foreign words to the animal and Kattica saw the 
dog's ears fall back as its mood softened. Whimpering slightly, the 
dog grew tame to his touch. He resumed stroking its coat before trying 
again with the spoon. Looking up at her, he smiled.

"If you could teach me to do that, I would be forever grateful," she 
said with awe.

"Not before he teaches me," Gimli interjected. "But I know well that 
he won't. For he knows that if he could teach me to speak to the 
animals as he does, I would tell a horse-friend of his a thing or 
two."

Legolas smiled as he moved on to another dog. "Perhaps that is 
precisely the reason I do not teach you, my friend. Lest you forget, 
my horse has a mind of his own. He might have a thing or two to say in 
return, and you might not be fond of those thoughts. I am afraid his 
assessment of you is not kind, Gimli."

"Oh? And I suppose he has told you this. Your horse," Gimli snorted in 
disbelief.

"Of course. Very eloquently, I might add," Legolas said in all 
earnestness.

"Ridiculous!"

"If you could speak with him yourself, you might be surprised to find 
him a worthy challenger to your words," Legolas replied with a faint 
grin. 

"As if I would stand about bandying with a horse," Gimli muttered. 

"You did say you had a thing or two to say to him. I would judge my 
horse could easily keep pace with you, jibe for jibe, in a verbal 
joust."

"And how would one hold said match?" Gimli asked with another snort.

The elf shrugged. "I could translate between you," Legolas offered, 
looking at Kattica with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

"An unfair contest that would be!" Gimli erupted. "Undoubtedly, the 
horse would win with you putting words into its mouth."

"I am offended. You think I would favor my horse over you? How do you 
know I would not put words into your mouth to make you sound better?" 
Legolas began.

Kattica smiled at the conversation as she finished stirring the 
mixture. She could see this type of pointless discourse was normal 
behavior for these two, just by observing how easily they fell into 
it, and it had lifted her spirits to listen. But she interrupted, 
knowing she had to get the next part of the cure ready for the 
animals. "Would you please take this over to the dogs for me, Gimli?"

"At your service, Lady" he said with a small bow, casting a glare at 
Legolas as he did so. 

The dog Legolas had been attending slowly rose, and wandered to the 
bowl, lapping at the mixture. It was soon joined by the other dogs. 
They appeared to be on the mend. But Kattica's focus was no longer on 
the animals. She saw an object hang from Gimli's belt, and it took a 
fierce hold of her attention.

Gimli saw her eyes gaze at the ornament and without hesitation he held 
it out to her. "I was going to ask if you knew to whom this belonged," 
he said. It was a charm of some sort, carved from an amber-colored 
stone. It was smooth from long wear and tied to a string of earth 
colored ribbons that were frayed at the ends where the strings had 
unraveled. A bead carved from wood held them tight, and the tiny wood 
circlet was decorated with a repeating pattern in the shape of two 
crescent moons facing one another. The stone itself was carved in the 
shape of two female figures, side by side, one slightly larger. Each 
one carried again the shape of the two crescent moons facing each 
other. Kattica stared at this amulet as her jaw dropped open. "So you 
know this jewelry?" the dwarf asked, regarding her expression. "I 
found it out near the trail. It would be a thing of importance, I 
gather."

"It is," she said in a whisper. "I had nearly forgotten it." She 
delicately picked the object from Gimli's hand. "How could I have 
forgotten it?"

"Is it something you would use as a shuv'ni?" Legolas asked, glancing 
up at the object she now held.

"I…yes, I… I cannot think of why I know it, but I think it is mine," 
she said, blinking hard at the object held open in her palm, trying to 
force her mind to recall everything about it. Someone important had 
given it to her. Long ago. Who? "I…I know of this. What is this?"

Gimli and Legolas exchanged concerned expressions. Gimli spoke for 
them, "Kattica, it has been asked before, but I must persist: are you 
well? Your thoughts seem somewhat clouded and you react as someone who 
has received a severe blow."

Kattica closed her eyes. A blow? Had someone struck her? No, somehow 
that did not seem right. But at the moment, nothing was making much 
sense to her. Her memory of this amulet was so clearly there before 
her, and at the same time vague, as if shrouded in a haze of fog. 
Fighting. She was fighting to be free of it, and yet she could not 
even get her mind around the thing that she fought. There was 
something at work here, yet she had no memory of it. She clenched her 
hand around the amulet, her hands tensing into fists in frustration as 
she tried to recall what it was that eluded her. How could this 
happen? What has happened? Suddenly, her eyes flew open as memories 
began to flood back in. The blanket over her mind was removed. Bregus! 
It was witchcraft!

Kattica opened her eyes and suddenly stood, reaching to her belly 
protectively and looking wildly about, trying to take in the 
disturbance in the camp and what it was that she had seen but not 
seen. She gazed everywhere, as Legolas and Gimli watched her with 
growing trepidation. She saw their concern. They do not know, she 
realized, then berated herself for not seeing the obvious. Of course 
they do not! They are innocent of this. They are her targets!

Again, she looked at the scene about her. She glanced at her husband 
as a shudder ran up her spine. The memory of his hands crushing down 
on her wrists returned to her, and her brow creased into a frown as 
she tried to push the thought of it away. He did not have control, she 
reasoned. That was Bregus' work. She choked back her anger and fear, 
forcing herself to forgive him as she continued to look for the 
missing pieces of the mystery in her mind. Apprehension was strong in 
her as she viewed the table and the strangers before her husband. And 
then she saw it. There was something familiar in the fairer of the two 
men. Anborn, he was called, and she drew her attention to him to try 
and place it. Sitting across from her husband she noticed the 
similarity in their size and build. The fair-haired man was slightly 
older than Mattias, but his features were the same color and shape as 
the man she had married, and she realized with comparable garb, they 
could be mistaken as family, brothers even. Funny, she thought. She 
began to look away, her body still weak from the loss of her 
perceptions, but not before she caught sight of something else, and 
she looked back to see she was correct. Bregus was not at the table 
with the men. As puri dai, it was her place to sit with the men at 
meal. She looked up at the vardo, and realized the elder was still 
within the confines there. Kattica saw her, peeking through a sliver 
in the curtain toward the newcomers within the camp. And she realized 
that Bregus too was staring at the fair-haired man. Intently!

She gasped. She was about to speak, to warn the elf and dwarf that 
there was danger here, that the witch was about to do something to 
their friend, but before she could, Bregus stepped out of the wagon. 
The elder shot the girl a glare, and the fright of that gaze was 
enough to make Kattica drop the amulet she had been holding. Without 
even seeing the action, the elder waved her hand through the air in a 
downward movement, saying aloud, "Kele bar!" and the activity in the 
camp came to a freezing halt. Even Kattica was struck, rendered mute 
by the witch's spell as the blanket of haze returned to her mind. She 
could not move, could not speak. All she could do was observe Bregus' 
next move. 



"Kele bar!" — "Turn to stone!"



Chapter Nine: Serpentine Smoke

The shuv'ni's heart was dark. It had grown cold with her evil over 
long years, starting even before the births of any of her sons, though 
it took her many more years to reach the level of sinfulness one could 
truly call depraved. As no human is immersed into immorality from 
their start, it would be fair in judging her to consider that Bregus 
had been made this way. By her own greed as well as by the will of her 
husband.

She had not been born to cruel intentions. Indeed, she had once had a 
decent soul. Her family were good people, always gentle in their ways, 
traveling quietly without disturbing the lands or the people who lived 
in those places, making the most out of what they could manage, and 
generally being happy in their ways. But there was something in her 
that wanted more. Being the last of five children and the only female 
among them had made her restless. Her brothers all had strong 
personalities, and her mother doted on them. Bregus was ignored for 
the most part, left to her own devices. She was a girl-child, and so 
she had little to garner the notice or respect that came easily to the 
males in her family. Such was the way of the clan. Unless she lived 
long enough to become puri dai, she could expect little more for her 
life then this. She would grow up, learning the skills of the 
women-folk, groomed to be selected one day at the gatherings, and 
traded off by her father for a horse, or some goats, or a good hunting 
dog. She could expect to be sized up for her breeding potential, and 
she knew she was seen as little more than one would see an object. Her 
potential for more was never considered, and all she could hope was to 
grow old enough to be seen someday as having some wisdom. But for her, 
a future as puri dai was far, far away, and impatiently she wanted 
what her male siblings had then: authority and power. And that desire 
is initially what corrupted her. She was smart and she saw that there 
were ways that she could attain her desires, and with shrewdness, she 
went about getting them. She made it known that she wanted to study 
under the shuvanis, for male or female, these sorcerers had power and 
respect within the tribe. She usurped the place of the shuv'ni 
apprentice in her clan. No one suspected the fatal fall by that girl 
was of Bregus' doing. And so she manipulated her way to their 
attention, and took over the role as the witch's apprentice. Gladly 
she immersed herself in it. She went to the healer tents when the 
gatherings came and learned their craft through white magic, following 
their teachings under the stars and the moon. She learned of the 
herblore that would give her powers to heal. She was taught to read 
cards and stones. She learned to make charms and to speak 
incantations. She grew to understand the Spirit Worlds, and she 
learned of animal guides. She could interpret dreams and sought out 
ways to foretell future events. But she was young, and though 
knowledgeable and bright, and a bit talented as well, she remained an 
apprentice. It would remain this way until her years had proven her 
skill. But this angered her. She was impatient. She did not want to 
wait so long. 

It was at one of the gatherings that he had seen her. He read her and 
saw what she wanted. Already a great shuv'ni for his tribe, Bäla spun 
his spell and chose her. She easily fell. Had she tried, she could 
have warded off his magic. But in her eagerness that was youth, and 
her rebellion to be free of her elders and their constant blockades to 
her desires, she allowed herself to become a victim of his lust. Bäla 
was much older than she was and she saw in him a mentor, a lover, and 
an escape from the drudgery of her life in her camp. She became a part 
of his clan, joyous in her freedom from the complacent nothingness her 
life had been. He was her savior and she allowed him to take her. He 
was practiced in the black arts, and she let his evil corrupt and mold 
her into an image he made, pliant to his will and his charms. Inside, 
a part of her mourned the loss of her gentler self as the study of her 
white magic was pushed away. But then she remembered what she would be 
without him, and she brushed aside her inner feelings, berating 
herself for experiencing anything but pride at what she was becoming 
under his tutelage. She remained tainted by his seduction. Her animal 
spirit latched onto his and she became enthralled to his powers and 
studied within the confines of his allure until her powers became the 
equal of his. And when he was done, her spirit was intertwined with 
his and she became a part of him. They grew to be a perfect match for 
each other. 

Together they ruled their clan, slowly growing darker with the harm 
they created. They manipulated their children and fellow tribesmen, 
making them believe their hearts were good, elevating themselves to 
places of higher authority within the tribal gatherings through their 
maneuvering. They held their family captive, just as he held her, and 
none among them had any choice but to obey, not even realizing other 
opportunity existed. The elders about them who could rule over them 
died, falling to diseases that somehow the two shuvanis could not 
contain. Anyone who stood in their way seemed fated. And so they were 
promoted by their people, and she enjoyed it. She loved seeing them 
bow to her whims. Her dreams were fulfilled. 

And in fairness, the magic of Bäla and Bregus did not take harsh form 
while they ruled. Not unless need required it. Their wants were 
simple: to be free to roam as they chose, to live as their custom 
dictated, to raise their children and live off of the land as needed. 
If a villager from a neighboring town objected to the loss of his 
livestock to their camp, they did not let that worry them. The husband 
and wife shuvanis conjured their magic, and the problem was appeased. 
The mysterious illness that befell the villager was none of their 
concern. Under the shroud of this protection, they went on their way, 
and no harm ever came to their union. 

And so it seemed that in her own menacing way, she felt warmth for her 
family. She knew that was what a mother was supposed to feel toward 
her children and her tribe. She called it love. She protected them 
from harm, and she thought that this was her duty. She grew to know of 
no other way, and with him they enjoyed many years of seeming peace as 
they became puri dai, the tribe elders and the leaders of their 
people. 

But then he died. It was a mortal death, nothing unique. Age brought 
it on, but she was not prepared for his end. She had grown accustomed 
to his presence and his power. In his absence, she found that her 
clever mind was not as sharp as she had once thought and that many of 
the decisions she had thought were theirs together were really his. He 
had manipulated even her, she realized. But despite these revelations, 
she mourned deeply the loss of him as she found that for the first 
time, she was alone. Bereft, she began to wonder what had become of 
the sweet child she had been.

As she mourned, her thoughts for her personal gains grew dimmer over 
the long years, and as she came to weep for both him and the loss of 
her own soul, she began to consider taking her own life so she could 
join him, or at least go on to find again her old spirit. That was 
when the dreams began to come. He returned to her there and she found 
happiness returned. Joy befell her as she was with him again. She grew 
well in his companionship, even if he no longer really breathed or 
touched her with real hands and she realized that even in death, his 
power was still strong. He still held her. She was glad, satisfied for 
the moment. He was there in her dreams, her husband, her lover, and 
that was all that she cared about. After so long a time, he possessed 
her heart still and she yielded to the guidance he gave her. And so it 
seemed her yearning for him had not dissipated with time. If anything 
it grew stronger. She forgot about the child she had been and her mind 
began to wonder what it would be like to have him back again, if only 
it could be done. She began to crave him. Such a thought was enticing. 
She knew she could not go on further without him in some way. Only the 
dreams sustained her.

But the soothe of her dreams was short-lived, merely a few years, and 
as she noticed her body failing with age, the dreams started to 
foretell the darkness that would consume her at her own death. The 
comfort she found in his embrace in this twilight world became 
menacing and horrible. He showed her the pain and torment he endured 
when he was not in her arms. Nightmares of his torture plagued her, 
and they became more consistent, returning with greater frequency 
though they were unpredictable in their attack. 

"Help me!" he would scream to her, though she was helpless to run away 
or offer aid. Hideous demons tore away at his body and engulfed him in 
charred blackness. She could hear herself call out to him. And in the 
dreams she would reach out, crying, as real tears rolled down her 
sleeping face. She could almost feel the warmth of his body within her 
arms, almost feel the touch of his hair against her cheeks, almost 
smell his musky scent in her nostrils. But then looking down on her 
comfort, she would see he was gone, replaced by the blackness and 
emptiness of devilish spiders propelling themselves upward to attack 
her. Recoiling, she would flail her arms in answer, pushing back the 
terror that tried to steal her away into its wretched void. 

Her life was waning and she feared these dreams. They told her of her 
doom, her penance for a life of black magic and harm, and it was a 
terrifying vision. Within the confines of the vardo, her cries could 
be heard. In her waking hours, she could control so many things, but 
at night when the dreams came, she was helpless to escape. They took 
possession of her mind as if cast there by a spell deeper than any she 
could conjure. They taunted her with their seeming reality, and they 
always came when she least expected them. They left her feeling weak 
and helpless, and infinitely old. The vision in the dreams showed her 
that all her wicked ways would be repaid, and when she found death, 
the demons would come. Her foul deeds would be avenged, and that was a 
terror beyond all else to her.

She grew uncertain of herself. Trouble visited their campsite more 
often and her family wandered wider territories as their welcome 
became less warm in the lands they visited. She was forced to make 
choices to guide her family, and they were not always wise. Sometimes 
her decisions were far more harsh than need be, and instead of illness 
befalling a provoked villager, death more often came. Fortunately, her 
family did not see the harm that she caused. She hid it and had them 
leave, disguising them in blackness. And the bile of her hatred grew 
stronger for the protection she offered them. 

She told them they were being persecuted. She told them there was 
danger. She said they needed to flee to find the salvation that would 
protect them. And they believed her every word. And when the dreams 
came that showed her how to use the heart of an immortal and the heart 
of an unborn to rejuvenate her own soul, she began to believe it too, 
for she knew if she died, the family would splinter apart. In her own 
way, she saw her salvation as theirs.

And now it was here. Her salvation. Their salvation. The elf was 
delivered and with him came the delivery of the one who would serve 
host as the body to her dead husband. It was delightful in its 
simplicity. He was a perfect fit. Her joy at finding this one named 
Anborn could not have been greater.

****

Kattica froze in her stance along with rest of the Romany in the camp. 
There was movement, she could see, but it was slowed, as if the people 
about her were moving through molasses. Without the amulet in hand, 
her mind felt once again dulled, and she felt her thoughts drifting 
into a muddle of nothingness, caught again in the witch's magic. She 
realized the spell Bregus had cast on the tribe was one never intended 
for humans. It was a fleeting incantation, using mental skill over 
rites of the spiritual circle. Normally used only on creatures of the 
wild to slow their running pace and make them easier targets, it was a 
hunter's spell. Its use was questionable, debated at the gatherings, 
and agreed that it was called upon only in desperate times, of famine 
or illness. The magnitude of Bregus' skills, to cast a spell over so 
many simultaneously, surprised her. The only good thing she could 
recall of the spell was that it had a short-lived hold. In a minute or 
two the camp would be back to normal, and in the confusion of her 
thoughts, under the haze of the other spell, she understood none would 
remember being halted this way. Trying to push the fog again invading 
her mind, she re-focused her energy on what was occurring and on 
regaining her power to move more freely. And yet, she was unable to do 
anything but watch the horror unfold before her. Her heart raced as 
she struggled against it, trying her best to remain alert, to follow 
the events, and to find a way to undo the evil that was about to come. 
For herself, she knew her only hope remained with the amulet that her 
grandmother had given her, now laying at her feet. She had to get it 
back. She had to touch it. It would free her from Bregus' powers. But 
until she could reach it, she was stuck here, only able to observe 
mutely and try to discern Bregus' intent over these kind-hearted 
strangers.

In her effort to reach her amulet, Kattica turned her body. She was 
now facing Strider and Anborn and could see fully their actions. It 
took but a moment for them to notice the sluggish state of their table 
companions, and then another moment more to grasp that the same affect 
was everywhere about them. It was curious to Kattica that they were 
not affected. But then, she reasoned, they had not been attacked the 
night before either and that probably had much to do with the potency 
of the spell. 

Strider rose as he saw the old woman step down from the wagon, 
marching toward the fire. "You there," he called out, "old woman." But 
Bregus ignored him as she dropped her parcel into the burning embers. 

Anborn also stood, but it appeared neither he nor Strider had 
discerned the old woman's intent. He simply spoke. "Who are you? What 
goes here?" In her thoughts, however, Kattica was panicked, screaming 
for them to flee, to run quickly from the camp. But her fumbling mind 
could not get the words out to warn them. With justification, they 
were confused by the disruption of activity in the camp, and Kattica 
could see that her elder used this to her advantage. She knew their 
failure to move would entrap them. Within seconds, Kattica's fears 
came true.

Immediately, smoke shot up from the burning parcel. Even in her dull 
mind, Kattica was surprised at the speed and containment of it. She 
saw Bregus complete the magic, pointing to each of them in turn, 
saying, "Li' sa' kaulo eer, sapmullo! B'e-g themengeder!" As if in 
compliance to the command, the smoke wafted with demonic speed to each 
of the four simultaneously, a separate wind dividing and guiding it 
along. She watched in terror as she saw it whirl around Strider and 
Anborn coiling about like two serpents, and then drawing back as if to 
strike. In a tremendous rush, the smoke broke apart from its shape and 
billowed again into a cloud, encasing their faces and torsos. Small 
swirls within each cloud emulated the shape of the snake a dozen times 
over, and the creatures about in the smoke prodded at their eyes, 
mouths, ears and noses, seeking an entrance into their bodies by any 
of these routes. She could see the creatures aggressive prodding, 
thrusting at the eyes of the men, piercing into their noses, coiling 
around their ears, sliding across their lips. She could see the 
creatures gliding through entrances to their clothing, slithering down 
their bellies and into private spaces beneath, and she could only 
imagine the terror of being invaded this way. The men did not stand 
idly, kicking and flailing about in their fights. They shut their eyes 
to the attack, hands flinging up to push away the transparent menace 
that licked at their ears or noses or bodies, and yet they were 
helpless as their enemy had no true body to be pushed back.

"No!" she heard Anborn gasp out as he struck out at one form curling 
against his thigh, another at his waist, and then she saw the 
serpentine smoke enter his body as he called out. He choked mightily, 
and with each inhale, more and more of the snakes leapt down his 
throat. He retched and grabbed his neck, and his eyes grew wide in 
terror, as the attacking creatures continued to plunge into his body, 
curling in and out of his nostrils as they overtook him. His legs 
buckled, and she saw him fall to his knees, still suffering the 
sickening sound of his gasps. He was quickly followed by the mirroring 
sounds and sight of Strider rolling to the ground, and behind her, 
where the dwarf and elf stood, she heard Legolas call out his 
companion's name. And then more of the same choking hacks could be 
heard. Being so close, it was almost worse, for the sound of the 
rattling torment in their lungs made Kattica nauseated and repulsed. 
She saw the men's faces contort in their struggle, coughing violently 
again and again against the harsh air that they breathed. And as they 
took in more of it, the haze about them faded and their struggles 
slowed. Their breathing grew less labored, as their bodies froze in 
their stance and within a minute they again inhaled normally as if 
nothing had been trying to cause them their harm. But worst of all the 
horror Kattica had been forced to witness thus far was what she saw 
happen to their eyes as they surrendered to the smoke. They dissolved 
into nothing, and she could see everything that they felt was wiped 
away. They were completely blank and pliant.

Kattica watched in silence, though tears came to her eyes. Bregus 
walked with her quickened steps to their sides, practically dancing in 
her mirth at their frozen stares and laughing gleefully at the sight. 
She stepped before Anborn and knelt. His appearance so likened 
Mattias' that Kattica was surprised she had not noticed it earlier. 
The old woman lingered long before him, gazing intently into his eyes 
with a hungry smile, caressing his face, and then pulling him closer 
and pressing her cheek into his. Drawing back, she ran her hand over 
the contours of his lips, uttering gentle words before pushing herself 
up and moving on. And then she stooped down to Strider whispering in 
his ear as she touched the dark man's shoulder. Kattica realized this 
was a repeat of what she had witnessed the night before, and she came 
to recognize that the old woman's touch was very important in casting 
this spell. With horror she watched as the old woman rose to step near 
her, and she was afraid for a moment Bregus might stop to ponder the 
ragged condition of the girl's expression. But to her relief, the 
older witch walked past the girl, ignoring Kattica's slow motion 
actions to reach the amulet. So intent was the elder on her next move. 
The girl grimaced as she continued to fight against the spell. Bregus 
made her way to where the dwarf stood, and Kattica was blind to what 
was happening at her back. Gimli and Legolas were behind her. Yet her 
proximity had its advantages and the girl could hear the old woman's 
instructions. "There is nothing here worthy of fear. Listen to my 
words and follow them. You will hear only the good in what I have to 
say." Involuntarily, Kattica shuddered. She remembered that the old 
woman had said much the same to her the night before, just as she 
remembered the blankness that overtook the faces of her people.

The length of the hunter's spell was waning, for Kattica felt her 
limbs slowly coming alive. Her mind continued to fight its freedom 
from the fog and the witch's control. With as much speed as her 
slow-moving body could muster, she stretched further to pick up the 
amulet. She desperately wanted it. She had to try to help these 
people, for she realized in this slowed state that Bregus was moving 
about far faster than she could. She pushed herself to stretch her 
fingers to reach the carved stone. Perhaps there was still a chance 
she could save the elf? And then, she had it! 

Immediately, with the charm in her hand, she felt her torpor lift, and 
her sense of herself was back. She looked back to see if there stood 
yet a chance for those behind her. Kattica gasped out a cry. She saw 
to her relief that an escape was still possible. Bregus was now moving 
from the dwarf to the elf, and the old woman recognized and saw the 
same thing the girl did. The cloud of smoke yet hung over Legolas. He 
still had not been claimed by its poison. The sound of her voice 
reverberated through the camp like a bell, and somehow it had a power 
that truly surprised her. The spell abruptly ended. Instantly, not 
slowly, the people came back to life!

With a snap of her head, the witch sent a wicked glare at the girl, 
and Kattica blinked both in amazement at the suddenness of the renewed 
actions, and the fear that she now felt for Bregus' anger. It sent a 
chill up the girl's spine, her heart pounding fiercely in her chest. 
But the shuv'ni was too distracted for the moment to do anything 
beyond making her move against the elf. Like the black witch, Kattica 
focused her attention on Legolas. With a small smile, Kattica saw him 
attempt his flight. In her mind she cheered him on. She knew that if 
he could get out of the circle of the pentacle Bregus had made the 
night before, he would be free from the powers of her darkness, though 
it was unlikely he would know this. As long as he remained within the 
camp, within the magic circle, near her touch, he was susceptible. 

Kattica saw Bregus scowl as he ran, but simultaneously, the old woman 
did not appear fazed. She reached into her deep pocket to retrieve an 
object there. A secret smile gleaned her lips at the discovery of what 
she sought. And then she continued her pursuit with the speed of 
youth.

****

Legolas had seen the smoke approach in the shape of a snake, and he 
immediately drew back further from his companions. With those few 
steps, he was granted an extra moment to see how the smoke attacked, 
if through no other means than by the example set by his friends. 
"Gimli!" he cried out as he saw the dwarf overtaken, but it was too 
late, and already he could hear the rasping hacks of his friend's 
coughs. He watched and absorbed it, seeing the assault, and he 
searched his mind for a means of fighting it. And then the cloud was 
upon him, and he had time for nothing else. He had his own battle to 
fight!

He held his breath to the creature and was surprised to see it break 
apart into smaller versions of itself. The smoke stung his eyes, and 
he saw the quick flicks of snakes driving themselves there. Tears 
streamed down his face as his eyes tried to wash away the haze that 
attacked him. Momentarily his hands flailed about in an involuntary 
gesture, and he was forced to shake his head, attempting to free 
himself of the smoke, not knowing in which direction he could turn to 
get away. And then he stopped and waited, barring his eyes and ears 
from further attack, and deciding prudence could potentially deliver 
him over panic. It was a warrior's tactic, and he hoped it would work. 
He could not see. He could not smell. He could not touch or taste, but 
he could hear, and with this one sense available to him, he waited for 
an indication that it was safe again to breathe. He felt the coils of 
the snake ringing about him, but in his motionless state, the 
creatures fell away, their tactic to coerce him into the weakness of 
crying out failing. But still, he remained unmoving.

He heard his friends' gasps and the sickening sound of their choking 
noises. Slowly the gags ebbed, replaced by the sounds of normal 
breathing, and he almost then opened his eyes to see if the smoke had 
cleared. But then he heard a voice, a laugh, and light steps and it 
frightened him. It belonged to the old woman and it was brittle and 
cruel, twanging in its depths with evil intentions. Malicious and cold 
it was, and he felt himself shudder at the sound of it. He heard the 
shuffle of footsteps, and he knew she was approaching, speaking to 
them each in her own vile way. He knew he did not have much time left.

Outside of the voice, all sound had ceased. It was the thing that had 
alerted him to the trouble in the camp, the cessation of noise. But 
then he heard a gasped cry from the girl, Kattica, and he snapped to 
attention at her vocalization. It sent a jolt through his body as he 
heard the ambient noises return suddenly to the camp, as if that noise 
had the power to wake them. The clinking of plates and utensils, the 
stirring of food in the pots, the sound of children laughing again, 
the trampling hooves beneath the bodies of grazing horses, they all 
came back as if they had never stopped. Regarding this as a positive 
thing, he tasted the air. 

But still it was wrong! The air remained tainted and thick with the 
noxious fumes and the creatures resumed their attack on him. He began 
to grow desperate, fighting against the smoke once again. He knew 
there was little other choice and so he picked a direction and ran. 
Fearful that he would trip, his eyes opened to slits to see his way, 
all the while enduring the snakes' stings at them. He knew that he had 
been seen, as he heard the voices of others point him out, yet no one 
came to his aid. Tears streamed from his eyes and his lungs felt ready 
to burst, but he was marvelously near the edge of the camp. A few more 
steps, one more leap…and then suddenly he collapsed. Unexplainably, 
his legs gave way and he tumbled and rolled to the ground, scraping 
his hands and his knees in the fall. In the background noise, among 
the mumbling voices of the camp, he heard a small tune being sung. It 
was a wordless thing, almost flat in the intonation of its note 
patterns, and it followed no set pattern or beat. It was a vile noise 
and he recoiled at the wickedness within it. His legs seemed to be 
numbed by it, and fight as he did, they would not respond to his 
rousing. And all this while the cloud of smoke was upon him, prying at 
him while he held on to his lingering breath. He felt himself failing 
in his fight. He rolled to his back as he tried again to escape, using 
his elbows and hands to drag himself away. He could see the old woman 
approaching him, and his eyes grew wide in fright. Her song was 
growing louder, and his arms gave out too, losing all of their 
strength to her noise. He dropped to the ground, a helpless weight, 
unable to do anything but succumb to attack.

"Legolas!" he heard Gimli cry, and he looked up briefly to see his 
friend's arrival at his side, followed immediately by Aragorn and 
Faramir. 

But his air was spent and Legolas could no longer hold on. His head 
was growing light from his lack of air, and he knew he would pass out 
at any moment if he did not inhale. Relieved at the sight of his 
friends, hoping that they could be of aid to him somehow, he drew a 
breath. It was small in comparison to what his body screamed for, but 
he thought with that much he might be able to buy himself more time. 
He was wrong. The serpents took the opportunity offered them and 
pressed it. His inhale was enough to allow the snakes entrance to his 
body. Immediately, he choked, gagging and hacking as his lungs 
rebelled into spasms, helpless to a greater invasion that occurred 
with the violent gasps. He saw and felt the creatures enter him and he 
tried to cry out. It felt like poison to him. He could see others 
gather about him as he fell against the dwarf in his fight, gathered 
into his friend's arms in the attempt to comfort, yet no one among 
them offered aid. His friends waved their hands in the air to the 
smoke, and yet still, the venomous air invaded him. The snakes roiled 
about in his chest and his eyes filled with tears as he fought for 
air. His weakened arms pushed against the invisible foe as it entered 
his body, squirming in the dwarf's arms as he gagged, trying to find 
his freedom from the smoke's invasion. He fought against taking 
another breath, but he knew it was a futile effort. He could not stop 
himself, and vaguely he thought this must be what it felt like to 
drown. In his plea for his friends' help, he was able to force a few 
small words from his throat before the need to inhale again overtook 
him. With a raspy voice, he fought out, "Help me please – smoke!" 
before more air entered him and hurt him.

He coughed deeply, with the full capacity of his chest, and felt 
sickened. His breaths came in gasping sputters, releasing the noxious 
toxins into his bloodstream. The grey tentacles penetrated his body. 
He could feel them sliding down the back of his throat, reaching down 
into the core of his body. At his side he heard Aragorn speak in a 
calm voice, grasping his arms to his side to allay the fight, "It is 
safe, Legolas. The smoke has cleared. Breathe! Breathe!"

He had little choice. His legs did not work, his eyesight was blurred, 
and his lungs and throat ached at the strain of his fight. He choked 
still with even greater violence as the sinuous air swirled about in 
his body. His eyes widened at the attack, and he felt true panic as he 
found himself unable to escape it. And then he inhaled once again, and 
his struggle dissipated. It seemed now that the air was filtering 
clean. His coughs were slowing and he felt his body accepting the 
gulps of oxygen he took in. His arms fell away from his fight.

But he felt something else. Distant, remote, as if his body and mind 
were separating from each other, living apart in completely different 
places. His body calmed from the spasms that he had suffered as it 
took in the air now offered it. But he also knew his mind was not 
connected to this action. His tear-filled eyes fixed into a blank 
stare that he seemed unable to avoid and he saw and heard everything 
about him in finite detail in the next moments. He saw the girl drop 
down to his side, troubled feelings registering strongly in her eyes, 
He saw the old woman step up behind her, looking on with a wry smile, 
pushing something into a small pouch tied to her side. He saw many of 
the Romany gather about him, including the three brothers and the 
genuine looks of curiosity and concern on their faces. 

"Legolas?" he heard Gimli's worried call at his side, but he did not 
answer. He could not answer. He felt frozen and incapable of doing 
anything that would cause his body movement from this place it was 
fixed in, though he wanted desperately to speak.

Legolas felt the dwarf stir. "What do you make of this?" he heard 
Gimli ask, obvious concern in his voice. 

"I know not. He is much now like how he acts to the sea-longing. But 
there was smoke, as if in tentacles, and he was crying out against it 
only seconds ago. I am at a loss to explain it," the former Ranger 
said with a frown, checking Legolas' pulse and looking deeply into his 
eyes.

"And yet you did not see any smoke, did you? You could not, for there 
was none here." It was the old woman who spoke, and Legolas saw 
Kattica jump, almost as if she did not realize the elder stood behind 
her.

"But…" Aragorn began, yet his eyes darkened, and he looked for the 
moment as if conflicted. Then his eyelids fluttered, and he uttered 
softly in concurrence to the old woman's statement, "Nay, I did not 
see smoke."

Legolas felt Gimli nodding his agreement, as he heard Faramir, slowly 
echoing the words, "There was no smoke."

Trapped in his frozen body, Legolas' mind rebelled. His face twisted 
slightly as he tried to speak up. There was smoke! How can they say 
there was not? They fought it too! He worked to muster himself back, 
to fight for what he knew. His brow furrowed as he tried to form 
words, but then the elder woman bent over, supporting her weight on 
the shoulder of Kattica as she reached out and touched his neck, as if 
attempting to register his pulse. An electric shock ran through him 
and he saw the old woman react to it too. Through his fixed gaze, he 
thought he saw Kattica jump back. But it was too late to think much 
more than this. He felt his thoughts recede further, as if in a 
tunnel, as he heard the old woman speak as she examined him, holding 
his face between her hands, "Perhaps it is sea-longing. I have heard 
tale of this affliction. Very tiring it must be. He does look 
fatigued, does he not? I doubt he will remember much of anything when 
he awakens, and I would imagine it would be best if he were to sleep 
until it passes."

He heard the words, and they seemed to take possession of him. 
Traveling down the long corridor that separated his body from his 
mind, they followed him as he grew helpless to their effect. Suddenly, 
every muscle of his body felt crushed with exhaustion, and his 
troubled thoughts melted into a blur. The words he had been trying to 
say fell away, and he found himself light-headed and hopelessly 
weakened. Only the repetition of her words escaped him before he lost 
all control. "Sleep…" Legolas drawled in a whisper, and with that his 
eyelids fell heavily and his head lolled forward.

"Legolas?" he heard Gimli distantly prod, but the elf had nothing more 
within him, and the dwarf's call was met with no response. Legolas 
slipped away, collapsing deeply and effortlessly into the oblivion she 
laid out for him.



"Li' sa' kaulo eer, sapmullo! B'e-g themengeder!" – "By the gods I 
command you, snake spirit! Seize these foreign souls!





Chapter Ten: Control and Compliance

He had been struggling, yet now he was still. Flailing and fighting an 
unseen demon, and then, almost mercifully, lost in elven dreams. Gimli 
did not understand. Sea-longing, they said. He was having difficulty 
believing it. 

Protectively he held on as the former Ranger and the shuv’ni exchanged 
words about his downed friend. Only now did he realize his fingers 
were still tightly and painfully curled around the shoulder of the 
elf. He softened his grip and he felt Legolas’ body shift in his arms, 
the elf's head falling back. Adjusting himself, he tenderly brought 
Legolas' head and shoulders down to a reclining position in his lap. 
Gimli watched his friend's face while anxiety and doubt gripped him. 
This did not seem right. In all the time he had spent with Legolas, on 
the many occasions he had actually witnessed the assault of this 
presumed illness, he could not recall seeing anything like this 
occurrence. This felt of ill-omen. Unnatural. Surreal. "Ar – Strider," 
he whispered, catching himself as he almost called the man by his 
rightful name, "Surely this is not the sea-longing we have witnessed. 
Never has he been agitated and tormented by it so. Nor fallen so 
quickly or deeply into dream after. I do not concur with your 
interpretation. I do not believe that is it."

The Ranger frowned at the dwarf and Gimli could see the man too was 
perplexed by the mystery of the illness. Apologetically, he said, "I 
know naught else to call it, Gimli. While it seems early yet for this 
to have happened in an elf so young as Legolas, I do know in advanced 
stages among Silvan elves, his affliction can have symptoms such as we 
have seen. Have you knowledge that he has not been affected this way?"

Gimli reddened, and looked down at his friend's face in shame. "He 
will not – we do not – I know not of late how he is affected by the 
sea's call. I am faulted in this as I have not asked, though I am 
afraid he would be remiss to volunteer this information even if I 
should. And yet, we do not need to speak on it. When I am with him, 
and he is plagued, I can see it. Almost intuitively sometimes, but I 
know it. And this does not feel like sea-longing to me, Strider. He 
does not suffer like that."

Aragorn gave a knowing glance to the dwarf, agreeing in his own way, 
then looked upon the elf's face. He frowned. It was plain to see that 
Legolas was captured in a deep state of unconsciousness, whatever it 
was that had caused it. His eyes were tightly sealed, and that did not 
bode well. Yet his breathing was slow and steady and he did not appear 
to be in any pain. "It matters not what it is for now. We should get 
him back to our camp. We can treat him there if it is something of 
greater consequence, and he will feel better to awaken in an 
environment he knows," Strider said with an authority that came 
naturally to him. The decision made, he stood and reached out to raise 
the elf in an effort to carry him.

"What is your hurry?" the old woman said as she stepped to his side. 
She touched Aragorn, and he stopped where he stood. "He appears to be 
at peace. It might do him more good to let him sleep. And you have not 
finished your meal, while I have still yet to dine. Please, I have so 
much that I would ask you. Come. Sit and talk with me," the elder said 
with a deep, rich voice that seemed more youthful than her appearance. 
Aragorn stood in his spot, blinking and looking at her. He seemed to 
be weighing her words, as if she had a tremendous influence on this 
decision. She tugged at the Ranger's arm, attempting to lead him away, 
and to Gimli's surprise, Aragorn was willing. 

Faramir blinked, snapping to life, also astounded that the Ranger 
would not choose this moment to leave. "Strider," he called in a harsh 
voice, then he reached over to pull the man's other arm. "What are you 
doing? Have you taken leave of your senses? We should go! Legolas has 
fallen ill and we do not know the cause. Surely we can not stand about 
making idle conversation at this time?" 

Gimli watched with confusion as Aragorn's face became rent in 
indecision. His eyes looked lost, blinking, as if struggling with 
conflicting thoughts. He perceived a silent war going on in the 
Ranger's head as he saw gray eyes crawl back to the prone elf, and 
then on to the old woman, and then back again to his friend. He could 
tell that a part of Aragorn wanted to leave this place, but something 
was compelling him to stay. Was it the old woman? Even to the dwarf, 
to whom the woman's comments had not been directed, there was a pull 
in her voice that reached into his soul. She stepped between Aragorn 
and Faramir and touched them both. Then with a smile she turned, 
including the dwarf in her discourse as she reached over and offered a 
pat to his shoulder. "Please, my friends. I do not mean to be the 
cause of quarrel between you. Of course you must go if you perceive 
your friend truly ill. But I can assure you from what I see, he is 
healthy and only in need of rest. We can make him comfortable here 
until he awakens, and there will be no need to carry him anywhere. 
Kattica can attend to him, as she is almost as skilled at healing as 
I."

He saw Faramir waver and Gimli too felt his resolve shaken. He 
hesitated, not wanting to be turned away from what he perceived as his 
friend's dire need. He looked down to his lap, at the sleeping figure 
of Legolas, and readily it seemed that the danger was not so great as 
he had originally thought. Perhaps it was only sea-longing, though it 
was odd even to him that he should brush off his worries so lightly. 
Still, he knew there was little he could say or do on it until the elf 
awoke. Then they could talk and discover the cause. And as for the 
sudden onslaught of sleep that followed, he knew well that his friend 
was fatigued, not having slept the prior night, or mayhap even before 
that. Gimli would not reveal it now, here of all places, but the elf 
did not find the beauty of Henneth-Annûn as beguiling as the rest of 
them did, particularly the interior spaces of the fortress. He knew 
the elf thought it most cave-like, and the ilk of those troubled 
thoughts seemed to prevent him rest. With these affirmations bounding 
through his mind, he could see that it might indeed be safe to stay in 
this camp a while longer while they allowed Legolas his rest. He 
looked up to Kattica. She was watching him with emotion-filled eyes. 
The strings of her amulet hung down from a hand held in a curiously 
tight fist. He could not read her expression, but assumed it to mean 
she would care for his friend. Thus, making his decision, he lay 
Legolas quietly to the ground and rose to join his other two friends. 

The elderly woman touched him again, speaking her assurances. "He will 
be well cared for, I promise you. Do not worry. Curtik and Gordash 
will find a more comfortable place to lay him and Kattica will attend 
to him… Come, now, my friend. All is well. There is food here for you. 
Come." And even if he had never considered leaving prior to that 
moment, the dwarf now felt assured, certain that nothing would come to 
harm his friend. They stepped away, leaving Legolas behind as they 
joined the old woman moving to her place at the table. Gimli briefly 
glimpsed back as the two brothers left to prepare a place of rest in 
the camp for his friend. A jarring pang of guilt struck him as he 
looked back on the scene and he locked his steps, pausing where he 
stood. The girl was gazing at him, a single tear hanging in her eye. 
She looked forlorn and lost as she glanced back down at the prone 
figure, sitting in the dirt and alone in her watch over Legolas. And 
then the old woman touched Gimli's arm one more time, and he turned 
away.

****

The mystery of the sensations that whirled about him left Faramir 
perplexed. He focused his attention on the old woman, paying strict 
attention to her appearance to see if it could guide him in 
understanding what was happening. Like the others in the camp, she was 
dressed in bright, gaudy patterns, and a glimmer of gold whispered 
beneath the lacing of her blouse, as if she wore jewels beneath her 
dress. A shawl about her shoulders was finely embroidered, showing off 
the dexterity of younger fingers in their skill with the needle. He 
looked at her hands. Bent and misshapen they were, with arthritic 
joints and ribbons of veins revealed beneath the papery leather of her 
skin. A brief compulsion wrought over him to touch the back of her 
hand and confirm the texture he perceived there, but he fought it. Her 
body was small, almost frail in its thinness, but he sensed far more 
strength in her muscles than her body belied. She stood very straight, 
not stooped like so many at that age, and she held her head proudly 
and high. Her snowy hair was pulled back into a tightly coifed braid 
that ringed around her head twice, and her eyes sparkled brightly, 
with an inner light that he found unique. And yet he could see she was 
waning, her end drawing near. She was very old, and the lines on her 
face were confirmation of her ancient prowess, even if she carried 
herself with vigor. Her nails showed brittle and yellow on shaky 
hands, and her hair was the texture of cotton, somewhat ragged and 
dry. Her teeth were barely visible when she spoke, but on closer 
examination, he detected they were crooked and stained. Yet despite 
these negative features, her careworn face was swept up with a smile 
that seemed genuine and friendly, and Faramir found himself enthralled 
by her. He sat at the table to her left, and across from him was 
Aragorn, sitting to her right, with Gimli close at his side. 

It was her voice that had him captured. Her voice was unlike any he 
had heard among a woman so very old. Deep, rich, lingering, like the 
resonating tones of a woodwind, almost seductive and hypnotic was the 
sound. Faramir closed his eyes. Never could he remember having felt 
this way before, guided solely by the inducement of voice. He was 
intrigued, and he felt held in a grip of fascination for every word 
uttered. He blushed. It was almost sexual, the nature of its effect, 
and had she not the face and body of an old woman, he might have 
forgotten himself in her timbre, so eager was he to comply with her 
wishes in order to hear her speak again. He felt shame for that 
helplessness. Thankfully though, when he opened his eyes, he felt 
himself regain his hold on himself, and thankfully too, there were 
Aragorn and Gimli standing by. Without them near, he was not sure of 
how he might act. 

He was confused by this. It did not make sense to him, nor did he 
think it ever would. This was not right, he knew, and it repulsed him 
to think she could have him if she desired, but somehow the hypnotic 
quality of her voice was an inducement to him. He would look to his 
friends for the support to fight this mysterious pull. He was glad he 
had them near.

****

Bregus was not happy. This was far more difficult than she had 
anticipated. Her body shook at the effort, and her head quailed in 
droning dull pain over the presence of so many thoughts in her mind. 
She had told Bäla this would be a hard task to accomplish. And now it 
was proving itself true.

First there was the elf. He was as spirited and difficult as she had 
expected him to be. And knowing this, she should have gone to him 
first. She cursed herself for her foolishness. The allure of the one 
who would play host for her dear Bäla had drawn her away to that side 
of the camp. Anborn. She silently berated herself for allowing her 
yearning to guide her, instead of her mind. The face of Anborn was far 
too compelling. She had trusted the spell to do her job for her, but 
she would not make that mistake again. Thankfully, the damage was not 
too difficult to undo. She actually had expected this. She thought he 
might run. She had made the talisman from the hair of the dead elf for 
just an occasion such as this. It was easy enough to stay this elf 
with the spell of the charm to arm her. And had that been all that she 
had had to deal with, Bregus would have been satisfied.

But that had not been all. 

The girl. That vile, awful child! The girl had cried out, and her 
sound had been enough to waken the camp, to draw them out of a spell 
of Bregus' make. Powerful magic indeed! Bregus cursed Kattica. Even 
under my spell she is dangerous. The witch would have to watch that 
one, and Bregus grew angry. Have I not enough to do on my own? If only 
I could harness her magic into my own. Then I would be a formidable 
force. And while she was angry at the other witch for her 
interference, she was certain it had not been intentional. The girl 
does not have sense enough to know to what extent she can effect her 
surroundings. That did not make it forgivable though. Her cry had not 
worked to Bregus' benefit. She woke them, and far too soon for Bregus' 
comfort. Some of them had seen the fleeing elf and the smoke that 
ensnared him. The shuv'ni had had to work fast to wipe away that 
memory. Her words had had to mingle in their minds to wash the image 
of the smoke from their thoughts. Her people were easy enough to 
subjugate this way, although taking on the control for so many minds 
was a daunting task. A lesser shuv'ni would have faltered. But she had 
controlled her own people for so many years that plying them to her 
whims was not so very hard. It was just that she had never taken it on 
simultaneously before, and it was causing her strain. And then there 
were the strangers with which to deal. Fortunately the three mortals 
were newly under the influence of the serpentine spell and their minds 
were easily moldable this way. How long the effects of this mental 
coaxing would last she could not say, but it was a strong spell, and 
she had hopes that it would coalesce into a permanent state for these 
three quickly.

Hopefully, they would remain suggestive. If only… it was not going to 
be easy. Already there was trouble. 

At least she did not have to worry about the elf for now. He had 
fallen readily enough into sleep, weakened and vulnerable, she 
supposed, by the suddenness of the snake's attack on his mind. She was 
very grateful for that. Once trapped in the limbo of dreams, she could 
keep him there. For a while, at least. It was never easy to hold one 
against their will, and she knew eventually the elf would awaken on 
his own. That is, if she found no other way to keep him. But for now, 
he at least was a compliant captive, and that made her breathe a 
little easier. And an excuse had been provided unwittingly by the man. 
She had not considered calling upon the sea-longing as the blame for 
his actions or sleep, but it was good reasoning, and she had latched 
onto it hard. She would have to be quick in her thinking if she was to 
get through this with success. At least there was one less of them to 
deal with for now.

Truthfully, it was the elf she feared most. Somehow these strange 
creatures of the forest had a heightened power of perception. That was 
why she had poisoned the dogs. She could not afford to have them 
warning the elf of the danger they posed before she was ready. Elves 
saw and felt danger about them where no mortal man did, and she had 
not been eager to try and hold this one's mind like the others. She 
felt certain he would fight her, and then in turn he would try to 
break her hold on his friends. And as it was, holding them was not an 
easy task. 

The dwarf was a struggle. She could see he was fighting her, guided by 
some inner sense of duty and loyalty. Dwarves were stubborn, she 
reasoned. And she told herself that she would need to discard this one 
as swiftly as possible once she extracted the information she needed 
from him. For now, he could be controlled, but it was a slippery hold 
she had. So long as she touched him, he was held, but her power waned 
quickly when the contact was lost from him. She could not count on his 
surrender for very long.

In many ways, the men were easier. But then again not, for their minds 
stayed focused on their own thoughts more effectively than a dwarf and 
that could be troublesome. Ultimately, she knew the best solution 
would be to put them all into a sleep, like she had the elf. But that 
would not work for her plans. There were questions to ask and answers 
she needed. She needed to know about their camp, about the Protected 
Place she suspected was within it, and about the number in their party 
and their strengths. A sleeping mind would not yield this information, 
and she needed to know now. She felt certain she had little choice but 
to proceed as she was.

But she felt shaken. To hold so many in her power was an overwhelming 
feat, and she was not sure she had the endurance to hold out for very 
long. Were it just the strangers she were bewitching, it would have 
been an easy enough task. But they along with all the others in the 
camp created for her a daunting spell. She was unsure she could do 
this, and that was not a good thing to feel in the throes of a 
mystical performance. It would be a battle of wills that she fought – 
multiple wills against just the one that was hers.

Her mind was racing, trying to keep up with all the thoughts running 
through it. She could sense the presence of the multiple holds in her 
head. Too many, she thought, but now was not the time to rethink that 
struggle. She had to go on, to think on her feet. It was difficult. 

Where is the girl? she wondered as she searched her mind to find the 
trace of thoughts that she knew flittered about her daughter-in-law's 
head. She could not find that child. Too many, she reiterated to 
herself. I cannot sort them all at once. Never had she tried to sway 
so many thoughts at the same time, but she had to shake her worries 
away. She had to trust that the girl was there, somewhere. She had no 
time to go searching. All her attention at the moment needed to be 
drawn on the strangers that sat before her. 

The serpent smoke had worked its way into their bodies. She had seen 
it. It had done its job. Coercive they were to her suggestions. Now it 
was up to her to use its twisting coils to pry into their minds and 
wrench their wills to her sway. She needed to force them to her 
wishes. But force was never easy. Subtlety was her weapon for she knew 
compliance only came if the subject was willing. Or at least they 
thought they were willing. She was nervous. They were strong. Stronger 
than she had anticipated, and she knew what she did now was the 
hardest she had ever worked to force her dark magic upon another soul. 
She needed to win. 

"I am sure you have heard me referred to as Mother, but that name will 
not do with strangers – unless, of course, that's what you prefer," 
she laughed lightly, trying to ease her own mood and fall into a role 
that they would find charming. "However for formality sake, I am 
Bregus, and I am very pleased to be meeting you."

They were gathered about her at the table, and food was before them, 
though they all picked at it. Everyone seemed to feign hunger though 
no one was really eating.

The dark-haired man gave her a gentle smile and began to say, "And I 
am–"

"No. Do not tell me," she interrupted, holding a hand up to him, "I 
believe I already know your names. You are…Strider. Yes, Strider, that 
is right. A unique name, but fitting for you, somehow. Hmm," she said 
with brightening eyes, then turned them to look upon the dwarf, "And 
Gimli, of course, for who else would you be? I do adore dwarves, you 
know. Such charms they possess. I know of many a man who could be 
bettered from your kind. Dwarves always know how to treat a lady. I 
hope you two gentlemen will follow his example," she said with a wink. 
The light-haired man beside her quietly laughed as Gimli turned 
crimson to the flattery. And then she turned her eyes on him, and she 
could see he was already nearly hers. She could see into him, her eyes 
penetrating to his soul and she knew he felt awkward and naked for it. 
He blushed before she even spoke. "You are Anborn, or so they say, 
though that name does not sit well on you. No matter though, you are 
here, and you will have to forgive my stares. You are the exact 
likeness of my dead husband. And never have I had a love quite like 
him. You will have to stay here it seems, for it would be hard for me 
to be parted from this face again," she chuckled lightly, reaching out 
and flirtatiously cradling his chin, barely repressing her desires. He 
laughed in his embarrassment.

"My wife might not think highly of me were I to run off and join the 
gypsies," he protested.

"Most likely not," Bregus said flatly, a twinge of jealousy hitting 
her at the mention of a wife. But it did not matter. She leaned back 
in her seat and crooked an eyebrow at them, saying, "And the name of 
your sleeping friend is Legolas. He seems very regal, does he not? But 
then all elves do, or so it appears. My knowledge of their kind is 
limited to what I can recall from childhood, but that I do remember. 
Their pride." Though she tried to hide it, a hint of disdain 
penetrated her tone. She hoped they would not notice it.

Strider spoke. "How is it you know our names?"

The old woman leaned forward and whispered, as if to tell them all a 
secret, working hard to beguile them with charm, and easing her way 
quietly into their souls. "Would you believe me if I told you I found 
the answer by gazing into a crystal ball?" Then reaching around and 
tickling Anborn's ribs, she laughed as he squirmed and said, "No. That 
would be foolish, when all I need do is use my ears. I can hear quite 
well, you know, despite my advanced age. I'm proud of that too. And my 
ears picked up your names as they were batted about our camp. Strider, 
Gimli and Anborn, I welcome you!" she said with a bowed head.

She directed her gaze on Anborn. "So tell me, for what purpose are you 
here?"

"We come to hunt," The man answered without thinking. Bregus was 
pleased that he was so easy to give.

"Large game, I presume, for the four of you to hunt as one."

"Stag," he volunteered. She smiled again.

"And what of the others in your camp? Do they hunt for stag as well?"

Bregus caught the glance of warning Strider flashed at the younger 
man. Anborn looked down with a small smile as the dark-haired one 
answered, "You might say the others in our camp have greater targets 
for their focus. They are brilliant in pursuit of their prey. Quite 
stealthy." Gimli chuckled at the joke, but Bregus was confused. She 
silently cursed, So there are others!

"And what would that mean?" the old woman asked with a sweet smile, 
her eyes fixed on Anborn, discouraging his mind from wandering away 
from her now.

"Our–" the young man started, but stopped as Strider jumped in.

"It would mean the others stay behind and tend to our sight while we 
hunt," he answered smoothly. Bregus noted that Anborn looked 
embarrassed and pulled back from the table, blushing slightly. He was 
going to tell her, she was certain. But that one, Strider, had stopped 
him, and now the fair one was squirming away. What was happening here? 
What were they hiding? Was her hold on these strangers not as tight as 
she thought?

"Is it a large camp then that it needs such maintenance?" the shuv'ni 
asked them both, continuing and trying not to look flustered.

"It is large enough to hold a small troop, if need be," Anborn 
bragged, forgetting himself once again. Ah, he is still mine. But she 
could see Strider shaking his head to this, and she grew worried.

"Is that how many you travel with?" Bregus asked with a quick smile 
and her own secret dread, fixing her eyes again on him. 

"There are–"

"We travel with others," Gimli answered quickly, interrupting, and 
Bregus whipped her eyes at him, silently cursing him for his 
interference. This was difficult. "That's all you need know."

"Many?" she persisted gazing again at the younger man.

"Why do you ask?" It was Strider who said this in a curt tone, and the 
stern sound of it indicated that she had gone too far with her 
questions. 

Bregus hesitated and her mind was panicked. Her hold on these men was 
not as strong as she would have liked. They were breaking away, and 
she was not done yet. She frowned for a brief second, then regained 
her confidence. The matriarch's face broke off with her most charming 
of smiles as she reached out to touch Strider's hands lightly. "Merely 
curious, my friend, that's all. We have so few visitors. You make it 
sound as if hunting is a rare thing for you," she said, gazing again 
at Anborn, though she also glanced at Strider to see if he had been 
swayed. To her relief, his stance had relaxed and eyes appeared vacant 
for the moment.

"We do not do it as often as we would like," Strider answered, his 
voice dimming to a whisper.

"Why is that?" she said lightly so as not to startle his daze, sudden 
interest in the dark-haired man grabbing her attention.

"We–" Strider softly began, blinking, but was cut off.

"We are city-dwellers," Anborn said, his brow knit as if he were 
trying to recall some far off thought. She looked into him. She could 
almost read him. He was rebelling. He was sensing her presence and he 
was trying to protect his friend. How strange to be so drawn to his 
friend's need. She reached out and touched him again, and she saw the 
glimmer of strain fade away from him too.

"And what do you do in the city? You are not very good hunters it 
seems." Such pretense, she thought. She hated it. If only she could 
pry out the information she needed without going through these 
ridiculous roundabout methods. But if she took any other tact, they 
truly would rebel. She needed them to give her this information in a 
way that they found more natural. Non-aggressive. Freely given. So 
that their minds would not perceive their bend to her will. Too quick, 
and the spell would break. Manipulations would have to guide them to 
the answers she desired. But they were breaking away even with the 
care she was taking. This was not what she had anticipated.

Anborn looked lost in his thoughts, and she thought that perhaps she 
had sent his mind too far. But then he shook his head and slowly 
turned to look at her with blankly non-expressive eyes and said, "We 
are not successful at the hunt only because the dwarf and elf would 
not stop interfering."

That was not the answer Bregus expected. It was comical and it threw 
her for the pure innocence of his reply. For once her laugh was truly 
heartfelt. She saw him smile, like a child who has pleased an adult, 
in response to her mirth. He did not understand and yet he wanted to 
see her happy. So willing, she thought. She turned to the dwarf. "Ah, 
so you are opposed to the hunt?" Gimli looked tense under her gaze, 
passing a glance to both the dark and light-haired men, his brow 
screwing up in question to their lost expressions. But then he 
shrugged, as if deeming her query innocent enough to look to the 
others for askance. He did not take his eyes from the men. 

"I believe in it only when need requires it," the dwarf growled.

And then an idea occurred to Bregus as a small smile crept upon her 
face. She continued, "And you, Strider, how do you feel?"

The dark-haired one smiled weakly as his eyes came ack to focus. He 
nodded toward his human companion. He said, "I side with my friend. I 
like the sport. Especially if we find the stag we have been seeking on 
this holiday. We both want to take it as our trophy."

The old woman leaned back and chuckled. She could use this, she 
decided. She was losing them. She saw that. But it need not be a 
permanent loss. If she could only plant the idea in their minds. Again 
she reached over and touched both men, coaxing them once more. "Then 
why not split up your party? Go your separate ways and see what you 
may accomplish apart."

"That we could do, but the elf and dwarf prefer not to hunt, and 
Strider and I contest for the same stag," Anborn said, his eyes 
slightly glazed again, as if drugged, but laughing in spite of it.

"Ah, I see. Then why not pair up in another way? The elf with one man 
and the dwarf with another?" Bregus said, a large grin forming on her 
lips.

"Strider and Legolas would have the advantage if they teamed up. 
Legolas is an excellent bowman, as is Strider," the light-haired man 
freely volunteered.

"Have you no prowess in this arena?" Bregus asked him with intense 
curiosity. Now she was learning somewhat of their skills.

"I am fair, but not a match for those two together. Legolas and I 
would make a better pairing to Gimli and…and Strider," he answered, 
his voice trailing off, as if suddenly realizing he was telling too 
much.

The old woman's gaze left him and focused on the dwarf. She must hurry 
now. Prodding him with her hand, as if in a tease, she said, "And I 
imagine this contest would suit you as well, Master Dwarf. To best an 
elf seems a mighty challenge."

"Hm?" the dwarf answered with distraction. Then realizing the 
question, he answered with pride, "I could beat him." His face grew 
solemn as he considered his words, then he said, "Perhaps we should 
look in on him now?"

"He is fine," she said reaching over and squeezing his hand once 
again, and then she changed the subject dramatically. "Tell me about 
the others you travel with."

"Tell us about what Curtik was trying to say," Strider said, changing 
the topic again as his eyes focused on her. He was breaking away. Her 
loss was coming even faster than she had thought.

"Ah my youngest. Sometimes he still acts as a child, though he is 
clearly a man. What did he do that was inappropriate? Whatever it is, 
I apologize in advance," she said reaching out to touch the older 
man's hand.

He pulled it away, moving it to his lap, and sitting straighter. "He 
told us you needed an elf." His gaze was penetrating and Bregus 
momentarily shuddered. He would not surrender easily. His mind fought 
back. This was a very powerful man.

She grew solemn, the smile receding from her face. She paled and did 
not answer. She was unsure how to answer him. She did not want to 
answer him.

"Is this true?" Strider continued. 

She smiled coyly, trying to regain her hold. "You do not need to know 
this."

"Is it true?" he firmly asked again.

She was being pushed. Answering their questions was not in her agenda. 
But this one was most certainly pulling out of the spell, and she 
needed to cover herself before she could rouse more suspicion. If she 
could just touch him again. "Yes. And no," she quietly stammered.

"What do you mean?" he continued, also in a quiet voice, yet the stern 
tone was one of interrogation, and it did not ease.

The old woman paused long before answering. She pondered this, her 
eyes glancing from side to side taking in the faces and expressions of 
the threesome. She did not know what to do beyond delivering the rote 
words she had told her own people. She saw no way around it. They 
would fight her if she tried to overpower them otherwise. She smiled 
with apology as she explained. "It is my visions, you see. They tell 
me my people will find solace when an elf is found."

And then she quickly grabbed Strider's shoulder and reached over to 
touch Anborn's hand in a gesture that conveyed conviction with an 
emotional charge, but really it was a means to touch them again and 
regain her sway. She squeezed and did not immediately relinquish her 
hold. "I saw our deaths beyond," she continued, her eyes growing large 
in the telling, seeing it herself in her mind. "I saw a crowd of 
villagers, angry and scared. They were out to destroy us. They wanted 
to see our deaths." Anborn's eyes grew larger, as if he could see it 
too, and she mentally guided her thoughts to him. This one is mine, 
she thought. She would not let him slip away if she could help it. She 
sensed the coils of the snake tighten further in him.

"So you are in flight?" Gimli asked skeptically from his seat.

"Only from a future that may or may not come. If we are cast away, I 
fear we will meet with this fate. But if we can stay, my family has 
hope. Do you see now why my son was so moved? Finding you here – you 
with an elf – tells us we have journeyed well. We can be safe now."

She saw the young man look into Strider's eyes, his sympathy apparent. 
She thought he might say something on her people's behalf. But before 
he could, Gimli spoke again. "It is not ours to grant this." With 
finality, the dwarf rose. There was something in that motion that 
stirred the other two. She saw a sudden change in the fairer one. He 
dropped his gaze, as if pondering his thoughts, and she felt him 
slipping away from her again. She tried to reach out to him, but he 
pulled back, and she felt saddened. She was losing him. Like Bäla.

"Of course not," she said to the dwarf's comments, but her mind was on 
the one named Anborn. Her heart was breaking.

The dwarf ended it all for her. "I tire of these questions. They go on 
too long. I think we should go look in on Legolas. Now. I do not like 
leaving him alone when we do not know what ails him."

Anborn stiffened, blinking and glancing about as if suddenly realizing 
that the elf was not with them. Strider shook his head, clearing his 
thoughts as well, and he stood to follow. 

The only one who remained seated was Bregus. She frowned, watching her 
captives leaving her, feeling tears welling up. Her sense of the 
snakes' holds was loosening instead of tightening. She glanced about 
the camp, surveying her people, assessing their power and whether to 
use them. She could force these men to stay, capturing them as 
prisoners, but she didn't know enough about them for that to make 
sense. What if there wore more in their camp? Many more? The Romany 
would be overpowered. Her people were not fighters. They were not 
prepared to be her protectors. And she was still vague about the 
waterfall and the presumed cave within it. Was it truly the Protected 
Place? Bäla had said it was, but she had not confirmed this herself. 
And, to her chagrin, they were hiding facts from her. Like Anborn's 
name. That was not who he was. She could tell when she looked into him 
and saw the slight stiffening at that word. There was a hesitation 
from him to answer. Why did he disguise himself? And what affect did 
these lies have on her? She scowled and felt a stifled cry gathering 
in her throat. She may never know. He was leaving her! She was not 
prepared to concede her loss. She shook her head, feeling herself 
slowly sinking into a bitter mire of her mind's making. "Very well," 
she said in a withered voice. "Let us look in on your friend."

****

Kattica sat alone in the bender tent with the sleeping figure of the 
elf. Hopeless and lost, she wondered at Bregus' plans.

She opened her palm and looked at the amulet that she'd held so 
fiercely since retrieving it. The lines that defined its edges and 
shape were etched in her hand through the pressure caused by her 
fingers. Knowing she was susceptible without it, the girl held it up 
by the strings. It whirled for a moment before her, coalescing into an 
unrecognizable blur to her eye before she stopped it by placing it to 
her chest. She could not afford to be without it again. She draped the 
strings around her neck and quickly tied it about her. With this quiet 
power to aid her, she felt safer and stronger. She hid the evidence of 
it beneath her clothing and allowed herself to think fully on what was 
occurring.

She was grateful to be quietly cloistered away with the elf. It was 
easier this way to think on what was happening about her. It allowed 
her to cry openly though quietly as her memories of everything that 
had occurred since last night came back to her. There was extreme 
danger here. She now knew it.

Bregus wanted her baby. That in itself was frightening enough to make 
her want to run from this camp with everything her spirit could 
muster. Nightfall would come, and the dogs were still recovering. She 
knew this was probably the only opportunity she would get to flee – 
flee now before it was too late.

But then there was Mattias. Kattica felt tears well in her eyes when 
she thought about leaving him behind. He was an innocent in this. She 
knew that. She knew he was not responsible for what he had done last 
night or what he was doing now, as an accomplice to his mother. The 
girl shook her head. It was powerful magic indeed if Bregus could 
alter the morality of those under her spell, especially someone as 
highly principled as Kattica's husband. She would have never conceived 
such a thing possible. Such blackness! Kattica repressed a shudder.

She wondered about Gordash and Curtik. They had gone off with Mother 
on an earlier adventure. Considering it now, they'd reported nothing 
happened, though surely something had for Bregus to have come back so 
changed. More youthful, in a way, the elder now stood. Kattica 
wondered. Had the shuv'ni cast a similar spell on the younger men to 
help her in whatever had caused that transformation? The older witch 
had cast an enchantment on the camp already, years ago, but the girl 
had assumed it was simply to disguise the dark turn she had taken. Had 
the power of the long-standing spell made the residents of the camp 
more susceptible to their moral failing? It was all she could think, 
for tarnishing the heart, even in black magic, was most difficult to 
do without aid. Never had she considered how dark Bregus' turn might 
have been. Now Kattica realized it was much worse than she'd ever 
suspected. How much had Bregus hidden from them over the years? How 
much did she hide from them now? 

Never before had she known how corrupted Bregus' heart was. But the 
horrors of last night, and now of this day were telling of just how 
desperate and depraved the elder had grown. She should have known it. 
She should have seen. But Kattica knew in her heart that the darkness 
had been there long before she had entered Mattias' camp. 

For a moment she wished she had not known. She wished she could have 
remained ignorant and placid, like the rest. At least then she would 
have lived with a peaceful mind. Like a sheep before a slaughter, she 
told herself. She realized how foolish that would be. Ignorance was 
not fair compensation. She should know, and she did. At least 
partially she did. And she would not go willingly into it. And neither 
would she allow Mattias to go without a fight. 

She sobbed lightly in fear for a few moments before gathering her 
strength. And then she looked hard at the figure that shared the tent 
with her. The pain that she felt over Mattias' betrayal came back to 
her as she thought about the look on the dwarf's face when he walked 
away from his friend. Pitiable. He did not want to leave, she could 
see, but he was helpless not to follow Bregus, at war with himself but 
not knowing why. She had felt so alone at that moment, but somehow 
looking at the sleeping elf, she knew she was not. 

She made up her mind in that instant. "Very well then, Master Elf. I 
will help you. I know what she wants from me, but I cannot discern why 
she has snared you, and your friends. I will have to pretend to be 
under her spell if I am to succeed, but I will do it so long as I am 
able to save my child and myself. And you, I think. Somehow, I think, 
our fates are linked. And so I will help you." 

In sympathetic gesture, she touched Legolas' smooth cheek with the 
back of her hand. It was cool, but not lifeless. She felt the whisper 
of his breath grace her wrist in exhale, and she was moved as she saw 
his brow crease lightly, as if telling of a dream. She pulled away 
softly. Immediately he stirred, changing positions, and she thought 
this was a good sign that he might be waking. And then his eyes opened 
without fluttering, swiftly, revealing the blue depths that had been 
hiding there. She gasped at the suddenness of it. He looked at her, 
and she recovered herself, smiling with a kindly expression. But her 
smile froze as she realized there was no light there. His eyes were 
open, but he did not see. "Legolas?" she called out, but he did not 
answer her. She frowned. Was this more of Bregus' work? Kattica 
touched his wrist. His pulse seemed normal, if not a little slow, and 
his breathing had not changed. She shook her head in wonder. If she 
had not known better, she would have guessed he was sleeping. With his 
eyes open. She waved a hand before his face and tilted her head to 
scrutinize him more closely. Perhaps he was sleeping?

"Can you hear me?" she asked, but still he did not answer. And then 
she pressed her thoughts on in a whisper. "If you can hear me, 
Legolas, then know my pledge. I will help you as best I can. But I 
have to put my family first. Know that too. I mean to save Mattias, 
although I don't know how. Perhaps we will think of something 
together." 

Pausing a moment to look behind her, she turned back to him and then 
reached into her pouch. Pulling out her choori, she lifted his head. 
Propping him up with her knee and with a deft move, she pulled a thick 
lock of his hair from the underside of his head, where no one would 
see it was missing, and cut it free near his scalp. Lowering him back 
down to the mat on which he slept, she said, "First you must be freed 
from her enchantment, like me." She coiled the long strand about her 
fingers and looped it into a loose knot before placing it into her 
putsi. She finished and turned. An unexpected sight met her glance and 
she jumped back in fear. A craggy hand held back the tent flap. 
Kattica's eyes widened immediately as they connected the hand to the 
eyes of the elder shuv'ni hunched before the entrance. Bregus 
half-emerged into the tent. She stared at the girl with narrowed eyes.



Chapter Eleven: Shadow of Freedom

Legolas heard a female voice speak in deepened tones and a hand brush 
his eyes. 'I suspect he will awaken soon, though he will remain 
fatigued for a time after.' 

The musical quality of it was magnificent and breathtaking and 
disturbing all at once – lovely, crystal, resonant and yet false, a 
forgery of its true sound, and he felt himself being pulled to awaken 
just from the curiosity of finding who would utter such a noise. And 
yet so weary he was. He could not recall ever feeling so enormously 
weighted with fatigue. He could have easily have fallen back again 
into his listlessness, but the voice was intriguing and beguiling to 
him and there was something within it that reached a part of him. He 
could not name its power. Both sound and touch mixed into his dreams 
and he was uncertain if they were real. Yet the voice had spoken, and 
he felt compelled to obey it, to awaken as she had said. He felt his 
eyes begin to flutter and his body to awaken despite being blanketed 
with weakness. Then the voice spoke again, more distant this time. 
'See if I was not correct, Master Dwarf. But do not pry at him too 
much. I fear his memory of what happened will not be there.'

He could sense that she drifted away, and there was a long while 
before he could find the strength to do more. His mind drifted back, 
unmotivated into action and left blank for it. He felt as if he laid 
there like this for an immeasurable time and he was content for the 
moment to lie still. But then an impatient voice rumbled near him, and 
once again he felt stirred. It was not the voice from before, but it 
mustered him all the same. The familiarity of it drove him away from 
his stupor. "Strider, why does he not awaken?"

"Peace, Gimli. Hush! He does. Look now. His eyes are coming to focus."

Legolas blinked slowly. True to the words, he was waking. But to what? 
The world around him was muddled and foggy. He tried to make sense of 
it, but there was nothing to grab onto. Recollection of where he was 
would not come to him. Neither would the memory of what had happened 
to him. His head ached, and his throat stung, but that was all that he 
could realize. He looked to the faces before him and for a brief 
moment, he saw nothing that he knew. And then suddenly the faces 
solidified in his memory and with a gasp, he recognized his friends. 
Quickly, he tried to rise, surprised at finding himself prone and 
disabled in their presence. Humiliated to be seen in this weakened 
light, he fought the torpor that held his body in place, and tried to 
lift himself from the mat on which he laid. He stifled a soft moan as 
his head spun with the effort. 

"What happened?" he asked weakly as he reached a hand to Gimli's 
shoulder to pull himself steady.

The Ranger placed a hand under his shoulder and elbow to aid him into 
a seated position as he said, "We are uncertain really and were hoping 
you could enlighten us. How do you feel?"

"Unwell," the Elf answered shortly and truthfully, shutting his eyes 
to ward off the strange sensation as a wave of nausea mixed within his 
unrelenting fatigue. He did not feel fit enough to offer any other 
answers, though immediately he regretted giving the one he had.

Without pause, he felt light touches to his skull, and as he reopened 
his glazed eyes, he was met with a fleeting look of concern on 
Aragorn's face. Vexed at himself for admitting as much, and too at his 
friend for thinking his healing touch was required, Legolas raised a 
hand to object to the prodding of the Ranger's fingers, and shook his 
head to push them away. "I will be fine," he said irritably, despite 
the dull throb in his head and the lethargy that seemed to overtake 
his muscles. Aragorn gave a sly smile to the more typical response as 
he said to the Elf, "We thought it might be sea-longing. Except that 
you were crying out about smoke." From the single arc of the Ranger's 
brow, Legolas could see this was offered as a coaxing means to stir 
the Elf's memory.

Legolas felt the tickle in his throat and the acrid taste in his 
mouth, like he had been breathing the remnants of a fire, but he could 
not remember such a thing. He shook his head in frustration, his mind 
blank, as if still lost in dreams. Slightly panicked to not have a 
recollection, he reached back to find the nearest memory. It didn't 
comply with what he had just been told and with dread, the slow 
realization came to him of exactly where he was. He sighed and said 
with resignation, "I recall nothing, save helping with the dogs." And 
then to brush away the embarrassment that was starting to grip him, he 
furthered his own investigation. "What more did I say?" he asked.

A grunt from the Dwarf brought his attention to the companion at his 
side, and he turned his gaze to his dear friend. "You were choking 
more than speaking," Gimli grumbled, irritation in his voice, but his 
eyes shone in concern. Legolas felt moved, but averted his glance to 
concentrate more on pushing his memory as the Dwarf went on. "You then 
became mute, and fell into unconsciousness. We've been waiting for 
your return for a good while now." 

Legolas felt his brow knit. He could recall nothing and he felt shame 
for his weakness. How could this have happened? He felt his face 
redden in humility. 

Aragorn spoke again, leaning in close to the Elf to assure him, "Let 
us talk on this later, my friend. I do not think this is the 
appropriate place to diagnose your illness. If your are fit enough for 
it, we should get you back to our camp where you can recover in 
surroundings you know. Can you walk, do you think?"

Legolas gave a halting stare, huffing in indignation while focusing 
narrowed eyes on the Ranger. The question was an insult to his elven 
stamina, and he was prompted to prove it wrong. Forgetting his 
momentary humility and weariness in lieu of the new slight, he 
proceeded to crawl out of the tent without further urging, missing the 
smile playing on the Ranger's face as he did. But upon clearing the 
flap and beginning to rise, he found his balance off. Immediately the 
world began to reel, tilting first in one direction and then the 
other. With fortune, Faramir, stood before him, holding the Elf's 
quiver and bow in one hand, and grabbing Legolas' elbow in the other. 
Legolas felt himself wobble and used the support to grow steady as he 
pulled himself up. He felt weak-kneed and his head still ached as he 
looked around him to regain his bearings. He stood like this for 
several seconds, not quite willing to relinquish his hold on Faramir 
for fear he would topple. But by the time Aragorn, and then Gimli, 
cleared the tent and came to the scene, he felt whole enough to stand 
on his own.

The camp seemed empty now, or at least less congested than it had been 
previously, and he realized, gratefully, that the denizens had moved 
back into their regular activities. The Elf was no longer the focus of 
their rapt attention. And while this pleased him, it was also 
disturbing and strange to him that for all the inhabitants, Kattica 
was the only one present for his awakening. 

Suddenly, he remembered the voice from his dream and he wondered at 
the source of it. The sound of the woman's voice had nagged him to 
wakefulness, and now he wanted to see if its owner was indeed as 
complex as that sound had been, or if it had only been a fabrication 
of elven dreams. He had half-expected the woman to be present, but she 
was not, and he began to wonder seriously of her existence. Setting 
his gaze upon Aragorn, Legolas asked, "Who spoke before?" 

"Many have spoken, Master Elf. Can you narrow the field of choices 
with that question?" Faramir asked with amusement, appearing happy to 
see his companion whole. 

"I heard a woman's voice. She was speaking to Gimli. I heard her. 
There was something unusual about her. Is she here?" Legolas asked in 
all seriousness, continuing his search with his eyes as well as his 
ears.

"He means Bregus, I think," Faramir said to Aragorn, and then turning 
around, the Prince looked back in the direction of one of the wagons. 
The wave of a curtain at the door concealed the body that had just 
entered that dark space. 

"She walked back to the vardo," Kattica spoke, her eyes opened wide in 
shock. "She just left," she continued, incredulous. Legolas could see 
the girl was shaken, as if she were expecting something more to 
happen. And then catching herself, as if it could all change in an 
instant, she quickly stepped forward and touched his forearm. He felt 
his limb tingle under her fingers, while the penetration of her eyes 
forced him to look into them. A jolt to his mind, like a splash of icy 
water, startled him. He could see she felt it as well, but she did not 
break the contact. Her eyes held concern as she whispered in a voice 
only he could hear, "You should leave while you can, Master Elf. For 
whatever reason, Bregus has released you. Use it to your advantage and 
be glad. Perhaps our paths need not cross again. I will hope it is 
so."

Legolas' brow creased. He did not move. There was something in her 
contact that made him feel himself again and his weakness rapidly 
receded. He did not understand the meaning of her words, but the 
longer he stood there, the clearer it became to him that she was 
trying to pass her thoughts on into his head. He felt her fears and he 
blinked quickly as a flash of memory and his own panic relived itself 
in his mind. Then she broke her contact, and he blinked again, his 
mind floating free and his ill feeling gone. Shaken, he looked into 
her eyes, and she nodded sadly to him, and then she turned away. A 
look of confusion came over his face. 

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked at his side, touching his shoulder.

"I am fine," he answered, pushing his apprehensions back. He watched 
as the girl walked away, and then he quietly said in a steady voice as 
he stood more erect and sure, surprised to find his revival complete, 
"I am really quite fine."

The Ranger was not appeased, the healer in him growing concerned again 
by the sudden change, but Legolas cut him off before more questions 
could be asked. A sense of dread pervaded the Elf suddenly, and he 
felt it tied to their presence in this camp. He fretted that he had 
not sensed it sooner but decided swift departure would be the wiser 
move. "Let us set off now," he said, postponing the examination he 
knew he would have to endure when they cleared the camp.

With a nod, Aragorn grunted agreement, staring long at his friend 
before taking up his weapon. With little more fanfare than a wave at 
their passing, the residents of the camp uttered their goodbyes. 
Barely any noticed, and it was much the opposite of what the four had 
experienced upon their arrival. Only Mattias came forward to offer a 
heartfelt farewell. And then they exited, unobserved, and they walked 
into the darkness of the forest to their seeming freedom.

****

It was only seconds after the strangers had left her view that a 
strong hand grabbed her arm, and Kattica felt herself being turned to 
face the new danger. She had known this was coming. Despite Bregus' 
withdrawal, the girl had little reason to doubt her own troubles were 
far from over. The momentary elation she had felt at the release of 
the Elf and his companions was fleeting, and a fell dread ladled 
itself upon her soul as she realized just what trouble she was about 
to face. Fear gripped her, and she would have screamed it out, but she 
knew the strangers were too near, and with her sound, they might 
return only to be dragged back into this fray once again. No, better 
that they leave. Whatever the danger here, she would face it on her 
own. Despite the appearance given her by her pregnant condition, she 
was not a feeble maiden. She had done much in her life to prove 
herself, and she would fight back against Bregus, if that is what it 
took. 

She stiffened her stance as the arm pulled her, steeling herself to 
what she might face. As she pivoted around, the hard stare of Gordash 
greeted her. His bland eyes told her he still was held in the elder 
shuv'ni's power, and she knew it was pointless to try and breech it. 
She chose not to fight him for such a thing would not bode well. The 
burly man was nearly twice her size, and though she knew him to be a 
gentle soul, his soul at the moment was not his own. She gave him a 
questioning smile, feigning innocence.

"You have been weary today, Kattica," the large man stated, 
emotionless. It was not a question.

"Earlier yes, but I feel well now," she answered perfunctorily.

"It would not do to get yourself ill. Not when a little one is so near 
to seeing the light of the world," he said his eyes skimming down her 
torso, resting to where her baby lay sleeping within her. The look he 
gave her sent shivers down her spine, and she reminded herself again, 
this was not something Gordash would say or do. This was Bregus. 

"Truly I am fine, Gordash," she said, knowing that this reassurance 
was not what he sought.

"I think you would do best to rest for the remainder of the day," he 
said. His grip on her arm grew tighter.

Her natural tendency would have been to argue this. After all, she was 
a shuv'ni apprentice. No one would ever in their right mind tell her 
her own business. But her circumstances at the moment were far from 
normal, and the flat manner of Gordash's statement brooked no comment. 
She was a prisoner, she saw, and fighting that in any way beyond the 
subtle method of Bregus' ploy would get her nowhere. So despite the 
quick beat of her heart, Kattica met Gordash's eyes with only a timid 
smile. "Yes, of course," she said in a kindly tone, and for a moment 
she saw his eyes soften.

But then he turned her and pointed her in the direction of her tent, 
and she knew that is where he meant her to go. Stepping forward, she 
felt his grip loosen, and she was happy to see he meant not to prod 
her further. And though she could have attempted to flee the camp 
right then, she opted not to. In her condition, even if she could 
somehow make it past the giant who was her brother-in-law, the men in 
the camp would find her quickly enough, and drag her back here. That 
would be far worse, for then she would be guarded ever more closely 
under the watchful eye of Bregus. No, better to be compliant. With her 
gentle acceptance there was hope that in the passage of time, Bregus 
might relinquish her scrutiny, and the sentinel posting that Kattica 
knew was coming would not be so intensely guarded. 

Besides, she did not wish to leave Mattias. Not without trying, at 
least, to free him from this spell. She loved him so. As much as she 
loved her baby, if not more. And though fearful, she was almost 
willing to risk everything to take him away with her. In his rightful 
mind, she knew him well, and she knew if he understood what was 
happening, he would fight this. She must reach into him and make him 
see.

Standing before the tent entrance, fear once again took her, and a new 
panic set in. What if he was beyond reaching? What if the Mattias she 
knew were no longer there? She could not fathom such a thing, and yet 
she felt fearful that it could be true. To think that he could be 
ripped away from her so viciously, it brought tears to her eyes. Her 
resolve hardened, though her panic too increased. She must see him as 
soon as she could. She must determine if there was anything left to 
fight for within him while she still had the chance. 

Blinking back the tears, she turned around and looked unflinchingly 
into Gordash's face. Reaching out, she touched him, squeezing her hand 
into his, smiling wanly in askance. Somewhat surprised, the large man 
took a small step back, but regained himself quickly. Without thinking 
of his ill ease, she let her mood guide her as she said, "Gordash, 
would you find Mattias for me? If I am to be confined to my tent, I 
wish him not to worry, and I would like to tell him myself that I will 
be well." 

The large man looked down at the hand that held his, and an expression 
she could not read briefly brushed across his face. For a moment, it 
seemed, he looked himself, and Kattica thought only of the puzzlement 
she saw there. In a whisper she plied, "Gordash?" and with lost eyes 
he looked up at her. She recognized him then, and he too seemed to 
recognize her, and quickly she mustered her heart to find courage to 
say more.

A scream of rage interrupted their interlude. It erupted from Bregus' 
wagon and caused the girl to flinch. Gordash startled too, but then he 
pulled away. From the corner of her eye, Kattica could see others in 
the camp stiffening at the scream, but then resuming in an instant to 
the activity that guided them, as if nothing had occurred. Quickly 
Kattica looked back at her brother-in-law. To her chagrin, she saw 
that the person she knew was no longer there. Bregus' abettor had 
returned. 

Realizing she would not reach him now, she resumed her original plea. 
"Gordash, find Mattias. Please," she said with more authority. And 
then she backed into the tent and let the flap fall behind her before 
he could say anything to dissuade her.

Now in the confined space that was her prison, she wondered what it 
was she should do to occupy herself in the time she was to remain 
here. Doubtless, she was to be kept until Bregus was ready to see her. 
How long that would be she did not know. She dreaded that encounter, 
though a part of her looked forward to it too, for if nothing else, 
she felt sure that then she would learn of the shuv'ni's plans. Not 
knowing had been a torture for the girl.

She hoped it would not be long before Mattias came. She felt new hope 
surge her, and she knew the reason for it was from her encounter with 
his brother. Somehow, she had touched into Gordash's soul, just as she 
had the Elf's, if only briefly. She had reached him. How, she was 
unsure, but she suspected it had something to do with the power she 
found in herself when she wore the amulet. Through her clothing, she 
fingered the stone resting at her chest. She felt the figures of the 
two females standing side-by-side there, and she remembered her 
grandmothers words to her when she had given it, though the years had 
been long since it had passed. "Keep this close to you, child. It will 
protect you from harm and bring you strength, determination and good 
judgement."

Kattica had always assumed it was a standard charm, one like so many 
worn by the folk in the camp. Amulets and talisman were commonplace 
among her people, and her job as a shuv'ni apprentice often required 
her to make these devices of protection to ward off most any 
affliction imaginable. To wear a charm could mean anything for her 
people, from calling upon the gods to help find love, to chasing away 
headaches and bad dreams, to easing teething pain in infants. It never 
dawned on the girl that this could be anything more those everyday 
tools.

She pulled out the stone, careful to make sure she was completely 
alone before doing so. Then looking down on the carving, she fingered 
the two figures. Two women. "Is this you, Puromämus?" she asked, 
touching the taller of the female figures. "Is this me?" she said, 
brushing her fingers over the other. "Did you pass me your strength 
when you died?"

Even without the answer, she knew she felt better for having it with 
her. It had rescued her from Bregus' hold, and for that alone she was 
grateful. Maybe it held the secret that would save Mattias as well. "I 
will take whatever you can give me, Puromämus. This gift is even 
greater to me now than I had known, and I will not let it leave me 
again," she said quietly. Then she kissed the stone, and slipped it 
back down her front to hide under the folds of her dress.

Kattica looked about, doing an assessment of her situation. She had to 
escape this. She did a mental inventory of what she had with her and 
what she would need to make it on her own until she could find help in 
these lands. In her putsi, she had her choori, some cooking herbs, a 
few leather ties, a small bag of crushed rock salt, a flint and steel, 
and the Elf's hair. In the deep pocket of her dress she carried her 
eating utensils wrapped in a towel, a small cord of rope, and a 
leather compartmentalized purse with clean rags and the stronger herbs 
she used for medicinal purposes. This was a good start, she was sure, 
but she would need a few more items if she were truly to be prepared. 
She needed a water skin, though there was none here in the tent. A 
blanket she had and she rolled one into a tight coil that she could 
tie into the sash at her waist. She would need a pot into which she 
could boil water if needed, and while a kettle sat on the small stove 
in the corner of the tent, it was larger and more cumbersome than she 
would have desired. She was uncertain this would suffice. Perhaps if 
she could retrieve a water skin, she could steal a pot as well.

Knowing now what she needed, all she could do was wait for the 
opportunity to present itself to escape with stealth. Night would 
come, and surely Bregus did not intend to post sentinels when the camp 
would sleep. No, most likely, Mattias would be her guard. Impatiently 
she listened to see if she could hear his voice nearing. Nothing. 
Please, Gordash, she silently prayed, do not disappoint me. Bring me 
Mattias.

As she quietly sat, she considered what else she could be doing to 
occupy her time. She supposed she really could rest, as had been 
suggested. And yet, she wasn't so willing to give in to this option 
just yet. Waiting could be exhausting, she knew, but in rest she would 
be far more vulnerable and her trust that Bregus would not use sleep 
against her was little. 

Idly, her mind returned to the events of the day and she remembered 
the puzzled look on the face of the Elf before he left. She felt 
certain she had met his mind in her contact, and she was glad, for it 
had been intentional to do so. She had wanted him to know of his 
danger, and so she had shown him what she knew with the warning to get 
away. And so it had worked. She supposed she need not fear for him 
again. Still…

She reached into her pouch and pulled out the coil of golden hair. It 
felt like silk to her fingertips. She considered it, realizing that 
she no longer had need for this, yet a nagging voice in the back of 
her mind told her that perhaps she did. There was no evidence that the 
Elf was a part of Bregus' plan. Still, the girl knew there was little 
evidence he was not, and Kattica reminded herself she knew nothing of 
the witch's scheming at this time. 

A familiar stirring rolled across her abdomen, and she recalled she 
did know this one thing: she and her baby were in mortal danger.

Thinking perhaps, if she could manage her escape, there was the ever 
so slight chance she might see the Elf again. In that case, Kattica 
thought Legolas would be a powerful ally against Bregus. But only if 
he were he able to ward the elder witch's magic away. Nodding and 
sighing, she decided to construct the amulet for the Elf. She debated 
this issue with herself, for it truly seemed an unnecessary thing, but 
in the end she concluded that, if for nothing else, she would do it to 
keep her mind occupied until Mattias arrived.

Tying off an end with a leather strip, she began to smooth out and 
separate the hair into sections. With dexterity and grace, her fingers 
began plaiting. Closing her eyes and shutting out all thought, Kattica 
began repeating the familiar words of the blessing spell, her voice 
matching the rhythm of her actions. "Mi Duvvel opral, dik tele opré 
mande. Sharraf si inoxn baxt sadullos.Mi Duvvel opral, dik tele opré 
mande…" she said over and over again.

****

Bregus threw her gathering basket across the interior of the wagon. It 
landed dully on her cot, a scattering of dried petals raining down on 
the sheets. She howled in her anger, and the owl jerked back at her 
roar. 

"Why did it not work?" Bregus screamed. "It should have worked! It was 
a powerful spell! It should have worked!" she repeated as she shook in 
her anger. She stared with glaring eyes at a point off in space, 
reliving the moments that led up to her failure. Then, in her despair, 
she sank into a chair.

"Oh, Bäla!" she cried, dropping her head into her hands. "Why did it 
not work?"

She sat glumly like this, for many long minutes, working the magic 
again in her mind to see where it failed her. Then shaking her head as 
if realizing her error, she sighed with a pained sob and said, looking 
up at the owl, "It was too much. I tried to do too much. I could not 
hold so many. My power was not great enough."

Then with a sad laugh, tears filled her eyes as her gaze fixed into 
space once again. Her mind went blank as her thoughts strolled through 
the camp to see that she still held her people secure. There was no 
trouble in this, and so she gave herself the luxury to crawl into her 
misery.

She sat there like that for a long while, hands hanging at her side, 
slumped half upright in her chair, staring listlessly at a point on 
the wall. Time moved on, but she was unaware of it. And then a voice 
spoke to her. 

"You are not giving up?"

Her eyes lifted dully to see him standing before her, his face twisted 
in a grimace. "You are not giving up?" he said again, louder.

"I cannot do it, Bäla," she whispered.

In blinding speed, iron fingers dug into her shoulders as he pulled 
her out of her chair. She cried at the pain. "You will not give up!" 
he said with ferocity.

"No, I have not the power to do this!" she cried.

"You will find another way!" he screamed in her face, his fingers 
squeezing tight on her arms.

"You are hurting me! No! No! You are only a dream!" she sobbed, 
looking down at his pressing hands on her limbs.

"I am not satisfied to be a dream! Bring me back! You are supposed to 
bring me back!" he said, the hiss of his breath brushing her face.

"But I cannot. I failed. I could not control them. They broke away 
from my spell," she softly sobbed.

"Did they? Or did you simply let them go?" he sneered, relinquishing 
his grip on her, pushing her back into the chair.

"They were too strong. They fought me," she wailed, hiding her face in 
her hands.

He paused, and for a moment, with her eyes closed to him, she thought 
he might have gone. But then he spoke again, more tempered now. "Yet 
you held them for a time. You may hold them still. There are other 
means to take them, you know. They need not be completely bendable to 
your whims. What of the idea you planted?" he queried, a quiet menace 
ringing in his voice.

She opened her eyes, the idea dawning on her again. "Tis true that 
they seemed not to notice my ploy," she uttered, encouragement weakly 
coming back into her glistening eyes. 

"There is hope then. Let us see if it takes. And you still have the 
others to fall back on, if need be," he offered gesturing with his 
hands to indicate the members of the tribe.

"But they may be overpowered if I go to that measure. I could not 
learn of the stranger's reserves. I know not how many they have," she 
said, shame once again riding over her at her failure.

"You are too timid when it comes to being the aggressor, Bregus," he 
chided. "So preoccupied are you with the pitiful details that you 
notice not the most obvious way to break through and take possession 
of what you want. She nearly stands before you. Can you not see her?" 
he asked, a disdainful tone lingering in his words.

"The girl?" Bregus asked, unsure.

"The girl! Yes! What will it take before you use her as you should?" 
he asked, his voice mocking.

"What am I supposed to do with her? She is compliant. I could not 
follow her movements so I had her isolated in her tent. She will not 
get away from my dictates again. She will sacrifice her life and give 
me the child without trouble. Is that not enough?" Bregus asked in a 
tired voice.

"She will betray you. She nearly already has. She has broken away from 
the spell. Ah, but you did not know this, did you?" for clearly the 
expression on Bregus' face said exactly that she had not seen or noted 
this. "Did you not see her when you entered the tent? She was hiding 
something from you." With realization, Bregus came to understand the 
look of fear she had seen on the girl's face when the elder had 
appeared in the bender tent as the Elf slept. Anger crept up on her 
brow. Her eyes narrowed in her hatred, and she was glad she had had 
the foresight to imprison the girl. Kattica would pay for her treason!

But Bäla taunted. "When it comes to Kattica, you are too blind to see! 
Your hate makes you ignorant, Bregus! Are you so jealous of the pull 
she has over Mattias that you think she can usurp his love for you? 
You are a fool!" Bäla spat out.

Shutting her eyes to the insults, she growled out, "What would you 
have me do with her, Bäla? Tell me, and stop belittling me with your 
words." 

He dropped the menace his tone had held, and pulled her back to his 
chest in a gentle embrace as he answered her with a slow whisper in 
her ear, "She could help you if you would enlist her powers. You would 
be very strong with her inner spirit to aid you."

"This discussion is pointless. We have spoken before of this. She will 
not come freely into the black arts," Bregus said with quiet 
exasperation.

"I offer you solutions, and what do you give me in return? Insolence! 
Worthless you are!" he shreiked, pushing her around to face him. 
Untouched, she backed away, and slowly he began to advance on her. Her 
eyes widened in terror as she slowly receded to the small space of her 
cot. "Do you not see! I offer you your last chance at salvation, and 
you give back only excuses and pitying mews. Cur! Go back to your 
pointless wallowing! See if it will better you after. The black hosts 
you have seen in your dreams are fierce, yes, but they are NOTHING 
compared to the wrath I will bear! I will not make it so easy for you, 
Bregus! In the World of the Dead you will have reason to fear me. Can 
you fathom this possibility? Do you begin to understand how far my 
power reaches?"

She nodded, fearful and completely dominated by his will. "H–how?" she 
stammered, "How do I get her to help me?"

He smiled, and the menace in his demeanor disappeared. In its place 
came the gentle side of his personality and she tentatively she 
allowed him again to take hold of her and embrace her. As he nuzzled 
into her craned neck, she felt her fear for him recede. Her ease and 
willingness returned, and as it did, he told her exactly what to do.

Puromämus – Grandmother



Chapter Twelve: Exposed Truths

The feeling of the cool water on her skin was magnificent. It was 
refreshing, a relief from the heat of the day, and she ducked her head 
under to let it ride over her entirely, making her feel cleansed and 
buoyant and joyous. She relaxed and let her near naked body float on 
the water's surface as the water lapped at her skin, the exuberant 
lightness making her feel free and unencumbered. Her white cotton 
shift whirled about her form beneath her, glancing her skin as it 
moved, clinging to her body on the water's surface. It tickled and 
caressed her sensitive skin. Closing her eyes, she let the sun cast 
its glowing heat on her form, and the sensation of both heat and 
coolness made her jubilant to the glories of this place. For the 
moment, at least, Eowyn felt happy.

She caught movement in the corner of her eye and looked up to see her 
friend make her way to the water's edge. Arwen dipped a hand into the 
water and smiled. Shaking her head slightly, as if in answer to 
herself, the Elf-Queen looked up at the falls and squinted.

"Enter, Arwen. It's not going to get warmer by your wishes. The 
temperature is what it is. Enjoy it!" Eowyn called out in tease.

"Who is the Elf here?" Arwen asked jokingly. "I am the one who is not 
supposed to be bothered by cold." The dark-haired Queen proceeded to 
loosen the ties at her bodice, then looked up to explain. "I was 
merely wondering what state of undress one takes in these 
circumstances."

Eowyn laughed, and the sound echoed about her. "Well, one might take a 
near completely naked state of undress like me, if you please. I still 
have my chemise on, but that is all. I highly recommend it. But it is 
up to you, Arwen. You should do what feels right for yourself. You 
have no need to feel embarrassed as it is only I with you."

Arwen smirked at Eowyn as she proceeded to disrobe. She was wearing a 
simple gown that fit snugly to her body, but flared freely as she 
moved. It stopped at her ankles, exposing her bare feet. The dress was 
clearly made for days of travel and ease, though it was breathtaking 
for the flattery of its cut. Eowyn imagined the undergarments Arwen 
must endure to attain the illusion of such lithe form beneath the 
fabric. Her corset must be tied rather tight. There is no other way 
that Arwen's breasts could appear so full and her ribcage to appear so 
small, she thought with a small amount of satisfaction. She readied 
herself to depart the water, in case her friend might need aid in 
undressing. But as the Elven Queen unloosened the ties and stepped out 
of the dress, Eowyn was amazed to see the Elf wore no stays or 
supporting undergarments. Beneath was only her silken chemise and her 
drawers. Slowly, methodically, Arwen shed her garb completely, pausing 
to fold each meager items as she bared herself fully, much to Eowyn's 
surprise, and more so, to her distress. With the final relinquishment 
of a pin at her crown, the dark, upswept hair came tumbling down in a 
fluid line, nearly reaching Arwen's hips in one swoop. The Elven 
female stood on the rocky shore, completely bare and oblivious to the 
breathtaking spectacle of her physical entity in this setting. And 
worse yet to Eowyn's mind, Arwen was exquisite in this form. Better 
than that. Her body was absolute perfection. 

Eowyn looked down on her own sad form floating about in the water. Her 
bobbing breasts, though nicely rounded (the only happy side-effect of 
pregnancy Eowyn was sure) were still rather small and flacid on her 
frame. Her hips and thighs were far wider than those of her friends, 
though her height and weight to the Elf were nearly the same. Happily, 
her shift hid the telltale pink and white marks that lined Eowyn's 
belly and thighs and told of three previous pregnancies. She moved her 
hand to her belly and touched the soft muscle tissue that was normally 
firm, and frowned at the bloating of her abdomen and the signs she was 
sure were becoming evident of her pregnant state. She sighed. At this 
moment, Eowyn could not help but feel a combination of extreme 
disappointment for her own body and pure jealously of her friend's as 
her mind tallied all the negatives and positives between the two. 

Arwen laughed as she dipped into the chill of the water, unaware of 
the thoughts that worked through Eowyn's head. She splashed cold 
droplets in the lighter-haired woman's direction before she immersed 
herself face first into the depths of the pool. In the moment of 
silence that followed before the Elf emerged, Eowyn listened to the 
tumbling splashes of the falls ricocheting off the jagged rocks near 
the wall, sighing as she banished the dark thoughts from her mind. She 
gasped slightly when Arwen's face popped to the surface before her, 
but her smile met her friend's as the two laughed at her startling.

"Ah, it is wonderful," Arwen sighed as she arched back into the water, 
her breasts rising to the surface of the water. "I should never want 
to leave this place."

"So long have I felt that myself," Eowyn said, lolling back in the 
water too, pushing back her envy, choosing instead to enjoy her 
friend's company as she gazed up at the cliffs above their heads. "I 
love this place. If I could have, when we first married, I would have 
had Faramir build our house here in Ithilien. Of course, it is too 
remote, and would not have been an easy task. And now, with time, I 
realize I would not want to spoil the serenity. I think it serves 
nicely instead as a retreat, don't you?"

"A retreat? A retreat is a place to find personal answers, is it not? 
Then, yes, I do think this place seems a likely abode for that," the 
Elven Queen said thoughtfully spinning about. Eowyn watched her move 
about in this simple pleasure, but then she caught a slight wavering 
to that joy. Arwen's brow creased slightly, as if troubled by a deeper 
concern, and she stopped to look up again, fixing her gaze on the 
falls.

"If there are things that are bothering you, yes, it is," Eowyn 
answered, testing her friend, watching Arwen's distant eyes and 
saddened face to see if there was something she could offer in 
consolation to this mood.

And then the grim look washed away from the Elf, and was exchanged for 
one of curiosity. Inclining her head in the Rohirrim's direction, she 
asked, "Has it worked for you then?"

With surprise for the question, Eowyn flinched. "Pardon?" she 
countered, eyes widening, thrown by the unexpected nature of the 
query.

"You have been troubled, my friend. Has this retreat helped you?"

Eowyn paused, holding her breath as she absorbed this. She had not 
realized that Arwen read her so well and could perceive that she had 
been plagued by dark thoughts. It was not her intention to share her 
troubles, and she was taken aback by this invasion into her thoughts. 
She did not want to think about this thing that had been hampering her 
brain. Day and night it had brewed in her, from the time she had 
discovered her pregnancy. Only now, in the quiet and beauty of this 
space had she found peace enough to let it go for short moments of 
time. She felt sudden panic for the revelation that her worries were 
more visible than she had assumed, and quickly she turned away from 
her friend. "I know not what you speak of," she said, kicking her legs 
beneath her with more vehemence and she moved into shallower water. "I 
am fine. I have no troubles."

She heard the stirring of water as the other's body skimmed across the 
surface of the cerulean waters. She felt a hand to her shoulder as her 
friend caught up to her, and was surprised at the warmth of that 
touch. "I am sorry, mellon-nin," she heard the musical voice softly 
say. "I had no intention of harm. I am glad all is well with you, 
Eowyn. I must have misunderstood. You are happy for this pregnancy 
then?"

Eowyn flinched. No one but Faramir knew of her condition. No one. How 
could Arwen? Turning around to face her, she was greeted by the 
innocent smile of the Elf. Eowyn's face grew dark in her panic and 
anger. "No. You are wrong," she said stubbornly her temper flaring at 
the presumption of Arwen to intrude on something so personal. "There 
is no pregnancy here. I am not with child."

Arwen's face grew puzzled. She looked up and down Eowyn's submerged 
body as her brow did a dance in confusion and her head tilted to the 
side. Then she drew closer to her friend and placed a firm hand to her 
belly. Eowyn jumped at the unexpected touch, but did not pull back. 
"Yes, you are. Yes, I can tell," Arwen stated with quiet certainty. 
"Why do you deny this when you already know it is true?"

Eowyn's eyes did their own emotional dance as they took in the 
confusion and open compassion shown by her Elf friend. The light in 
those eyes bore into the depths of her soul and Eowyn suddenly felt 
exposed for the truth she had been hiding, denying, to everyone, 
herself most of all. Extreme guilt and sadness balled up in her chest, 
and for a moment, she felt a desire to lash out at the Elf for 
bringing these feeling to the surface. But she stayed her emotions, 
realizing it was not Arwen she felt anger towards, but herself. Eowyn 
had allowed this situation to occur, not Arwen, not Faramir, not her 
children. None but herself. 

With a move towards forgiveness, Eowyn could see Arwen was only acting 
as a friend, confronting her, and consoling her if need be. How she 
knew, Eowyn could not fashion, and yet she did, and she was offering 
her the chance to talk about it. Arwen was the sounding board Eowyn so 
desperately needed, and in that expression Eowyn saw the Elf would not 
judge her. Looking at her, it was as if Arwen knew exactly the war she 
had been battling, and the merest glimpse from her friend had melted 
Eowyn's defenses. Under this scrutiny, her only choice was to admit 
what she had been denying. She was pregnant and she did not want to 
be. She was afraid and yet she hated herself for that fear. And she 
was ready to destroy that child to preserve the surety of the life she 
already knew. 

A pentrating feeling clutched at her chest, her throat, her stomach, 
and the walls came crashing down. All the denial she had felt lay 
before her, and Eowyn realized she was naked without those defenses. 
Without realizing her true feeling, a complete lack of self-control 
came over her, and the Ithilien princess broke down and a sound passed 
out of her that she did not know she held. Like a repressed scream, a 
gut-wrenching sob broke away from her. Her throat tightly constricted, 
she was choking for air and she could get out no words, but the plea 
in her eyes said it all. She wailed without thought, the sound pulling 
out of her without effort, and her constricted feeling was released as 
she sobbed like a child.

In an instant Eowyn felt herself swept up into an embrace, the Elven 
Queen holding her close and with a gesture of gentle caring and 
consideration. Nudging her into the shore, Arwen guided her with an 
arm about her shoulder to the rock Eowyn had sat upon with Faramir the 
night before. Tears streamed down Eowyn's face, blurring her vision 
and Eowyn's head fell easily into the shoulder of Arwen's hold. "There 
now. There," she heard Arwen's whispered coos. Brushing Eowyn's hair 
and brow lightly with delicately soothing strokes, a long while and 
many tears passed before Arwen spoke again. And then she said softly, 
"No need to say it, my friend. I can guess. This is because of what 
happened to you with Theomund, is it not? You are afraid that it will 
happen again. You are afraid of the pain, of the possibility of 
death."

At that moment any words she might speak would come out in a quavering 
ramble, and so she looked upon Arwen's face through her bloodshot and 
swollen eyes and simply nodded. "Oh, Eowyn," Arwen said 
sympathetically as she pulled her friend near again in a rocking 
embrace.

After a few minutes more of this, Eowyn pulled away, noticing for the 
first time that Arwen sat completely naked with the sun shining down 
on her skin. She smiled at how innocently she had fallen against the 
female Elf, and at how the scene might have looked to an outsider. She 
gave her friend a wan smile before continuing her discourse. "I could 
die," she said simply, knowing it was not enough, but eager to hear 
what Arwen would say. Then after a long pause when nothing was said, 
she added, "I haven't decided yet if I will keep it."

Arwen nodded knowingly and let another few minutes pass as they looked 
up at the cascading falls, saying nothing in silent companionship.

At last Arwen spoke, breaking their reverie, "Have you thought about 
what she might want for you?" 

Eowyn looked at her friend, complete confusion washing over her face. 
"Who?" It was a puzzling question, and Eowyn had no idea what the Elf 
was asking.

"The baby," Arwen answered plainly.

"You said 'she'," Eowyn replied, shaking her head, still confused.

"I did. Have you considered what she might want?" Arwen repeated, 
ignoring Eowyn's puzzlement.

"She?" Eowyn said, with a growing understanding, shaking her head yet 
again and letting her eyes wander away. "How do you know it is a 
'she'?" Eowyn asked, darting her eyes to Arwen with deepening fear.

Arwen merely shrugged. "I just do. Just as I know you are with child. 
Forgive me, Eowyn. I have only lived with mortals a dozen years or so 
now, and I do not know many who have borne children. Except you 
perhaps, and we were not close enough in your earlier pregnancies for 
you to share them with me. Are you telling me that mortal women do not 
know of their child's sex whilst it is in the womb?"

Eowyn shook her head to confirm this fact while she digested the new 
knowledge Arwen had gifted her. She. Up until this moment, the thing 
in her womb had been an 'it'. Never had she considered anything beyond 
that, and even if she had allowed herself to think that far ahead, she 
would have probably decided the baby was another boy. But she? 
Suddenly the world was spinning a in completely different direction as 
the baby took on a personality all her own. A girl. 

"You have not answered my question."

Eowyn's brow screwed up as thoughts on a girl-child invaded her mind. 
She shook her head as she tried to focus herself on the question. 
Frowning, she said, "Given choice, it...she… would want to live. Do 
you not think it?"

"Are you so sure? If she knew and understood the potential danger to 
you, to your family, do you think she truly would want to do that to 
you?" Arwen asked with firm resolve.

Frustrated, Eowyn answered, "How would I know this Arwen? You are 
asking me to consider that she has an opinion here – that she could 
express an opinion as if with an adult mind," the woman said, 
despairing in the hopelessness of the question.

"Not an adult mind, a mortal mind. For were it you and you knew 
someone you loved might die so that you would live, would you not 
consider forfeiting your own life to save them? A child has these 
strong feelings too, regardless of age. The love of a child for her 
mother is one of the greatest loves there is. So great, I think that 
she too would be willing to sacrifice her life to save her mother's."

"But she does not have a voice here. She is not able to express an 
opinion," Eowyn argued.

"And that is why I asked you what she might want for you. She cannot 
speak it, so you as her mother must decide what she would do if the 
opportunity were available for her to choose," Arwen explained.

Eowyn turned away, her brow still pressed in thought. And suddenly as 
if a great burst of light had flared about her, she understood. She 
realized then what Arwen was telling her. 

She thought about her children, about Faramir, and about the depth of 
her love for all of them. About their love for her. If she had to 
choose between her life or theirs, she knew in a heartbeat she would 
give up herself to save them from any ill-fate. She knew this without 
doubt. 

And then she thought of her own mother, and her feelings for her. To 
lose one's mother was a trauma beyond recovery, especially for a 
child. As a little girl, it had been her greatest fear, more 
frightening to her than even tales of dragons or orcs or Sauron 
himself. As a small girl she could imagine it, the loss, the 
desertion, being without that most important of all people, for as a 
child, her love for her mother was greater than all other things 
combined. The feeling of being cradled within her mother's arms still 
lived in her mind, though she was far too old ever to be held that way 
again. Yet she remembered the tender emotions of such a intimate 
expression and she knew her feelings were unconditional. And greater 
yet, she knew that her feelings were returned tenfold. Without 
question she knew had she been forced to choose her own life for her 
mother's, she would have given herself freely, despite her age.

Speaking aloud her thoughts, she said as if in a whisper, "She would 
sacrifice herself for me, wouldn't she? It's what I would have done 
for my mother. It's what Theomund and Léogel and Denomir would do were 
it put to them, I am certain." Tears rolled down her face as she 
considered this tragic loss of her sons for her own sake. A sob rocked 
her as she imagined having to go on without them.

"And you?" Arwen asked without emotion.

Eowyn looked hard into her friends face, the corners of her mouth 
dragging at the thoughts that rolled in her mind. "I would do the same 
for them. I would, absolutely."

"How do you know?"

"Because I love them. Because it is the least I could do for them. 
Because that is what I must do. Because there is nothing worse I can 
think of than seeing my children die…" Eowyn's words trailed off as 
she pondered this thought. And then she steadied herself, and formed 
her resolve. She had already known, she realized. It just needed to be 
spoken. "She should not have to choose. There is no choice for her to 
make. The choice is mine." Then looking up at the Elf with steady eyes 
she said, "I choose not to do this."

And with that she knew she would love her baby girl with a fervor that 
extinguished any fears for herself. The anguish that sympathetic 
gesture wrought in her was enough for her to see it all differently. 
Now she saw it. Now she realized. A feeling she had not allowed came 
to her, but she admitted it now. Love. 

Then looking at Arwen again, she broke, tears pouring down her face as 
a whirlwind of emotions rode over Eowyn. "Why did I not see it? This 
decision is not so hard to make. Oh, Arwen, how could I not have 
known. I've tried so hard to steel myself from it, but it has always 
been there. I will love this baby. I do love this baby!" She put her 
hand down to tenderly touch her own abdomen as she said is a raspy 
voice, "Should she be held in my arms or my womb, I do love her! She 
is mine! My child. She is not a 'thing' trying to come between me and 
my family. She is not trying to destroy me. Oh, but I see it now! I am 
sacrificing nothing to give her life because I see my life as such a 
small thing to pay for something so magnificent! And should I die, 
that will be fate's choice, not mine. Not my child's. Oh Arwen, why 
did I not see it before?"

"Because you were afraid. There is no shame in having fear," the Elf 
said with a small shrug and a smile.

Humbled, Eowyn scorned herself. "But there is shame in my actions. I 
was so close to letting fear make the decision for me. It almost 
conquered me. Faramir tried to tell me, but I would not listen. I had 
not even considered the alternatives. This pregnancy is risky, yes, 
but that is not a certainty. I may live. I want to live! But oh, if I 
had chosen the other, I don't think I could have, not with the guilt 
to haunt me."

"You would have come to the same conclusion on your own," Arwen said 
with assurance. 

"But would I have realized I loved her?" Tears flowed down her face as 
she examined those possible outcomes. 

"Perhaps not at first, but in time you would have come to feel love. 
It is not within you to hold your children in contempt, Eowyn. I know 
you well enough to say this. The feelings would have passed, and you 
would have found happiness still," Arwen said with a tone that echoed 
millennium-long wisdom.

A very heavy burden had been lifted from Eowyn's shoulders, and she 
looked to her friend and smiled in relief. Genuinely and with absolute 
gratitude, she smiled. Thanks to Arwen, she knew she would keep this 
baby. This little girl. My little girl, she thought.

Arwen could read Eowyn's thoughts, and blushed lightly. Then she said, 
"You know I envy you."

Eowyn was completely taken aback by the comment. She wiped away the 
former tears of misery she’d felt and sniffed back her dripping nose 
and laughed with a snort. "Goodness, Arwen. Don't be a fool. Look at 
me. I am a mess. Why ever would you say a thing such?"

The troubled expression again returned to Arwen's face, and she looked 
quietly down at her hands as she spoke. "There are many differences it 
seems between the physical abilities of female Elves and female 
Humans. You are at least easily impregnated."

Eowyn laughed lightly. "I do not know many who would consider that a 
blessing. My troubles began over such a predicament."

"Ah, but you don't understand. How glorious it must be to know you can 
do this without consideration, without needing to give your mind's 
consent to have your body respond and bring forth young."

Eowyn looked again at her troubled friend and a thought occurred to 
her. "Arwen? Can you not have children?"

The Elf gave another weak smile and shook her head. "It is not that, 
although that would be such a simple thing were it true. There is more 
to my troubles than what you guess. Like you, I am faced with a 
choice. But my choice is one of my body's make, as well as my minds."

Eowyn shook her head. "I fear I do not understand."

"It matters not. It is something that Estel and I must face. Just 
know, my friend, that you should enjoy what you have. You are vital 
and alive in this state. Do you not know just how beautiful it is to 
see you like this, Eowyn?" 

This time Eowyn laughed aloud, remembering her jealousy and chuckling 
in mirth at the foolishness of Arwen's words. "Oh, my friend," she 
said between a series of giggles and wiping away new tears from her 
eyes, "you have no idea what you are saying. Look at me," she said, 
standing and gesturing with a snort to her body under the clinging 
wetness of her chemise. Then pointing to Arwen as the Elf's body 
glowed in the golden sunlight, she said, "Look at you. Do you think I 
would not trade my body for yours at this moment?"

Arwen smiled a knowing smile and said, "You know you do not mean 
that." Then she stood, and held Eowyn's hands out to her sides as the 
Elf openly gazed upon Eowyn's body. 

And there they stood, balanced upon Faramir's rock, two beautiful 
ladies, one fair and one dark, one clothed and one naked. They looked 
at each other as they really were, and Eowyn felt no shame. Then Arwen 
smiled and said, "You are beautiful, Eowyn, just as you are. Everyone 
should see you like this." 

Graciously, Eowyn accepted the compliment and smiled back. "You are 
right, my friend, I would not trade. I am happy with what I have. I 
hope you too can find happiness and answers to your worries," she said 
as she folded Arwen into a hug.

And then she heard it. 

"Ahem." 

Eowyn nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound. A voice. A male 
voice. 

Grimacing with fear, she glanced behind, seeing much to her horror… 
"Aragorn!" 

He was standing in the clearing, smirking as he watched the two women 
on the rock. 

Instantly flushed with wretched dread for what he saw, Eowyn felt 
horribly naked. Actually, for all practical purposes, she was. The wet 
shift she was wearing clung tightly to her body, exposing every crease 
and curve to her body. The chill made her nipples stand up and the 
dress fibers were nearly invisible in their wet state on her body. 
Eowyn swung to the back of Arwen to hide herself from the view of this 
man. She felt guilty, as if she’d been caught doing something she 
should not have, though she knew fully well she and Arwen were 
innocent of any wrongdoing. She felt her face blooming crimson as she 
watched the exchange between the King and the Queen, and she wondered 
exactly what they would say to one another. To her surprise though, 
Arwen’s response was far from the abashed embarrassment Eowyn felt. 
Though she knew not what she expected, the Elf's reaction that she 
next witnessed was far from it. Arwen merely smiled unashamedly. In 
fact, she arched a brow to her husband enticingly. 

Aragorn too, did not look the least bit flustered at what he saw. 
Flirtatiously he gazed back at his wife, devouring her naked body with 
his eyes, and Eowyn knew he was barely aware of anyone else's 
presence. "Finding refreshment in the water I see," he stated 
obviously. 

"It is marvelous, Estel, and the sun is so warm. The contrast is 
refreshing," the Elf Queen answered, then asked, "Would you care to 
join us?"

In her mind, Eowyn was screaming out, No, please no! Go away! Don’t 
look at me! I do not wish you to be here! But Aragorn answered, "Yes, 
I think I will," as he began to remove his boots with a mischievous 
smile.

Just then, to her relief, or to her consternation (Eowyn was not sure) 
Faramir stepped into the clearing. He stopped dead in his tracks at 
the sight of the naked she-Elf before him, and to Eowyn's continued 
horror, he did not turn away. (At least not immediately, she decided 
later when she reflected on it.) And when he did, it was only because 
he saw Eowyn hiding behind Arwen's back. Caught gawking at the exposed 
beauty before him, his face flushed in a crimson that rivaled Eowyn's 
before he jumped and turned away. Hand to his eyes, she could hear the 
embarrassment in his voice as he faced the direction from which he had 
come, and said, "Sorry…so sorry! I will, er, I will leave, you now…" 
as he started to walk away.

Eowyn shreiked with a shrillness that rivaled a wounded Warg, unable 
to believe he was just going to leave her there as Aragorn continued 
to shed his clothing so openly. "FARAMIR!"

He turned back to meet her voice, but then realized he shouldn't as he 
was greeted again by Arwen's nakedness, and she could see him warring 
with himself as to how to respond to her, knowing that no matter which 
way he turned, he was in trouble. Turning backwards, then forwards, 
then backwards again, he made a comic sight, and even Eowyn broke into 
a small smile. In the end, he held his hands over his eyes as he faced 
her direction and meekly said, "Yes…dear?"

Now barely able to contain her laughter, she said in her kindest 
voice, "Get a blanket for me, please, Faramir."

Grateful to be given somewhere else to look, Faramir scanned the 
ground for the stack of blankets the women had brought with them. He 
grabbed one and held it open to her as he turned his eyes away from 
the rock that she and Arwen stood upon.

Regaining her dignity, Eowyn turned to Aragorn, who was now loosening 
the ties on his trousers and said with regal formality, "Aragorn, if 
you will avert your eyes please."

Still smirking, for she was sure he knew of the embarrassment he 
seemed to enjoy causing her, the King suddenly slipped into his role 
as a gentleman. Sweeping into a bow, he said, "At your command, Lady," 
and then turned his back away from her. As was expected, his shoulders 
were rocking in mirth, and Eowyn had to concur his amusement. Even she 
was having a terrible time maintaining her dignity, the corners of her 
mouth fighting to smile. Still, she quickly removed herself. In three 
steps, she was wrapped in the blanket Faramir had held, and she 
grabbed her husband's hand tightly as she quickly led him away. 
Glancing back she saw Aragorn removing his leggings, and she glimpsed 
his bare buttocks as he charged into the water, chasing the playfully 
splashing form of the Elf who was his Queen. She heard Arwen laugh to 
his antics, and prudence led Eowyn away, saying to Faramir, "Come, my 
love. I am sure there is something in this cave that must require our 
attention."

As they entered the halls, they could no longer contain themselves, 
either of them, and both burst into gasping laughter, falling against 
one another and holding their sides as they wheezed to their 
convulsions of good humor. The sound of their sniggers and chuckles 
echoed throughout the caves and Faramir could not help but gaze on 
Eowyn with a light that shone brightly in his eyes. 

She looked up at him, and saw him as if for the first time. He was so 
handsome, so kind, so gentle, so loving. She felt her heartbeat throb 
tightly in her chest as she looked upon his face. The urge to touch 
him overcame her, and she reached up and stroked his cheek, running 
her fingers down to his jaw, and brushing them through his light hair 
and around to his chest. With new appreciation and desire, she leaned 
back into the wall, pulling him into her and wrapping an arm about his 
waist. She looked deeply into his eyes, and the laughter in hers 
melted away into a smile, which melted again into a longing gaze. She 
softened her mouth into parted lips, and in her mind, she begged him 
to kiss her. She closed her eyes and reached up to meet him, a hand 
pulling his chin down, inviting his mouth to meet her lips, to touch 
her body, to taste her desire. And he was more than happy to comply. 

****

A few steps more…

Crunch

Ha! Three more steps and then…

Crunch 

Curses! Nothing in sight – oh, oh, but wait there…

Crunch

Amused with himself, Gimli looked up to see if he had evoked a 
response from the Elf yet. If not for the fun of watching Legolas 
stiffen at each harsh crackling sound, even Gimli might have grown 
annoyed. He plodded heavily over the dead brush on the field wondering 
vaguely how long this was going to take. Purposefully he trod, 
sidestepping the quieter path made clearly by the Elf. Any point in 
which he saw bramble or coarse brush, that is where he wandered, 
making sure his foot was planted firmly and with determination, doing 
his utmost to ensure the loudest possible noise. Aha, here was a very 
nice bed of dried leaves. 

Crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch

Legolas spun around, narrowing his eyes at his smaller companion, his 
annoyance at last getting the better of him. The Dwarf grinned, happy 
to see he had gotten a reaction. Legolas had been marching on in his 
introspective mood ever since they had departed the gypsy camp, and 
Gimli had tried everything he could think of to get his friend to open 
up to him, especially so since they no longer had the Men in their 
company. He felt sure Legolas might be a little more forthcoming 
without Aragorn or Faramir nearby, but that had not been the case. He 
was glad at last to see this little ploy had been effective in getting 
the Elf's attention. 

"Please cease in that nuisance racket!" the Elf spat out.

Gimli's eyes went wide in pretended innocence. "What racket?" he asked 
as he twisted the heel of one foot ever deeper into the leaves. 
Crrrruuunnnnccchhh. The leaves pulverized beneath his foot.

Legolas' hands balled up into fists as his expression went dark with 
controlled anger. "Enough! Whatever it is you want from me, you shall 
have it, but please, this has gone on for too many miles. Stop 
disturbing the peace of this forest and provoking my mood!"

"Provoking your mood? Ha! If anything, I have been trying to alter 
your mood. And yet you do not budge. I was beginning to wonder if you 
were ever going to give. Or at least try to lead me to a place where 
there was no more dry brush present," Gimli said with a glib chuckle 
as he sat on a large rock that presented itself in their path.

Legolas scowled, "I would have considered leading you off a cliff, but 
even then I suspect you would have found means to annoy me. I think 
you were really born an Orc, Gimli. Your ability to torture me rivals 
any foul device of that race." But he said this with a small smile and 
Gimli could see the Elf was not really all that angered by the Dwarf's 
provocations. Legolas squatted before the stone, looking infinitely 
comfortable in this position. Gimli marveled at the flexibility of the 
Elf's body, and he could think of few times when his friend had ever 
actually complained of any aches or pains to his lean form. 

"You have my attention, Dwarf. Now what is it you seek from me," 
Legolas said curtly. Perhaps Gimli had misjudged. It appeared the 
Elf's mood had not recovered that much after all.

"Spare me the effort of presenting an interrogation, Legolas. I simply 
wanted a moment to speak with you," Gimli said with a shrug.

Legolas sighed. "This is pointless. There is nothing for me to tell 
you." 

"You do not know what I would ask?"

"I know you would press me on personal matters that do not concern 
you. I know you would pry into my mind when I care not to open it for 
scrutiny. I am fine Gimli. Leave it at that. I suffered no harm." 

Gimli knew better. He had witnessed his friend's return to 
consciousness in a readily weakened state, only to find moments later 
a completely unexplained recovery. Worse yet, Legolas had refused to 
talk of it, merely shrugging it off. Gimli had many theories for 
Legolas' fall, none of them good, but to Gimli's consternation, the 
Elf offered no solutions. It was time for Gimli to show his annoyance. 
He would not let his friend brush his fears away. He jumped to his 
feet. "I think there is much to say and much that you need share! Why 
do you think Aragorn allowed us now to seek out on our own the 
waterfall of which you have been boasting? Surely he would have 
preferred that you seek rest in our camp. He has concerns, and yet he 
knew I wanted a moments peace with you and he granted it! Do not fight 
me on this, Elf! I offer aid."

Legolas' mood shifted ever more. "Why should I not fight you when you 
conspire against me? I do not ask for aid. What is there that I could 
say that will assure you all is well? " The elf's voice was terse.

A moment passed before Gimli reached up to place a well-meaning hand 
on the Elf's back, his Dwarven temper schooled to calm. "I mean you no 
harm, friend. It is only that I have worries. Appease them and I 
promise you I will bother you no more. Tell me what you are think on 
this and I will believe that indeed all is well."

Legolas sighed as if worn down by Gimli's persistence. He sat down on 
the ground and brought his knees to his chest as he said in surrender, 
"Very well, Gimli. As you will it."

The Dwarf looked at Legolas with sympathetic eyes as he too sighed. It 
had been a long day. Then he said, "Let us start with what happened 
back there at the camp. Has any memory of it returned to you? Aragorn 
suspected – he thought perhaps it might be – that you suffered 
sea-longing. That theory causes me fear."

"You have fear because the sea plagues me? It plagues me always, 
Gimli," Legolas said sadly.

"But was it that that caused your illness, Legolas? Was it the sea 
that brought your fall? I've never seen you act that way before."

Legolas frowned as he looked at the ground, then grimly he looked up 
to meet the Dwarf's steady gaze. He answered in a soft voice, "I have 
no memory of it. I am sorry I can do nothing to allay your fears. In 
that, Aragorn is correct, it is like the sea-longing. For whence 
afflicted, I have little memory then of what I say or do under that 
condition."

"But Aragorn inferred that you were behaving in a way that is like a 
later stage of the illness. Know you of what he means? Could this be 
true? Has it progressed so quickly for you?"

"I would not know, Gimli. You would have to ask someone who has seen 
it of recent in me. But I can say I know this. How I feel after an 
assault of that affliction and how I felt today were two entirely 
different things. As poorly as I felt on my awakening, it was not the 
same as the after-effects of sea-longing."

"So it was not sea-longing!" Gimli said in eager discovery.

"I did not say that," Legolas countered. "I only said I did not suffer 
as I typically do after an attack. That does not rule out sea-longing. 
Merely the typical symptoms." 

"Yes, yes, yes. 'Go not to the elves…' I have heard it all before," 
Gimli grumbled and paced before Legolas, focusing his attention on the 
positive point made. "It either is or it is not. If the symptoms do 
not match, it very well may not be the disease. What would cause this 
then?" Looking down at his friend he said, "You were crying out about 
smoke."

Sighing with exasperation, Legolas said, "So you said, yet in this I 
have no memory either. I have been trying to remember…" But despite 
his protest and shaking head, his brow knit in concentration as if he 
were pondering something. Then he looked up. "And yet it bothers me…"

"What is it?" asked Gimli stepping closer.

"I did not remember saying the words, but I do remember tasting it. I 
distinctly recall the taste of smoke in my mouth upon waking," Legolas 
said with consideration. Almost instantly the Elf's eyes became lost 
in thought again.

"There is more," the Dwarf read.

"Yes, the girl. Kattica. It has been puzzling me. She touched me when 
we left and I felt something. Or rather, I saw something," Legolas 
said staring vacantly ahead, absently rubbing the place on his arm she 
had touched. The memory of his encounter clearly played again in his 
mind as he relived the thoughts.

"What was it?" Gimli asked.

"I saw myself being attacked."

"Attacked?" the Dwarf asked, alarmed.

"It was smoke yet it was an unnatural smoke. It came at me as an 
apparition of a serpent."

"A snake?" the Dwarf gasped.

"Aye, Gimli. But I did not take it for truth before, and I do not take 
it now. It seemed more like the carryover of an Elven dream then 
something of reality. And beyond the memory of that vision, I do not 
recall anything of smoke. Do you?" Legolas said, arching an eyebrow at 
his friend.

Gimli growled low to himself, "No. No I do not, but I am not so 
willing to give this up. What do you make of the girl's touch?"

Legolas arched a brow at his friend as he answered, "She told me she 
was a witch apprentice to the old woman. Mayhap she does have some 
power in 'sight', as I have heard it called."

Gimli gasped in realization, "Witchery!"

"Nay, Gimli! I can see what you are thinking but you are wrong. I 
watched the girl at work. She cast no spells. She is not a true witch 
in the sense that you are thinking," Legolas defended.

"I mean not the girl but the old woman. She touched you before you 
fell into unconsciousness. Do you not find that suspicious?" the Dwarf 
asked with wide eyes.

Legolas laughed. "She is a healer, my friend. Healers touch. I imagine 
Aragorn would have done so too. And per your tale, you were holding 
me, so you as well touched me. Did Faramir lay hand to me also? I am 
starting to feel as if the entirety of the camp prodded me in one way 
or another," Legolas grinned, mocking his fall in an attempt to 
lighten the mood of the Dwarf. 

But Gimli would not budge from his apprehensions. "I think there is 
more here than you might see. First the brothers say they seek an Elf, 
then they correct themselves saying they seek only a place where the 
Elves live, yet they know not that they travel in such a realm. Do you 
not think they would have heard tale of Ithilien in their travels? 
Surely they are not so isolated that they never pass rumor to those 
they encounter. Rare though Elves be, they are not so rare that 
traders from the lands surrounding Long Lake to the Fords of Isen, do 
not know of your presence in Ithilien since the end of the war. It is 
no secret, your coming here. The colony of Doro Lanthiron is widely 
known and sought."

Legolas nodded, "I agree. It is strange. I had dispute with this claim 
myself, but their explanation of following their elder's guidance 
seems plausible enough, I would guess. As for their lack of knowledge 
for the territory, I would have to guess they keep most to themselves. 
They are recluses. That they seemed very startled to encounter me 
tells me they know little of Elves. I would not expect that if they 
were truly in pursuit of an Elf. And if they did indeed know to where 
they had traveled, do you not think they would be laying in ambush to 
capture me? Look now, we are free. If an Elf were so dire to their 
plans or needs, why would they have let me go so easily? I was 
unconscious. I was offering no resistance. Were there truly evil, it 
is possible they could have overpowered you and done what they wished 
to me."

"They would have had my weapon to face had they tried," the Dwarf 
growled. 

"Fair enough," Legolas laughed, "but the point is they did not attack. 
If witchery were at hand, then it was poorly executed, my friend, for 
this Elf still walks free." 

"I feel not so sure. You were not there," he grumbled, then looked up 
with a half-smile at the arched brow directed at him by the Elf. "Or 
at least you were not there in a coherent state. I do not trust the 
old woman, though I have nothing to prove foul play on her part." Then 
he sighed a heavy breath of resignation, "Mayhap it was sea-longing." 

Legolas watched his disheartened companion, then quietly he said, "I 
am sorry Gimli, but I told you there was nothing to tell here."

"Not true," Gimli said quickly, turning his gaze again on his friend, 
"There is still a great deal to be told. Tell me of the sea-longing, 
Legolas. We have not talked on it for a very long time."

Legolas shook his head sadly. "Ah, Gimli, why would you want to know 
this? Will it assure you in some way that indeed it was that? Very 
well then, my friend. Suffice it to say that a day does not go by that 
I do not suffer for it in some way. Shall I tell you that I hear its 
call incessantly, even in my dreams? Would it make you feel better to 
know that there are times when I am certain I will go mad for her 
droning song? Can you be happy to know that sometimes days go by when 
I cannot remember what occurred, only to find out later I was locked 
in the sea's trance? Will you be happy to know that this little 
conversation makes me sense it even more clearly? Tell me, Gimli, are 
you now confident it was not this that I suffered in that camp?"

"Nay. I am not. But I am glad you have told me of it. It very well may 
have been the sea-longing then. As your friend I will be more prepared 
for it. And for your sake now, I will let it go. Still, I do not like 
what happened in that camp. We should avoid it henceforth."

"I concur," Legolas said with a small nod.

"But I do have one other thing that concerns me in this matter," Gimli 
went on.

Legolas smiled a long-suffering sigh. Sometimes it seemed the Dwarf 
was never satisfied. "Yes, Gimli. What is it?"

"You were told once, by a wise Elf or two, that rest was important in 
staving off the effects of this illness.* And you were fairly willing 
to go along with their opinion at that time. But it has not escaped my 
Dwarven sight that you have not slept well of late. Not last night, 
certainly, in the cave, or even the night before in the land of your 
people. And while you may say you were very much asleep after a –ah 
–er – a night out in the city, I would not call "thissuch" restful or 
healthy."

Legolas winced at the memory of his night of drunken pursuit and 
Gimli's prod at his foolery.

Gimli went on, "And even before that, I know you did not rest upon 
arrival in Minas Tirith. You have evaded sleep, my friend. Why?"

The Elf shook his head in answer to the question. "You miss nothing, 
so it seems."

"My eyes are sharper than you may think. What say you, Legolas?" Gimli 
said with a kindly smile.

Legolas scowled, but in a friendly manner he answered, "I think there 
are some things you should turn your eyes away from, Orc-child. I may 
have been troubled of late, but I will assure you it has nothing to do 
with the sea-longing. More than that I would rather not share, 
especially considering you are a Dwarf."

Gimli bristled at the comment, "I will assume then that it is my race 
that keeps you from telling me more."

The Elf shook his head and smiled meekly, as if realizing the brunt 
force of his words. "If it is any consolation, I have not yet found it 
in me to share this with Men either," Legolas said in an effort to 
appease.

"You said ‘yet’. As if you were indeed considering sharing it sometime 
with Men. Aragorn and Faramir, I would assume. You would do this 
before you would share it with your dearest friend?" Gimli sulked 
beneath scornful brows.

"I fear this is true, Gimli," Legolas sighed, confessing.

Clearly hurt, Gimli asked, "Why would you tell them and not me?"

Legolas winced, shifting in the spot he sat. He pulled his legs in 
tighter to his chest and answered in apologetic tones as he lowered 
his gaze, "I do not mean to insult you, Gimli. Truly, it is not an 
opinion I hold, yet it would not be the right thing to do in my 
position. While I may trust you, I am not sure my people would 
appreciate my sharing our problems with you."

"Aha! So it is the Elves of Doro Lanthiron we are discussing! The 
parameters of my quest narrow," Gimli said with a measure of glee, a 
raised finger pointing into the air.

Legolas scowled. "Ai, I am a fool! Curse you, Gimli, for prying this 
much from me! From here on, I will marshal myself to not speak 
further."

Legolas quickly rose and began to storm off, intent now on only 
reaching the falls. Gimli chuckled as he followed, taking quick steps 
to keep up with the Elf’s pace. 

"Very well, Elf. Do not speak to me then. Let me see if I have enough 
of the puzzle pieces to put this together on my own," he announced. 
Gimli chuckled to himself, proud that he was able to decipher as much 
as he had. Then he began to ponder his thoughts, speaking aloud as he 
did. "Something your people would not want to share with a Dwarf. Your 
people, the ones who would have authority to tell you if it was 
prudent to deal with Men and not Dwarves. Those would be your minister 
and councilors, so that would make it a government issue." He looked 
up to see if there were any response from the Elf, but faced only the 
straight back of his friend. He could see Legolas meant not to tell. 
Very well. "Hmm, that would make sense as you are the lord of your 
people. Of course it is a government issue. Very well then, why would 
you seek out the help of Gondor effectively, as Aragorn and Faramir 
lord that kingdom, but not seek the help of the Dwarves." Gimli 
snorted, "Well, that is obvious is it not? Despite all, there is still 
not much love among your people for Dwarves. And yet, you make it 
sound as if you could lose your position if you asked, no even 
mentioned, the need for aid from a Dwarf. That is a pretty severe 
punishment, is it not?" he asked the silent back. "So the need must be 
something your people would not wish the Dwarves to know. Something we 
have in great capacity perhaps?" Gimli saw Legolas stiffen at that and 
knew he was getting closer. "Yes, yes, that would make sense. So what 
do Dwarves have in wealth that the Elves of Doro Lanthiron do not. 
Hmm. That is not easy to answer as our lifestyles are so very 
different. Perhaps if I focus on the things that would put a 
government in need. Yes, that might do it. Commerce? No, that is 
doubtful. The Elves already have a good trade agreement going with 
Gondor. Rohan as well as parts as far as Belfalas I have heard. 
Security? Not even plausible in these times. Besides, the elves are 
too great of fighters. Population? Well, there is not a shortage of 
Elves that I can see. If anything there are too many. Ha! At times, it 
seems all the Elves of middle-earth are flocking to Doro Lanthiron. 
Why I would venture…Legolas?" Suddenly a thought coalesced clearly in 
Gimli's mind. "That is it, isn't it? Your population. It is growing 
too much. That is it!" He did not get a response, but he did not need 
one. His mind was racing ahead. "I see it now. Overpopulation…your 
economy cannot keep up! And the Elves would not want the Dwarves to 
know they could not maintain their growth. The Dwarves, who sit on 
their hoards of wealth, would find a great deal of amusement at that. 
Oh yes, that would make perfect sense," he said with a grin. He was 
very pleased with himself for unraveling the mystery. He looked to his 
friend for the praise he felt he merited. "I got it right, did I 
not?…Legolas? Legolas?"

Legolas stopped in his tracks, and he lowered his head in defeat. His 
shoulders hunched and his fists balled, and Gimli raced around to see 
what expression he might find. He was not pleased. Legolas’ face had 
grown white and his eyes were closed. His jaw was locked tightly into 
a fierce grimace.

Gimli was suddenly struck dumb. Realizing now he had gone too far, 
pried too much, he tried to make up for it with words. "Really, it is 
nothing of which to be ashamed. No fault of your own. How could you 
have known Doro Lanthiron would become a haven for the Elves? How 
could any have known? You intended it to be a simple colony. Small. A 
resting place before you set off on your journey across the sea. And 
yet it's location to the sea must have been an enticement also to your 
people. What with Galadriel's departure, and Elrond's as well, it 
should be no surprise that the Elves of middle-earth are choosing now 
to leave. Doro Lanthiron seems a nice enough place to settle, to say 
their last goodbyes, I imagine. No doubt you had not anticipated such 
an increase so quickly. If you would ask me, I would guess your colony 
has grown three times its size in the last half dozen years," the 
Dwarf rambled, and even Gimli realized how ridiculous he sounded as he 
prattled on. What did Legolas call that sort of condition? 
Brethilitis?** He shook his head as his face reddened. It was an 
unusual thing to happen among the succinct Dwarves.

"Three and a half," Legolas muttered through gritted teeth.

"Three and a half what?" the Dwarf asked, pulling himself back to what 
he had said and finding instead confusion over his discomfiture.

"It has grown three and a half times its expected size. If you are 
going to mock me, Gimli, get your facts correct," Legolas said as his 
eyes opened to narrowed slits.

"Nay, friend. I do not intend to mock you. Well, perhaps only a 
little, but… no, Legolas. I see this is causing you pain. I will not 
make you endure more," Gimli said, regretting that he had ever 
attempted to find this information. Then with quiet sympathy he asked, 
"How bad is it?"

Legolas looked crushed. He sank to the ground and sat with knees drawn 
up, his head bowed. "Most of my people do not realize the dire 
circumstances we have come under, and they shall not if I can help it. 
It is bad enough, my friend. I have been considering asking Gondor to 
extend a loan. I am certain Aragorn and Faramir would be willing, in 
as discreet a manner possible even, yet it still eats at me and I do 
not think I can do it. Yet, if we cannot find another way, it may come 
to that." 

Gimli could see now exactly how troubling this was to his friend. "It 
stabs at your pride, does it not," the Dwarf said, a hand to his 
friend's back.

"Imagine yourself in my place. The Dwarves would be no happier with 
this than the Elves. We have never had need to rely upon Men before. 
We have always been self-reliant," Legolas answered looking deeply 
into his friend's face.

"Hmm. Yes. Yes, I see what you mean. Have you considered other 
alternatives?"

"Such as…"

"Going to the other Elves…"

"Imladris and Lothlórien grow more and more dim with each passing day. 
It is only a matter of time before Elladan, Elrohir, and Celeborn too 
pass over the sea. Their populace grows sparse, and those places do 
not linger in the riches they once did. And while it too wanes, 
Greenwood is the only other thriving realm remaining on middle-earth 
worthy of asking. It would mean asking my father. You have met my 
father, Gimli. How do you think he would favor such a request?" 
Legolas said with a sideward glance and a frown.

"Not in a way anyone would really like, I'm sure," the Dwarf agreed.

"And yet, my personal feelings in this do not matter. For the sake of 
my people, I am sure that will be the next step I take," Legolas said, 
his brow creasing in new worries. "The problem is, we have no idea 
when the flow of Elves into this land will end. As astute as he is at 
business matters, Thranduil will not be pleased to receive a proposal 
that is so open-ended. It is my hope that he will show compassion 
before considering any gains."

Gimli considered this as he answered with the thoughts his heart 
yielded, "He is a father as well as a leader, Legolas. He will be 
compassionate."

"Aye, but I do not think he will settle our needs completely. I think 
he resents the colony, for many reasons. Not least of which is that I 
help rule it in a realm of Men. I am sure he will be slightly bitter 
and will be stingy in his aid. It is not to be helped. There shows no 
sign of an easing and I have little choice. And while our woodcraft 
and wines are selling well, the exchange we have earned is not enough 
to maintain this continued growth. We have far exceeded our 
projections. It is only a matter of time before our capital runs out."

"Can this be corrected?"

"Most assuredly. With time. In the vineyards, we have plans to put in 
new vines this fall and spring, which will eventually triple our 
production. Yet it may be years before the grapes are established 
enough to produce a worthy product. We have numerous craftsmen and 
artists of varying trades that have joined us, and we are doing what 
we can to market their wares. Doro Lanthiron may well become a trade 
port before we are done, but still this takes time to establish. And 
unfortunately, we do not have much time." Legolas laughed, caught up 
in the irony of that thought before going on. "Strange, is it not, 
that a race never bothered by such a concept as time is now plagued by 
it? By this winter, we may well see the negative financial results of 
our expansion, and I think it may hit us hard. We do not have food 
enough in our stores to feed all our people without using outside 
sources. Our housing is tight. And we have many building needs we 
cannot keep up with, despite the increase in labor."

"I do not suppose you could raise taxes?"

"Such a thing is foreign to Elves, Gimli. You know this."

"Maybe the Dwarves can do something to help."

"I do not think my people would accept a loan," Legolas said, shaking 
his head.

"I did not offer one," the Dwarf answered smartly.

"You cannot mean charity?" Legolas asked with an astounded laugh.

Gimli smirked, but answered seriously. "Knowing my people, it would be 
more than a small feat to accomplish, I’ll grant you that."

Legolas lost his sense of humor in this as his brow creased in anger. 
"And it would be completely unacceptable to even consider among mine!"

"Perhaps if it were a gift from one friend to another?" the Dwarf 
offered shyly, abruptly changing the mood.

"You do not have that kind of personal wealth, Gimli," Legolas sighed.

The Dwarf frowned, "That bad then? Well, what about a trade on goods 
for services."

"What did you have in mind?" Legolas inquired, slightly interested, an 
eyebrow cocked.

"Mayhap a trade of capital for the promise of take on future wine 
sales."

"That is a loan, Gimli," Legolas grinned largely.

"I know, but I am running out of ideas, Elf!" the Dwarf bellowed.

Legolas laughed as he began to rise. "Enough then, Gimli. Let us not 
think on it further. It gives me a pain in my head if I consider it 
too long."

Gimli was aghast. "That is it? You will let it go at that? How can 
you?"

"Apparently I cannot as you have pointed out. I believe it was 
countless nights of lost sleep that prompted this discussion. I 
surrender for now, Gimli. That is all. We will not solve this today." 

"Very well for now. But it will be resolved somehow before this trip 
is done, Elf. I will not rest until we have found a way," Gimli said 
with surety.

Legolas' laugh was like music, and it heartened the Dwarf to hear it. 
"Has that not been my role, Gimli? Ah, well, at least one of us will 
be sleeping."

"Aye, you are right. We will not speak of it more. Today. Perhaps we 
will fall into a solution that will resolve all these worries 
tomorrow," the irked Dwarf responded.

"Let us hope so, Gimli," Legolas said, the smile still on his face but 
sadness creeping into his voice. "Now, if there are no other 
questions, do you think we could continue on our way?" He looked to 
the sun to see the day’s passing.

"I will follow your lead, friend." Gimli said, with a merrier tone. He 
truly was pleased to know now the heart of his friend's worries. 
Perhaps they could not solve them now, but they would. He was sure of 
it. And so they set off once again.

"Gimli?" Legolas called as he marched forth through the field. Gimli 
raised a brow at his friend's half-turned face. "Now that I have told 
you what it is that troubles me, will you share something of 
yourself?"

Warily, the Dwarf answered, "That would depend. What is it you wish to 
know?"

"What do you intend to do with that halberd?"

Gimli laughed loudly, stopping dead in his tracks as he did so. 
Looking up at his weapon, then back at the Elf, he considered, then 
said, "Shall I give you a demonstration?"

Legolas smiled eagerly. "Please do," he said.



* By this I am referring to a conversation Legolas had with Elladan in 
Chapter 4, "Confessions Before Battle" of my first fic, "Cry of the 
Gull." Shameless plug there, I admit. ** Sorry, but I couldn't resist 
mentioning Brethilitis, and I've been desperately trying to find a 
place to sneak it in ever since Treehugger said it would be okayfor me 
to use it. See her story, "In the Hall of the Wood Elf King," and its 
follow-up fic, "Once Upon a Time in Hollin," to learn more on this 
very tragic affliction.



Cast of additional characters and aliases

Anborn – Faramir's alias Mattias – the eldest son of the witch Gordash 
– the middle son of the witch Curtik – the youngest son of the witch 
Szandor – a cousin of Mattias, Gordash and Curtik Bregus – the witch, 
also called Mother, the shuv'ni (another word for witch) and puri dai 
(tribe elder) Bäla – Bregus' dead husband, a former shuv'ni and puri 
dai Kattica – Mattias' wife, and a shuv'ni apprentice



Chapter 13: Challenges and Threats

Gimli beamed at the words of commendation.

"Such beauty. Such grace. It was like a dance, a thing of intricate 
timing and determination but also of a deadly reckoning. I would never 
have conceived it in my waking hours and if I were to tell it to 
anyone else, they would surely think I was jesting. But I was there 
and saw it with my own eyes. Who would have guessed a thing like that 
possible? A delight to behold, hidden in the guise of a Dwarf."

Gimli bristled at the slight giving Legolas a withering look but 
smiled inwardly all the same as he listened to the Elf regale praises 
for Gimli's great skills. And before an audience of their comrades no 
less. He quietly grunted. Legolas exaggerated the truth a bit, and 
Gimli suspected it was done more so for the sake of his own tale and 
than for the Dwarf"s ego. Yet spoken praise from Legolas was hard to 
come by, and this truth was not so far bent as to be total fallacy. So 
Gimli took what came his way, believing in his heart that he truly 
deserved it. A self-satisfied grin crept over him and lit his face, 
and he found the hardest task at hand was keeping himself from joining 
in on the bragging, trying his best to keep his ego in check. Not an 
easy task, especially when so much of it was truth. Yet it was a 
pleasure for Gimli to regain his place as a master of weapons skill 
after having had endured seemingly endless hours of mockery before 
these same friends. He thought on the place he held in their esteem. 
First the city gates, now the hunt. He could get used to being the 
center of such attentions. 

He looked at the remains of the two carcasses laying in discarded 
shreds on the heavy wooden chopping board near the fire. They had 
started out as succulent, juicy and plump roasting fowls. Now they 
were merely the remains of this night's dinner. He tossed the bone he 
had gnawed clean into the fire as he smiled to himself. A tasty fare 
they had been. There was something to be said about eating outdoors. 
It enhanced the flavors somehow. 

Gimli gazed around at the pristine environment they sat in, made all 
the better for his good mood. The words and laughter of his friends' 
voices were clear and unhampered. The roar of the falls was dulled by 
their place a small distance away from the cave entrance. Near enough 
be close to safety, yet far enough to not feel the dampness of water 
vapors invading their supper. The women had set up the site earlier in 
the day, a leisurely picnic their plan. So when he and Legolas had 
brought home a feast of two lovely sage grouse, it made wonderful 
sense to cook under the stars. The lingering aroma of herbs and wild 
fowl still hung in the air.

"I am still trying to put it together in my mind. Tell me again… you 
flushed the birds from their covey…" Faramir began, his voice breaking 
Gimli's reverie while an expression of intense curiosity marked the 
Prince's face.

"Aye," answered Legolas, leaning in for the narrative. The waterfall 
behind him was a dull whisper as the lilting voice of the elf 
commanded the group's attention. Above, the stars blinked in twinkling 
merriment as if they too were enjoying hearing the tale of Gimli's 
prowess. "I came about them from the opposite direction as he, 
following Gimli's instructions carefully. If I were in the 
companionship of Elves, our method would have been far different, but 
seeing that this was Gimli's demonstration, I opted to adhere to his 
plan. And, though I am loathe to say it, I learned a thing or two from 
it. With a stealth I have rarely witnessed in him, he crept forward, 
positioning himself noiselessly in prime location, availing himself to 
his target like a practiced master. Gimli knelt, and for a moment I 
thought I had lost him, so good was his disguise in the marshy 
grasses. But when I sighted him again I was pleased to see him poised 
low, but ready for action. He spotted me, and I nodded, awaiting his 
signal. He took three deep breaths, mentally preparing himself, and 
then he gave the indication to me to begin. With a rush, I moved 
forward, doing my part to stir the fowl out of the brush, trouncing 
the bramble and sage much in the ways of a good hunting dog. The 
grouse set to flight, but not before Gimli could act to snare them. 
Like a falcon's flight, diving and swooping, the halberd floated 
above, whirring as metal sang against the air. And yet so fast it was 
that it nearly passed before my eyes without my seeing it. But my eyes 
are sharp and I saw it all. They were only at waist height when he 
took up his movement, and by the time they had reached chest height, 
he had severed their heads. Mid-flight! It was amazingly quick– over 
instantly! The creatures did not suffer and I was most moved by the 
beauty of it. I will concede now to the art of this weapon. It has its 
place, I have come to know."

"Was it not dangerous, being so near as this weapon was swinging 
about?" Eowyn asked, as incredulous as Faramir. 

"Quite, but I kept my distance, and Gimli seemed to handle the halberd 
with great skill and control. I did not feel endangered. Truthfully, I 
have never before seen such agility in a dwarf."

Gimli rumbled with annoyance, "You keep saying that, Elf, as if you've 
never seen the grace of my likes." 

Aragorn laughed in response. "I must confess," he chuckled, 
"'graceful' and 'dwarf' are two words I would not think connected 
either, Gimli."

The dwarf decided to ignore the comment. Instead he addressed the 
question of skill Eowyn posed. With a twinkle in his eyes and 
something resembling bold daring he said to her, "As you know, Lady, 
there is no need to feel danger if you are with a warrior trained well 
in his weapon. I have been handling the halberd since I was waist-high 
to a Halfling. I am quite familiar with all the ways to use this 
weapon." 

"Now imagine such movements from an Elf," Legolas interjected, turning 
as well to Eowyn and not noticing Gimli's darkening expression at 
being upstaged. "You can almost see the magnificence of the artful 
gesture in that form, can you not?" Gimli felt a growl rise in his 
throat as he saw Eowyn and several others smile and nod affirmatively 
while caught in their rapt attention to the Elf's words. "What say you 
Gimli, being the great master you are? Will you teach me this weapon?" 
Legolas asked, his blue eyes now turned to the Dwarf in sparkling 
amusement. 

The Dwarf harumphed. Legolas was being manipulative, encouraged by the 
presence of all. It mattered not. Gimli's mood was too good to let the 
silly ramblings of an Elf displease him. He pushed out his chest in 
proud fashion. Gimli could hardly denounce the feelings that were 
obvious in his countenance. Yet, Legolas had just slighted him in an 
offhand way, and that deserved a soft cuff. "I keep telling you, Elf, 
it is not the weapon, but the action. This weapon, whether used in 
warring or in the hunt, is formidable when taken with proper technique 
and strategy. Two or three as a team with the same tool make a 
formidable adversary. Today you saw a demonstration of what can occur 
when we work as a team. The grouse took the axe end of my pole. Do it 
again, and tomorrow's deer will take the spear. I will be glad to 
teach you this, so long as you remember it is not the weapon of just 
one. You and I worked this instrument together today. Do not forget 
that." 

Legolas smirked, "And now I receive praise from the Dwarf as well. He 
must be feeling rather sure of himself to be so gracious to give."

"He said 'tomorrow's deer'," Aragorn pointed out, interrupting. 
Excitedly he directed the words to Faramir. "You will witness for me." 
Then he turned his gray eyes on the Dwarf, "You said 'tomorrow's 
deer', Gimli. Does that mean–? Those words imply you will hunt 
tomorrow. Dare I come to believe you mean that truly? Unimpeded?"

Gimli glanced at Legolas, weighing his Elf friend's masked expression 
before giving his own answer. He turned to the man and said in a 
beleaguered voice, "Truly Aragorn, I meant the word only in a poetic 
fashion. But seeing how much you long for this, I will confess I am 
feeling swayed. Especially since I was able to give demonstration of 
how my weapon may work on a hunt and others here are beginning to see 
its merits. It is against my better judgement to do so though. And yet 
my Elf friend seems in need of the challenge of a Dwarf's skills if he 
is to improve on his own. I will do it, for his sake and yours." Gimli 
said, watching as Legolas responded with a scornful grumble.

"And you Legolas?" the King asked apprehensively.

The Elf sighed. "Yes, Aragorn, I will participate. But only in pursuit 
of the one deer. No others will I aid in slaying," the Elf demanded.

"A reasonable request I will grant you both. Faramir and I will turn 
our attentions in the hunt of the prized stag only. Agreed?"

The heads of the three other males nodded in agreement, albeit some 
less enthusiastically than others.

"So we will hunt again tomorrow," the Ranger said with an eager smile, 
confirming that this would indeed happen.

Faramir looked up, biting his lip in nervousness as he tested an idea. 
"Since we were speaking of challenges, may I offer a thought? It came 
up today in the Romany camp and I must admit I am intrigued by it. 
Bregus made a suggestion that seemed as if it might aid us in the 
reluctance that some of us felt over the hunt. A contest. Separate 
into teams. Legolas and I versus you and Gimli. In considering it, we 
may find it a formidable matchup, do you not think?" Faramir asked 
looking to Aragorn for validation.

Aragorn's smile weakened a moment at the mention of the old woman's 
name. But then he nodded. "I'd agree regarding the challenge of it, 
though I'm not sure I was as taken with her as you seem to be, my 
friend."

Arwen, unaware of what the others had experienced, asked in good 
humor, "Did Faramir attract a lady friend today?"

The Prince's face turned crimson as a murmur of low cajoles and 
mirthful teases rose up from the group. He protested, "I was not that 
taken! She just struck me as…nice. I thought she was a sweet old 
thing." He was met by an echoing of the same ridiculing sounds.

"And certainly she felt the same thing for you, my friend – if not 
more," Aragorn taunted.

Eowyn's lips curled into a smile as she joined the ruckus, prodding 
Faramir's embarrassment on further. "So my love was the object of 
another lady's affection? Should I be jealous of these attentions he 
has garnered? Perhaps I should challenge my rival to a duel."

"You could best her," Aragorn said nodding assuredly, playing along 
with the pretense of indignation.

Arwen laughed, "I have always thought Faramir worthy of the protection 
of female guard. He is rather handsome. Perhaps it would be best to 
keep a tight rein on him, Eowyn. You should be careful about not 
letting him out of your sight again. I would offer you my blade as 
your second if you choose to contest her."

"Thank you, Lady. I may take you up on that," Eowyn said with all the 
valiance of a warrior as she bowed her head.

Faramir's face reddened further. He said, "You are merciless, all of 
you. She was just a kind, elderly woman. Nothing more."

"A kind, elderly woman with designs on you, I think. She practically 
had you telling her everything about our stay here," countered Aragorn 
with a smirk.

"And you should speak so freely. You were telling her nearly as much 
as I," Faramir tossed back. 

"I will concede she had charm, but I did not come close to divulging 
as much about us as you seemed prepared to say, Faramir. Did you 
forget everything we had discussed before we came up here?" Aragorn 
said, still joking, but there was subtle shift in his tone, as if he 
were quietly reprimanding the younger man for his loose tongue.

"I think you both have forgotten that it was I that kept you from 
saying even more. Be thankful I was there to pull you out of hazzard!" 
Gimli bellowed, not enjoying the merriment of their play. His words 
grew terse as he scolded, "Left to you, every detail of our lives 
would have been laid bare before her. On my mother's beard I swear 
that I could not understand why you were both acting thus. I did not 
trust her then, and I do not like her now," Gimli grumbled. 

"Ah, Gimli, she was harmless," Aragorn said, now dismissing the event 
with the old woman with a wave of his hand, attempting to toss aside 
the building tension perceivable in the Dwarf.

But Gimli would not be deterred. His voice grew louder as he justified 
his comments with an angry tone. "She pried too much, and she seemed 
to be pushing us to tell her things I did not care to share! And 
neither should have you – either of you! She did not seem to care that 
Legolas was rendered ill. I find that bothersome, do you not? And I 
understood the interpretation of her title to be the equivalent of a 
sorceress. Although she never said it, I think she had more reason for 
being happy to see an Elf than she revealed! I believe she did 
something to Legolas today to keep him there. And that it was not 
sea-longing, Aragorn! That we escaped without harm seems pure luck to 
me, but luck I'll gladly take, and I would be only too happy not to 
meet up with her again!"

Legolas sighed with exasperation, "Gimli, we spoke of this–"

He was cut off by the quiet voice of Aragorn. "Peace, Legolas." The 
smile was gone from the King's face and his brow furrowed in serious 
thought. In a low voice he said, "I agree with Gimli. At least in 
respect to not trusting Bregus. I do not believe her true either, 
although I felt no harm intended by the others. Still, I think it 
would be wise to stay away from that camp if we can."

"And what of the harm she caused Legolas?" Gimli asked, threat looming 
in his voice as his hand automatically drifted to his side where his 
axe normally hung.

Aragorn smiled sympathetically. "There is no evidence that she did 
anything, Gimli. She may be called a shuv'ni, a witch, by her people, 
but I don't believe she has any true powers. The Romany are a simple 
people. They are guided easily by superstition and dream 
interpretation. Any power that they may have would be found in their 
use of herbal remedies. I believe I have those same skills, and I 
would not consider myself a sorcerer by any means. Their customs 
differ. A witch to them is like a healer to us," Aragorn shrugged.

Gimli could see Legolas nodding his concurrence. "Still I would prefer 
we stayed far away," the dwarf grumbled. 

"Agreed then," the former Ranger said. "But not everything that came 
there was of malicious intent. I too like the idea of a challenge, 
especially considering the trouble we dealt with today with you and 
Legolas. It might add some interest to turn this into a game. What say 
you on this? Shall we split up our party for this hunt? Gimli, you 
with me? Legolas, you with Faramir?" he asked looking from Dwarf face 
to Elf face for agreement.

Legolas smiled broadly, liking with relish the idea of besting the 
Dwarf. Gimli reminded himself that the Legolas had not been there for 
this proposal, and so it was fresh to him and not laced with the 
apprehension wrought by the old woman's presence in the Dwarf's mind. 
From the Elf's expression, Gimli could tell Legolas approved the idea. 
The words that followed confirmed it. "A contest…" he said, lingering 
over the word with merry eyes. "I think that might be amusing. I would 
be more than happy to upset the Dwarf and prove his weapon, graceful 
though it be, inferior to my bow."

With that boast, Gimli's pride was stung and he found himself ready to 
take on verbal battle with the Elf. His fears were pushed aside as his 
personal dignity began to fight back. "And I would be only too willing 
to put your words to the test. I will venture that Aragorn and I come 
back with a prizewinning stag," Gimli bragged.

"Not if our superior skills hold true," Legolas scoffed back.

"You will be no match for our prowess," Faramir added, winking at the 
Elf. 

Good-naturedly, Aragorn opened his mouth to speak. "Do not–," but he 
stopped in mid-word as Arwen bent down and kissed him on the cheek. He 
had not seen her rise. Nor had the others seen Eowyn join her in 
folding blankets and breaking the camp. 

The two women gave each other a meaningful glance before the Elf lady 
said, "Gentlemen, I suspect you could go at this all night, but that 
would hinder your skills in the morn. I recommend you get your rest 
whilst you can. The deer rise early, you know. It will be an active 
day for all of us, and I am ready to turn in."

"You are right, my love," the King said with a smile as he rose and 
began to gather their supplies. "And what is in your plans for the 
morrow?"

Eowyn smiled as Arwen answered. "We are going to venture out to see 
the new waterfall of which Legolas had made mention. He told us it is 
just east of here and a breathtaking sight."

"Then keep your eyes open, as that is where you will find Gimli and I 
to be as well," Aragorn said in warning. 

"To the east? That is where you will be? But that's where Mattias said 
they saw the stag," Faramir protested. 

"Precisely the reason we intend to hunt there," Aragorn said with a 
shrug.

"But I was going to suggest that Legolas and I –" Faramir began. 

"It seems the East is already spoken for," Gimli interrupted with a 
mocking voice. "I believe North, South and West are still available 
though."

Faramir shot a glare at the Dwarf before darkly muttering, "Very well 
then, we will take West."

"Done," said Aragorn. "And may the better team prevail," he said 
offering his arm to Faramir in warrior's handshake.

"Have no fear. We shall," said Legolas, nudging the King's arm as he 
walked past with an armload of supplies, following Arwen toward the 
cave. 

Gimli immediately took up Aragorn's cause, following behind, also 
laden with goods. "I saw that, Elf! Do not think that you can win this 
challenge by doing our bowman bodily harm. You will find when we are 
done that it is my halberd that will have taken the prize."

"My mistake, Dwarf, for I thought sure the skills of your bowman were 
the only thing that would win this contest for you. But if you think 
you are superior to him in skill, then perhaps you should take up the 
challenge. Alone," Legolas countered.

The former Ranger cast a sidelong glance at the pair as they made 
their way up the path. He chuckled lightly, shaking his head, then 
offered a good-humored smirk toward Faramir. "We had better rise 
early, my friend, or we may find we have been left behind. It would 
not surprise me to find them at the challenge without us."

Faramir returned his smile with a pat to the back and a nod, then 
chuckled as he heard the dwarf's boastful voice echoing near the 
cavern space, "Would it frighten you if I did hunt alone? You have 
already seen a small demonstration of my skills on something as minor 
as a grouse – actually two – simultaneously. That is nothing compared 
to what I will accomplish come new day."

"I see all that bluster about hunting as a team has gone by the 
wayside. What happened Gimli? Did my talk of improving on your skill 
spark some ideas in that small mind of yours as to how this could be 
accomplished in solo endeavor?" The voice of the Elf faded away as 
they entered the cave. 

Faramir rolled his eyes toward his King and sighed. "And to think this 
morn we had wished for some sort of participation from those two in 
this event. I fear we may regret this new turn tomorrow."

Aragorn laughed as he followed his companions toward the cave.

****

The owl had been leading her through the darkened wood. And though her 
eyesight was fairly good for someone so old, the bird never strayed 
further than ten or so meters from Bregus as they made their way 
across the miles to the camp that the owl had seen. Bregus was careful 
in her steps, using her kosh as a walking stick to help pick her way 
to safe footing in the darkness. The moon was only now rising and in 
the pitch of night, she did not want to trip and fall, injuring 
herself when she was so close to achieving her goal. She was slow and 
careful as she made her way.

When she heard the sound of the falls in the distance, her heart 
thrilled to a quickening pace. She was near and she had hope. She 
prayed to her gods to reveal to her the place she had seen in her 
dreams and minutes later they fulfilled her desire. 

It was as spectacular as she had hoped. Playful. Inviting. 
Magnificent. And mystical.

But she had to be careful. She did not wish to be seen. She heard 
voices as she approached, she heard them nearing from the other side 
of the river. She knew she could not draw fully into the clearing. She 
pulled back, remaining hidden in the shadows. 

She came upon them only seconds after the Elf and Dwarf had entered 
the cave, so they had not perceived her, and she had not seen them. 
She saw only the dark-haired man, a woman, and the one called Anborn. 
Who are you really? She wondered as she watched the men talk as they 
walked a path toward the falls. With a clap to the hand, the two men 
exchanged a few words, a laugh, and then the dark-haired one walked to 
the rock face of the wall and seemingly disappeared into it. Bregus 
gasped, realizing only on hard scrutiny that a crevice in the stone 
wall served as a door. She marveled at the illusion. This must be the 
Protected Place! Its interior space is shrouded well from the world, 
she thought.

The object of her desire and the woman stood alone on the shoreline 
opposite her with the falls behind them. Above them, the first glimpse 
of the moon could be seen rising above the raging water, and the light 
caught brilliantly as it cast down upon their heads like a silver 
light. The contrast between light and shadow threw their forms into 
complete silhouette. The moon, being at nearly her ripest state, was 
blindingly bright, and Bregus suspected that had she stepped forward, 
she might have remained invisible to Anborn and the woman, so long as 
she stayed in the shadows.

She watched his every move with rapt attention. She could not help the 
fixed trance she found herself falling into each time she gazed upon 
him. So like Bäla, she thought. And while this man had an uncanny 
resemblance to her dead spouse, in her mind he was becoming one and 
the same. Soon he will be, she mused.

So it was then, with jealous shock and anger, that she witnessed this 
one, this Anborn, this man who would soon be her returning Bäla, reach 
over and pull the woman that accompanied him into his arms and kiss 
her. Agonizing rage riled up in Bregus as she watched this unfaithful 
act. It took all of her will to contain herself and not cry out. She 
could not step out to reveal herself. For her own good, this was done, 
and in the next moments she was rewarded for her strength to resist. 
What happened took away her harrowing lament, and brought a wicked 
smile to her lips. For the man reached his hand down and placed it 
tenderly on the woman's lower abdomen. On her womb. And the expression 
he gave as he gazed upon the fair-haired woman was one of pure love 
and joy. Bregus knew exactly what that gesture and expression meant. 
There was an unborn child within this woman. Silently, Bregus laughed.

She did not linger long after they departed into the entrance in the 
rock face. Long enough to see a very brief glimmer of light flicker 
within the depths of the falls. Brief enough that it seemed of her 
imagining. But also brief enough to be discerned as a body pressing 
through a curtain that hid a brighter room within the shadows of those 
falls.

When she saw the flicker, she knew. She still had no idea how many 
there were in this camp, though from what she had seen of them, she 
suspected it was fewer than she had feared. She shook her head as she 
collected her wits. If the interior spaces were like those revealed in 
her dream, indeed there could be many more hidden inside. But she 
found herself bothered not by this. She had new knowledge, and if she 
used it right, it would not matter if a full troop of soldiers lie in 
wait in those store. She had the means now of drawing far greater 
power than any she possessed on her own. A horribly evil smile crossed 
her face as she turned to go back to her family.

****

Kattica lifted her head from the fuzzy haze of sleep when she heard 
footsteps approach. It was dark and night had fallen though the moon 
rose bright in the sky. The silver light played on the walls and 
ceiling of the tent as the crickets sang their night song. For a 
moment all seemed natural to Kattica and she relaxed with the familiar 
cadence of approaching steps that she knew, allowing herself to drift 
off into deeper sleep, happily lulled by the normality of it. But 
then, like a splash of cold water on her face, she remembered 
everything that had transpired that day. With her fear she became 
alert. She bolted upright. Her heart beating rapidly as the steps came 
nearer and her eyes grew wide in anticipation of what she would find 
when the flap was pulled away and the person approaching entered the 
tent. It was with complete surprise then when the gentle smile of 
Mattias' face poked through the entrance and he climbed into their 
shared tent, just as he did every night. He looked so much like 
himself, his face and actions the familiar one she had come to love, 
that she thought for a moment that she had been wrong, that everything 
she had experienced and witnessed had been some horrible contrivance 
on the part of her brain, whipped up by bad dreams that had no place 
in reality. With relief her cry greeted him, and it was with joy that 
she plundered him in her embrace, grabbing him fiercely in her arms. 
She had spoken to him only in brief snippets early this day and that 
had been all of which she had to cling. She realized now just how lost 
she had been without his familiar presence nearby. She could see that 
he still was the man that she loved. Bregus had not stolen his soul. 

He chuckled at her obvious enthusiasm, and she felt her face redden at 
her discomfiture. But she did not mind. So happy was she to find him 
whole and unscathed. She had been wrong. It was all some mistake, a 
misunderstanding on her part. But then he said something that brought 
her back from her glee. He said, "Mother says you need to stay 
confined until the baby comes. I have come to collect my belongings. 
She says it is time to prepare you, to make this bender sacred. She 
says you have become mokadi." 

Kattica's joy rapidly disappeared as she realized the implications of 
his words. Mokadi. The word meant taboo. With dread she realized she 
was to be kept separate from the camp, ridden from the companionship 
of any, save the shuv'ni, as she entered the final stages of her 
pregnancy. And she would remain this way until the birth. It was a 
silly tradition, a way to ward off death from the altar of the new 
child's birth, and it was one found only in the more remote of tribes. 
It had never been their way, at least not until now. She wondered 
aloud at this change. "But I thought I would stay among you until the 
birth," she protested.

Mattias' expression changed for a moment, saddened it seemed by the 
thoughts that ran through his head. But then he smiled bravely as he 
began packing his gear, shrugging off his own thoughts for the better 
of them all. "The puri dai has spoken," was all he said.

Kattica continued her protest, anger and confusion motivating her. She 
moved around to place herself before him, trying to draw his eye to 
hers, "But this is not our way!"

Mattias sighed heavily, not looking up at her. He continued to pack, 
pushing past her to reach his belongings. "Mother said you might be 
like this. Forgetful of our traditions. Mokadi has always been our 
with us," he said, sadness lacing his voice.

All the fears Kattica had pushed aside came back as she realized now 
that Mattias' mind had been corrupted. She was not wrong, for she had 
witnessed birth herself within this camp many times. She knew well 
their beliefs and she adhered to them wholly. But now they had been 
altered, conforming to something that met Bregus' goals. 

She realized she had little time. Mattias was leaving her, in belief 
that they would be separated until after their daughter's birth. But 
Kattica knew no such thing would happen and that he was dooming her 
and her child to death! She had to stop him, to make him realize that 
this was wrong! She had to make him come back to himself! 

Fearfully, she took both his hands in hers and looked at him 
beseechingly, forcing her face into his line of vision. She said a 
silent prayer that she would reach him. "Mattias, I must ask something 
of you and though I cannot fully explain it, I would ask that you 
believe in me. That you trust in me."

His expression grew dark with confusion and he stopped momentarily to 
look hard at her. "Kattica, what are you talking about?"

"Do you love me?" she asked.

Mattias scoffed, "A silly question, Kattica. Of course I love you." He 
resumed his packing.

But this is not what she was asking. "No," she said touching him 
again, her hand making contact with his under gentle fingertips. "I do 
not ask it like a child in need of reassurance. Look at me, Mattias. 
Tell me. Do you love me?"

The play of shadow and moonlight caused wicked tricks to happen before 
her eyes in the unlit tent. At first he did not look at all as Mattias 
to her, his brow darkened, his expression cold and scornful. The face 
she saw was calculating and harsh, and she repressed a shudder as she 
assured herself to not let go. And then, as if a cloud had receded, 
his face became lit, and she gasped softly as the light transformed 
his appearance, taking away the harsh shadows and anger that had made 
him seem so frightening to her an instant ago. Looking down at her 
hand, he paused, gently considering. Then supplicant, he raised his 
eyes to her and uttered quietly, firmly, "Yes."

Gazing deeply into his eyes, attempting with all her soul to reach his 
heart, she asked, "Would you trust me enough to follow my wisdom 
without question if it meant our lives were in danger?" Her voice grew 
firm in her surety, though a part of it was a whispered plea.

His brow twitched slightly, but he did not move his eyes from hers. 
"Yes," he whispered back, almost trance-like in his answer.

Breathing a sigh, she allowed a small smile to reach her lips before 
breaking it with more serious words. "Then you must believe me Mattias 
when I say we must leave now. For the sake of our child. For the sake 
of my life. We must go," she said with a quaver of fear touching her 
voice.

For a brief few seconds he only stared dumbly at her, as if without 
understanding for her words, and then slowly, with only the slightest 
of gestures, he shook his head in protest, building until the motion 
was vehement in answer. "No," he said plainly, without emotion. 

The word in itself was a slap in the face of Kattica's hope, so 
opposite the heartfelt affirmations he had seconds before expressed. 
She felt her eyes sting as tears came to them, sick with the rejection 
he had just laid before her. A barely perceptible choke of a cry 
spilled out of her throat, and she found herself struck silent by the 
sheer weight of her emotions.

He ignored the emotional barrage her face displayed, turning away 
instead, casting her aside as he gathered the last of his possessions. 
And then he spoke as if in anger, "Mother said you might be like this. 
That it is common for women in mokadi to be temporarily driven to 
madness. It is better this way, Kattica. Mother will tend to you and 
you will be well again as soon as the baby is born. You will see."

Kattica was thrown from her immobility by the words. Madness? No! "She 
is wrong, Mattias. Please! I am not mad. You must believe me! It is 
she who is making you say these word, she that is mad. She wants our 
baby, Mattias! Please! Please! Listen to me!" she cried, grabbing his 
arm in a frenzy, trying desperately to regain his attention, his 
trust.

He flung her hands off him, like he was shedding something repulsive, 
spilling it to the ground, and indeed Kattica felt pushed away, 
spurned and discarded. Shaking his head, tears pooling in his eyes, he 
repeated, firmly resolved, "It is for the best. You will be made 
well." Then without even looking back, he departed the tent, and 
Kattica was left only with the memory of those words of desertion.

No longer with a care for what anyone would hear or think, Kattica let 
out a wail of keening rage and pain. She felt broken, trodden, 
defeated by the misery Bregus had bestowed upon her, and with 
heart-broken anguish she collapsed in on herself, unable to do 
anything but sob her lament. Pounding her fist on the hard ground, 
felt despite the carpet of pillowed blankets that lay on the floor, 
she moaned inconsolably to herself, flexing and unflexing her hands in 
her spastic cries. 

On and on it went, pouring her heart out into the folds of the fabric, 
she cried until she felt feeble and spent. And for a few minutes more 
she allowed herself the luxury of lying still, willing herself to calm 
and not think of anything, if only for this brief moment. She allowed 
her grief to wash over her, pushing everything else aside, and blankly 
she stayed like this until she could recover enough to act.

Eventually, her mind began to function again, racing ahead, beyond the 
moment, realizing that the moment she had awaited had come and gone. 
Now it was time to act. Kattica felt her resolve grow stern. With him 
or without him, nothing had changed. She still had to flee. 

Angrily she realized she had wasted her time. She had been waiting for 
him all these many hours, giving up on the idea that Gordash had 
presented her concerns to her husband, bringing him forth sooner. 
Opportunities had been present for escape and she had ignored them. 
Earlier she had witnessed a change in her guards, Curtik for Szandor. 
After an hour on his post, Curtik had slunk away into the wood, lulled 
away, she supposed, by the need to urinate. It was exactly the opening 
of which she had been waiting. Silly superstition, she had thought, 
for despite their guard, none had stepped forward to witness if she 
still remained in the tent. Such was the fear and power of mokadi. At 
least she had this as a weapon in her arsenal. But she did not use it, 
opting instead to wait until Mattias would appear before she could 
attempt escape. And now she realized her patience had been fruitless. 
What a horrible waste! Bregus' hold was obviously greater than she had 
believed. 

She would not waste another opportunity. Discreetly pulling back the 
edge of the flap, she peeked outside to see if anyone was present. The 
camp appeared to be settling in for the night, and Kattica heard the 
straggling sounds of some of her folk cleaning up the last of the 
family dinner. This was it, she knew. Receding into the tent, she 
gathered the items she needed, feeling around in the dark as she tied 
the bedroll about the upper part of her rounded girth with her sash. 
She had decided to forego the waterskin and cookware, and instead 
grabbed the kettle and slung it over her shoulder like a sack. 
Clumsily, she managed to get her feet beneath her so she could make 
the mad dash to the trees before anyone could see her. Closing her 
eyes, she muttered a silent prayer then pulled open the flap.

She was greeted in that instant by the low growl of a canine's threat, 
fiercely resonating in the gullet of a gray-flecked muzzle. Pitch dark 
eyes shone their menace to her. With a shock she snapped back as bared 
white fangs flashed before her face. Kattica's eyes widened as the 
snarling jowls hovered over her, just inches from her face.



kosh – literally translates to 'stick', but for a witch it is more the 
equivalent of a wand or staff.

mokadi – translates to mean taboo, forbidden, unclean. Many of the 
Romany believe a woman in the late stages of pregnancy or in giving 
birth will be unclean, unholy if you will, and susceptible to the will 
of wandering spirits, evil and death. For a woman in this condition, a 
bender tent is often set up specifically for her use alone so she will 
not contaminate the vardo. The Romany in these camps see the afflicted 
person's condition almost as if it were an infection or open wound. In 
some tribes they even go so far as to separate the woman's food, her 
cooking utensils, her laundry, etc., so that those items will not 
taint the rest of the tribes'. During her confinement, no one will 
touch her or her belongings for fear of opening themselves up to the 
curse of death, though they are still allowed to speak to her. This 
period may begin from up to eight weeks before the birth and last up 
to several months after. 



Chapter 14: Threats of the Night

Kattica jumped back as hot breath brushed against her cheek, avoiding 
in her retreat the fierce lunge of the hound by inches. Her heart 
pounded wildly in her chest as she was thrown backwards into the tent 
by the awkwardness of her weight. She lay helpless on the blanketed 
floor, the tent flap hanging open, exposing to her the crouching pose 
of the dog shifting himself in anticipation and ready to lunge. He 
awaited her next move, and reading it, Kattica froze, glancing away in 
a gesture of supplication to the pack creature. The beast's hackles 
stood on end as it snarled brutally, poised to pounce. The terrifying 
look of a heartless killer filled its eyes as a low growl resonated 
from the depths of the animal's maw. Stifling a cry, Kattica fought 
her brain, furiously trying to think of a way to escape this horror. 
But before anything more could happen, Kattica saw from the corner of 
her eye the dog look up at something out of the frame of the tent 
entrance, and then lower its eyes. The animal suddenly cowered away 
with a whimper, gone from the sight of the girl. A shadow cast by the 
light of the moon fell onto the highlighted walls of the cloth canopy 
as a figure moved forward. Kattica recognized the shadow's form. Her 
true enemy had appeared.

Strangely the girl felt removed from herself, numb to the 
possibilities of what the witch had planned. She had anticipated this 
moment in the hours she had silently waited, and now that it was upon 
her, she found her courage bolstered and her anger alive. The air was 
electric with her anticipation as the space in the tent became 
inexplicably smaller. Still, Kattica would face the elder without 
fear. Bregus had been the source of the girl's subtle torment for many 
years and Katica had meekly submitted to it. Tonight would be 
different. Bregus had destroyed her hopes. The elder had declared a 
war, and it heightened Kattica's sense of morality and injustice. The 
old woman had wronged Kattica one time too many. The girl was now more 
than prepared to fight. She could match the elder in strength and wit, 
she was certain. Unfortunately, she underestimated the elder.

With a twisted smile, the shuv'ni hunched forward, descending into the 
hollow of the tent. She looked long and hard at the girl, summing up 
the situation before speaking. "Going somewhere?" she asked 
maliciously in a singsong voice.

Kattica said nothing, deciding a verbal sparring match would do little 
to aid her situation. She pulled herself up, gathering her goods 
again, and then waited. 

"I think it is time that we talked," the elder said, drawing out her 
words, knowing well the ire quailing in Kattica's chest and reveling 
in it. Her smile grew wider as she saw the gleam of hostility lighting 
the young woman's eyes. "But before we do that, I should look at you. 
It is dark in here." Instantly, a fire blazed in the small stove in 
the corner of the tent behind the young woman, lit without means but 
by the elder's suggested words. Kattica jumped in surprise. The 
suddenness of this sorcery startled her. The elder did not utter a 
spell. She merely wished the fire and it appeared. This was a 
frightening turn. The girl began to have doubts in her abilities.

"Yes, let me see you. We would not want you to have harmed your 
precious baby now would we?" the old woman said, sneering as she drew 
her gnarly hand forward towards Kattica's round belly. The girl 
squirmed away from the touch, fear now sending subtle shivers down her 
spine. 

A low chuckle emanated from within the elder's throat. "You need not 
do that," she chided. "You have me wrong. I am not here to do you 
harm. In fact, I am here to help you. I have come with some wonderful 
news." The witch's smile grew wider as if she was enjoying the girl's 
fear.

"Whatever it is, speak it and be gone," Kattica spat, mustering her 
courage. "I have no desire to linger in your companionship!"

Bregus laughed loudly at the words. "Rather feisty tonight, are you 
not? You do not like being confined, I see. We have something in 
common then. For I long to be freed of my confinement as well."

With a hiss Kattica snarled back, "Your words have no meaning to me, 
witch!" The girl's vexation was clearly evident.

Bregus' eyes narrowed and her look was no longer playful. Kattica felt 
herself reflexively swallow and her nostrils flared as she felt the 
bitter taste of bile rise in her throat.

"Do not try me child, or you shall find the keener edge of my mood 
unpleasant," the shuv'ni said through gritted teeth. The elder stared 
into the girl's soul as she coldly said, "I am merely pointing out our 
similarities." She eased away slightly and took a deep breath before 
looking away. Then she said in a softer voice, "I too am locked into 
something I do not desire. We are trapped, both of us. You, in a 
position you cannot change, and my body on a course I seemingly cannot 
change. And yet we both have every intention of freeing ourselves from 
our miseries. We are not so unalike, you see." 

"The only prison I am in is