Prologue:
Survivors

Somehow they had escaped.

In the midst of utter destruction, they had somehow survived where many of their kindred had not. Allies, who had fought with them, now lay buried and forgotten, their corpses becoming nothing more than sustenance for the bottom feeders on the seabed. They themselves had narrowly escaped such a terrible fate and their own number had been greatly reduced during the exodus from their ruined city. Now there was only a handful where there had been many and the survivors were at a loss over what to do next.

At the time, their imperative had been to escape the rising deluge of water that filled the cavern where their city was sheltered for so many ages. Fleeing the tide of the cold sea that pursued them amidst the destruction of falling rocks and boulder like fragments of crumbling ceiling, they had thought little of what would come once they escaped the immediate peril. However, upon emerging once again to what was relatively steady ground, they discovered that the danger had not passed even though they were for momentarily safe. For so long, their city had protected them. It kept them safe from the outside world and as they sat at the feet of their master whose schemes would have made it possible for them to leave their city and emerge into the world again, it never even occurred to them that he might fail.

Or worse yet, be killed.

But killed hie was and the great plan had failed, the one the Master had assured would return them to existence they knew before the sunlight had filled the cracks of the world with its blinding light. Before the First Age of the Sun, the world had been as a paradise to them, a time where they were filled with the sinful delights of pleasure borne out of pain. When the dark lord Morgoth had ruled the world, they had been at the height of their power. To them, it was a time still spoken of in whispers of awe and reverence. To make the world as it once was, they had served their new master when Morgoth had been banished to the void and the shape of Middle earth changed beyond recognition in the War of Wrath.

In the face of the cataclysmic battle that had been fought and the subsequent destruction of Beleriand which took with it Angband and much of Morgoth’s army, they had been driven to hide out of fear. During the war, their value had always been in concealment and subterfuge. They were created as a covert weapon unlike the Balrogs whose purpose was destruction in all its grand chaos. They walked among the enemy, listening and reporting back their observations to their master. When Morgoth had been vanquished, it was easy enough for them to hide and with the Valar more concerned with the Balrogs, firedrakes and other demon spirits fighting openly, it was easy to be forgotten.

With the end of the war, they had bound themselves to a new master and for many ages, they served him well and were contented to remain within the city under the sea. Their new master had also served Morgoth and like them, wished to serve the dark lord again. His plan was audacious to say the least but it would bring Morgoth back to them and there was nothing they would not do to see that accomplished. After waiting for so long, the vassal in that Morgoth would inhabit upon his return was finally conceived and the master’s plan was finally coming to fruition.

It should have worked.

It would have if not for the determination of the she elf and her companions to save her child from the blessing of Morgoth’s spirit. They had underestimated her and were paid dearly for their mistake for the she elf had aided the death of their master and brought down their city upon their heads. The plan lay ruined forever beneath the sea, along with the carcass of their master and the allies who would have helped them usher in a new order if only Morgoth been allowed to inhabit the body of the child slumbering within the she elf’s womb.

After their escape, the survivors banded together, united by their confusion and fear because for the first time in their lives, they had no leader, no one to tell them what to do. Many were prepared to find other enclaves in the dark, to hide again. It might have transpired this way if one of them had not made the suggestion that perhaps what was needed was a new plan, one that they would carry out themselves, without the need of a master to guide their actions or allies upon whom they could rely on. Perhaps they could not bring Morgoth back to Middle earth but they could change it to suit their needs.

Emerging into the sunlight for the first time in eons, they soon learnt how to move safely through this world they had feared for so long. While they traveled sometimes during the day, under guises that ensured no one would accost them, mostly their journey took place by night. It appeared that exodus was not an uncommon thing in Middle earth these days. The Eldar were also leaving the shores of Middle earth. Arda was being left to the race of men and this suited them well for men did not have the sight or the senses to perceive them as the elves did. Even if they did encounter the First Born, they had means of concealing themselves. They were aware of craft that was old even when the Eldar were first awakened at Cuinvienen.

If they had to, they could remain hidden from anyone.

They crossed the Misty Mountains, visited the ruins of Dol Goldur before crossing Mirkwood to take the river into the Sea of Rhun, into the lands that were laid claim to by the folk known to the rest of Middle earth as the Easterlings. Like they had been after Morgoth’s banishment to the void, the Easterlings were similarly displaced. They were a warrior people, bred to fight and relishing victory and battle in all its forms. The enforced peace they had no choice but to endure, thanks to the destruction of Sauron, was a found festering upon their pride. The new arrivals finally found the instrument with which they could secure their place in Middle earth as well as strike a blow of vengeance against the she elf that had ruined everything.

It was an easy enough matter to infiltrate the Easterling ranks with none of the race having the slightest inkling that there were those among them that were not men but something else completely. The new arrivals were swift to consolidate their power and though they did not overtly reveal themselves, they found that the Easterlings were easily manipulated because of their inherent dislike for the Reunified Kingdom. The power of the Easterling had well and truly been broken by the defeat of Sauron. The loss left deep wounds upon their pride that was worsened because of the peace they were forced to accept.

The lord of the Easterlings had begrudgingly entered negotiations with Minas Tirith to establish new lines of trade and commerce so that his people could begin to prosper after so many years of war. Though the idea of peace was abhorrent to the men of the southern lands, the fact remained that without Mordor they were starving. For years, the dark lord had kept them fed by allotting them portions of tributes gathered from other lands subservient to Mordor. The arrangement ensured that the armies of men under his yoke could focus singularly on the business of war.

Unfortunately, with the demise of Sauron, this delicately poised balance had shattered and suddenly, men who had lived all their lives as soldiers were faced with the reality of starvation. So few Easterling resources had been directed towards agriculture and pastoral farming that without Mordor’s aid, the southern lands were quickly descending into poverty. Thus, the need to forge an alliance of some sort with their old enemies was not only a necessary evil but also an urgent imperative. King Elessar, aware of the deteriorating situation had extended the hand of friendship, hoping to bring order to the realm by a gesture of goodwill.

The years following the war had been good ones for Gondor and its surrounding neighbors, a gift of grain was thus offered the Easterlings as an overture of friendship to solidify relations between the former enemies. The Easterlings were proud but like the Corsairs and Wainriders who were driven to make similar agreements, they had little choice but to accept Gondor’s offer of aid. The negotiations had continued over a number of months as both sides were cautious of each other and rightly so. It was no easy thing to shirk years of hostility in order forge something better and while Elessar was willing to make concessions to leave the Easterlings with their dignity, he would not relinquish the sovereignty of Gondor to dictate some terms.

The culmination of all this was a treaty that was historic in every sense of the word. It meant that for the first time since the race of men had emerged from Hildorien, they would stand together as one. Across Middle earth from Rohan to Dol Amroth and Ithilien, the respective leaders of each realm were converging upon the White City for a gathering that would welcome the Easterlings as their neighbors.

Unknown to any of them, not even the Easterlings, they would have some unexpected guests.

Part One:
Alliances  

The spell was ancient.

The language in which it was recorded was almost as immortal and when spoken, it did not sound like words but rather like music. It was a composition of tribute by those who still remembered the songs of the Ainur before the children of Iluvutar bound themselves to their earthly existence as the Valar. Each line of the spell was lyrical and to hear it recited was no different than hearing a song being sung. The book in which the spell was kept was an heirloom that time had allowed to be forgotten. It was a relic of the past; believed to have been a possession of an ancestor who claimed to be of elvish descent. For years it had languish in the treasury of Dol Amroth, collecting dust and forgotten by those who mattered and would have been doomed to that oblivion if not for its discovery by the first daughter of Dol Amroth, Lothiriel.

There were those who said that she was the fairest in the land, save the Queen of Gondor herself. The daughter of Prince Imrahil, ruler of Dol Amroth, she was known to be a great beauty with long dark hair and gold flecked eyes that sparkled with each change of mood. Many who had seen her were smitten but so far, the lady remained unmarried though not to lack of offers. As she grew further into womanhood, whispers at the court of Dol Amroth spoke of certain eccentricities in her character that the Prince was trying hard to keep silence. Lothiriel was believed to be preoccupied with magic and was known to cast spells. She had no wish to marry despite Imrahil’s best efforts to introduce suitors that would meet her favor.

However, it was also spoken of in whispers, that the Prince’s patience was wearing thin and he would soon exercise his right as her father to make the choice for her if she would not choose herself. In truth, he could have married her off as early as he wished but Imrahil loved his daughter, he wished her to find a mate that would please her, just as he had done when he took her mother’s hand in marriage. Unfortunately, it became apparent that she would not wed unless forced into it and her devotion to magic was disconcerting to her father because it did not abate with time, but rather deepened.

In an age where Sauron’s evil was finally vanquished and the elves were departing swiftly into legend, the practice of magic was not favored in the eyes of men. The people of the Reunified Kingdom had endured their fill of magic, sorcerers and the dark arts. They had little patience to stomach it further. Thus it was it was very terribly disturbing for Imrahil to have his own daughter engaging in the study of such arcane knowledge. When she was a child, he had indulged her, assuming that the fascination would fade in time. Erroneously he believed as all fathers faced with an unpleasant truth about a beloved child, that she would outgrow it. Unfortunately, she had not done so. To his dismay, he realized that her fascination had evolved into obsession.

If anything gave Imrahil comfort at this point, it was the fact that as a witch, Lothiriel simply was not very good.

Over the years, he had become accustomed to her failures. Some episodes had been amusing, the others simply embarrassing but very few were actually dangerous although it was becoming increasingly harder to ignore the frequency of the spells going awry. In fact, Imrahil could not even begin to recall if any of her spells had actually transpired as it should instead of mutating into something unexpected that made his groan in chagrin because more often then not, it would require his intervention to repair the damage.

As she chanted the words from the spell book that had become something of an oddity in her family’s legacy, a keepsake handed down from generation to generation, with origins were obscure as they were unknown, Lothiriel knew that she had to a succeed in at least one casting. Her father’s patience was almost at and end and Lothiriel was not oblivious to the talk about court that he was actually giving thought to what he had previously considered unthinkable, finding a suitable match for her in marriage.

Somehow she had to convince him that she was in possession of skills that would require the tempering that came with proper instruction. Since the defeat of Nameless One and the establishment of an order of wizards at Isengard by the Grey Pilgrim, Lothiriel had dreamed of going to Isengard to learn how to be a true wizard. Her suggestion to her father that he might let her go to the wizards at Isengard to be instructed had been met with outright refusal, mostly because her father did not believe she was capable of conjuring magic.

Lothiriel sat on the floor in the center of the room. A circle of cord surrounded her, allowing her to focus the energy required for the spell she was casting to remain trapped in one place. Within the circle, or the deosil as it was sometimes known, she laid out the ingredients she would need for her conjuring and continued to read from the book. She knew some of the words by heart and others needed her eyes upon the page to be spoken, nevertheless they spilled form her lips in a strange chant. She did not pause as she recited them, her eyes closed as she attempted to feel some trace of the power she knew was inside her.

She was desperate for this spell to work or else she would be torn away from her home and all she knew to be used as a pawn in her father’s games of alliance. She would not marry against her will but if this failed, she would have no other choice.

As her chanting grew more fevered, she felt her face flushed with heat and suddenly to her surprise, the gradual fluttering she felt in the pit of her stomach became stronger and more insistent, like the flapping wings of a great eagle inside of her. The sensation made her heart soar and suddenly a surge of certainty filled her veins like the rushing of blood. Her breath quickened as her eyes clamped shut and suddenly the room around her disappeared and what she saw after that was not to be described to anyone save herself.

However, while she spoke not of what she saw, its effect upon the room was most marked. The air became frozen inside her circle, moving around her like swirls of smoke. A luster of ice became to form on the floor and on herself but she noticed nothing of the cold for she was too entrapped by the spell to know anything beyond the words she was saying. Within the circle, it was as Eru had breathed a blizzard into air and it circled her like a vortex of ice and cold.

Whether or not it was the chanting of the sudden drop in temperature that was felt by everyone else in the House of Imrahil, it mattered little because the Prince of Dol Amroth was summoned quickly to his daughter’s room. He burst into the confines of her chamber, not requiring permission or any need to announce himself since he was lord and master of her, before coming to a halt at the sight before him. His daughter sat in the middle of the odd circles of magic he had become accustomed to seeing over the years, watching a veritable snowstorm worthy of any that might be found at the peak of Caradhras, presently raging inside her chamber.

"LOTHIRIEL!" He shouted.

Her eyes snapped open in shock for his was the only voice that could return her to herself. As she struggled to maintain her composure at his sudden intrusion, she found her control of the spell slipping and though she struggled desperately to rein the powerful forces she had invoked, she had neither the knowledge of the skill to keep it from being turned inside out. Suddenly, instead of snow and ice, there was smoke, thick yellow clouds of it that gave off the scent that was not unlike the belch from Mount Doom in Mordor. The smell was foul indeed and as her control collapsed completely, so did the limitations she had placed upon the spell within the confinement of the circle of protection.

The yellow smoke spread throughout the room, sending both father and daughter into a fit of coughing when it swept past and around them in its bid to escape the walls confining it. Very soon, similar sounds could be heard beyond the open door of her chambers, from the corridors and the staircase. Imrahil swept aside the odious clouds of smoke and made his way to the window that was slightly ajar, opening it wider so that fresh air might displace the noxious stench.

Lothiriel had stood up shakily, she was partially doubled over from the coughing as she attempted to expel the terrible smoke from her lungs and her nostrils. The smell was truly foul and she realized she would have to scrub intensely to remove it. Unfortunately, as she glanced fearfully over her shoulder to her father, she knew that smelling terribly was the least of her worries. Once he had opened the windows, he had turned to her and the expression on his face was not forgiving. She had not seen him so angry in a long time and braced herself in anticipation of the worst.

"Father, I can explain…..," she made a desperate attempt to account for herself.

"Enough!" Imrahil snapped, cutting her off before she could speak further. "I do not wish to hear your excuses!"

"Father, please," she pleaded, seeing the storm in his eyes and knew with certainty that he was surging down the road she prayed he would not take. "I was trying to help. I thought if I could show you what I was capable of, you would send me to Isengard!"

Imrahil drew a deep breath as if attempting to soothe his own rage from forcing him to act or say anything rashly, "what you were capable of? What were you attempting to do other than to bring about a snow storm within your room and make our home reek like a stable after a year without cleaning!"

"I was trying to change the weather," Lothriel stammered, trying to hide the tears that would only infuriate him if he saw them. He would think she was trying to use them to soften his heart. "I thought if I could change the weather make it winter to spring, then you would see that my magic could be put to good use."

"No more!" He shouted, refusing to listen to her explanations because he had heard them all before and his patience was no longer infinite As a father, he had been indulgent for allowing her to go on as long as she did without recrimination but this could not continue. It was only a matter of time before her efforts to conjure resulted in some mischief that could cause injuries to others or to herself.

"I have allowed you to indulge yourself for far too long against the advice of all our kinsmen and my councilors! You are no longer a child with a peculiar habit, you are a lady of Dol Amroth and it is time you behaved accordingly. I am sorry my dear but you leave me no other alternative, it is time for you to be married, for you to begin your life instead of languishing inside this room with your books of magic, magic I might add, I do not think you capable of mastering. You will hurt only yourself and those around you by your failures and I will not sit by and let it continue."

"Father please!" Lothiriel pleaded. "Do not send me away to be married! I want to go to Isengard, to be a real wizard."

"Real wizards have power," Imrahil replied wearily, his eyes full of sadness at the sorrow in hers. It was very easy for him to bend to her will when he loved her so much but for her sake, he had to cruel to do the best for her. "You have glimmers of it, most likely a residue of our elven past but you are not a wizard and you never will be. I am sorry my daughter, you will not go to Isengard. I will find you a suitor and you will be married. It is time you left this room and see what lies beyond its walls and beyond those books."

"No!" Lothiriel cried out, unable to stop the tears from coming now that the full burden of her fate was pressed against her. "Please father, do not do this. I promise I will not touch another spell book again, I swear that I will be a good daughter. Just do not pawn me off to some noblemen whose only desire for me will be to solidify some alliance. Let my life have more meaning then being the dainty you throw at some lord’s feet."

"I will find someone worthy of you," Imrahil said softly, forcing himself to remain strong but showing her enough of his heart to know that he would never give her to any man who did not deserve her, "I promise."

"Your promises mean nothing!" She wept as she ran past him. "You mean to give me away like one would give away a prized animal. Do not make it sound any more than what it truly is!"

Imrahil could not answer her accusation because she left the room before he could think of an answer. Despite himself, he was shaken by their ugly exchange even more than her failed spell. However, he did not reveal to her that he already had someone in mind to be her husband nor was he lying when he claimed he would find a suitor worthy of her. He did know someone who was a good and noble and worthy enough for his beloved daughter.

Unfortunately, Eomer was going to be as difficult to convince as Lothiriel.

************

Not since the announcement of Eldarion’s birth had Minas Tirith prepared for the celebration of any event with so much pomp and splendor. The signing of the treaty with their former enemies, the Easterlings and the Variags was a great milestone in the reign of King Elessar for it was a long time since Gondor and for that Middle earth, known such unprecedented peace. With the power of Sauron and Mordor broken forever, the Corsairs defeat at Pelagir and the destruction of the Wainriders at the Dead Marshes, the alliance with the Easterlings seemed to be the final act in the bloody wars that had been plagued Gondorians for so long. The mood of peace was infectious, almost as infectious as the hope it brought and while people praised the initiative, they praised their king even more for making it possible.

To celebrate the peace accord, leaders across many kingdoms across Middle earth made their way into the White City. Legolas, Lord of Eden Ardhon, the elven enclave in South Ithilien arrived with his wife, the Lady Melia and at his side as always, was Gimli the dwarf who was also the Lord of Aglarond, better known as the Glittering Caves. A small procession of elves journeyed with them and though it was not meant to be a spectacle as they rode through the streets towards the palace, Gondorians nevertheless turned out to watch. These days, even a glimpse of a passing elf was a rare thing and many knew the time was drawing when the First Born would be gone from Middle earth altogether.

Not long after the procession from Eden Ardhon had disappeared from view; the inhabitants of the White City were soon standing again in the streets. This time, it was the passing of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth that had drawn their interest or more precisely, the presence of his daughter, the lady Lothiriel. She was reputed to be a great beauty by those few who had seen her in the flesh. The lady did not choose to leave Dol Amroth frequently and her presence inspired the curiosity of all those who thought well of the Prince, since he was much favored by Gondor and its king since the Battle of Pelennor. To this end, they were not disappointed as she rode past with her father, for she was almost as fair as the Evenstar, though Lothiriel could not supplant Gondor’s beloved queen in the hearts of her people.

Very soon, the word had traveled throughout Minas Tirith that Lothiriel’s reputation was indeed deserved though they wondered why someone so lovely would appear so terribly sad.

The procession of distinguished guests continued throughout the week, with Prince Faramir and his wife, Lady Eowyn entering the White City during this time. Faramir who would always hold a fond place in the hearts of all Gondorians, for they remembered when he had led the forces of Denethor to battle the enemy during the siege of Gondor. His perseverance had kept the hopes of many from descending into despair during the dark hours of their battle to protect the White City and he had prepared the way for the final victory that was achieved with the arrival of the king.

His wife, the Lady Eowyn was almost as revered for she had defeated the Witch King on the fields of Pelennor. To many of a girl child across Gondor and Rohan, the tales of her bravery inspired them to dream of being more than they were. As Eowyn had proved she could be when she took up the sword and slew the beast that killed the good King Theoden.

The last of Gondor’s neighbors to make his entry into the White City was Eomer, King of the Mark and brother of Eowyn. The leader of the Rohirrim entered the city amidst a small contingent of riders, appearing very much the king of the horsemen army. Though Gondorians were used to seeing horses being ridden by their nobles and barebacked by elves, many did not feel comfortable around the animals. Horses were for royalty and those who served them, not for ordinary folk. Still as Eomer and the Rohirrim rode through the city, they looked very impressive indeed on top the saddle of their mounts.

With the arrival of the Eomer, Minas Tirith was allowed an interlude to catch its breath before the next procession of visitors arrived and these would be the ones the inhabitants of the city would view with a good deal of caution despite the occasion. Many still feared the Easterling delegation that would be entering their city in order to sign the treaty with Gondor. This feeling of caution could never truly be brushed aside, not after the siege they had endured when the White City was almost lost.

The night when all his friend were assembled again within the great hall of his palace, was the first time in too long that Aragorn Elessar’s thoughts had not been filled with thoughts of treaties and alliances. It was a respite he was grateful to have as familiar faces he considered family, gathered before him again.

Of Legolas and Gimli, he had seen little since the dwarf spent much time in Legolas’ realm, claiming that the elves had not concept of building anything without a dwarf to offer guidance and Legolas was just busy building his colony in Ithilien. Faramir was also tending to matters at home for Ithilien now that it was fortified against the threat of its eastern neighbors, had suddenly drew the migration of folk from parts of Gondor that had been ravaged during the War of the Ring. He had not seen Eomer for many months, since their encounter with the dark elf Eol who had almost brought about the destruction of Edoras and Imladris.

He had hoped to see his kinsmen by marriage, Elladan and Elrohir but the journey from Imladris was long and the treaty with the Easterlings had little to do with their realm. In truth, he believed the twins were still a little uncertain of leaving Elrond’s city after what had transpired at the hands of Eol. Thranduil as always was unconcerned by the Easterlings after forming his own alliances with the northmen of Mirkwood and Celeborn of East Lorien. With the exception of Legolas, Aragorn sensed that the elves preferred to distance themselves from the affairs of men mostly because they knew that their time in Middle earth was past and someday, perhaps not within his lifetime, they would cross the sea for the Undying Lands and never return.

"My goodness, he has grown!" Eowyn exclaimed as she saw Eldarion in Arwen’s arm. The babe was almost six months old and was clearly showing features from both his parents. In his face, Eowyn saw much of Aragorn but his eyes were clearly an inheritance from his mother.

With all of the gathering yet to arrive for the evening, those present delayed their seating at the table in order to catch up with one another after the months of separation.

"He certainly has," Arwen beamed proudly as she held her son like the greatest triumph in her life. "He has started to make sounds, I am certain he is on the verge of his first word."

"He might be a little young for that," Eowyn remarked, certain that the infant had a little time to grow yet before he could become articulate enough to form spoken word.

"Nonsense," Arwen dismissed the notion and continued to regard her son with delight, "you are not like every other child are you my son? You will speak soon."

"I would not argue with her," Aragorn offered Eowyn a friendly warning with a glint of amusement in his eye, "I have been trying to tell her that for weeks."

"You have no faith in our son. It will serve you right if his first word is mother,"" Arwen huffed reproachfully as she strolled over to Ioreth and handed Eldarion to the lady so that he could be put to bed for the evening. Eldarion should have been there already but Arwen could not resist the temptation of showing him off to their friends.

"If you value your skin, you will not debate this further Aragorn," Eowyn chuckled, knowing how tenacious young mothers could be and that was discounting Arwen’s usual stubbornness.

"I think you are right," Aragorn grinned, knowing when to yield the field of battle when the odds were against him.

"You both look well," Eowyn commented. "I am glad to see that Arwen has recovered after that terrible business with Eol."

"She is far stronger than most believe," Aragorn remarked quietly, his voice hardening a little at the memory of Eol and how he had been forced to kill the dark elf to regain the freedom of his lady and of Imladris. "It was us men who suffered most I think during that unpleasantness."

"I do not dispute that," Faramir agreed after returning from the table where he had poured himself and his wife a cup of wine and rejoined the conversation. "Upon returning to Ithilien, it was straight to bed for me to recover from our labours."

"Well being struck by arrows can do that," Aragorn nodded in agreement. "I know I certainly needed a few days in bed after returning home."

"Yes and sometimes in bed, I even slept," Faramir added grinning at his wife wolfishly.

"You are a scoundrel," she retorted with a bemused smile.

"I do not need to know your predilections in the bedchamber, Lord and Lady of Ithilien," Aragorn teased.

"What is this?" Legolas’ voice entered the mix. "You were discussing Faramir and Eowyn’s predilections in the bedchamber?"

"Then we arrived just in time," Gimli chortled gleefully.

"See what you have done?" Eowyn gave her husband a look of mock annoyance. "Damned elvish hearing."

The lord of Eden Ardhon entered the hall with his wife Melia at one side and Gimli at the other. For a few minutes, they were all engaged in happy greetings and embraces at seeing each other again. Aragorn did not realize how much he missed them all until this moment and wished circumstances allowed them to see each other more often. However, they were each beings of destiny, whose stars not always written together though events sometimes transpired that saw their purpose coincide.

"How have you been Legolas?" Aragorn said to his oldest friend.

"I have been well," the elf smiled with genuine warmth that seemed very out of place on Legolas’ usually aloof features. It had taken many years of friendship for Aragorn to see beneath that veneer of elven indifference to know that Legolas felt things deeply. "The building at Eden Ardhon is almost complete. Thanks to our friend," he patted Gimli on the shoulder, "we have created something truly unique in the woods of South Ithilien."

"Arwen, you and Aragorn must come and see it Aragorn," Melia smiled happily at her husband’s side. "You only saw tents and half constructed buildings when you were last there."

"Oh can we Estel?" Arwen asked, her eyes glistening with delight at the prospect. Most of her time was spent within the walls of the palace since the birth of Eldarion that it was nice to travel beyond the borders of Minas Tirith whenever the opportunity arose.

"I do not see why not," Aragorn smiled, not able to refuse beloved Undomiel anything. "Once these proceedings are done with the Easterlings, I think a little respite would be nice."

"It will be an interesting number of days," Faramir remarked. "Other than Melia, I do not think I have ever encountered an Easterling long enough to know them with any depth."

"That is true," Gimli agreed. "It is far different from fighting them in battle, that is for certain."

"I should like you close at hand Melia," Aragorn said to the Lady of Eden Ardhon. "You know your people’s customs and habits far better than I. It would be of great benefit to have your knowledge at the negotiation table."

Melia was rather taken back by the faith the king had placed in her by request and despite the encouraging gleam in Legolas’ eyes, she still stumbled with her response.

"I will aid you in what manner I can," she replied after a brief instant of contemplation, "however, I do warn you, it has been many years since I left my homeland, things may have changed a great deal."

"Only the small things in any culture changes over time," Aragorn replied, believing that she was underestimating her value to him. "The rest remains the same no matter what."

"I think you will be able to contribute much," Arwen declared, offering Melia a smile of confidence and friendship.

"Who is the their leader?" Melia asked, uncomfortable by the attention on her even though she was very flattered by the trust the king had placed in her ability to help him.

"Ulfrain," Aragorn answered. "He claims to be a descendant of Ulfang the Black. He is coming with his general and his queen."

"With his queen?" Melia exclaimed with genuine astonishment. "He is bringing her to Minas Tirith?"

"Is this so surprising?" Legolas asked, noting her expression of amazement.

"Well, it is certainly very unusual," she confessed. "It is not the habit of Easterling women to leave their homes."

"Not even a queen who accompanies her husband on an occasion of importance such as this?" Eowyn asked, having recalled Melia relating to her and Arwen something of the barbaric nature of the Easterling customs regarding their women. Personally, Eowyn could not possibly imagine being cloistered away behind walls, away from the eyes of men for the entirety of her life. It had been bad enough to endure the place women occupied in the scheme of things in Rohan, let alone endure something even more backward than that.

"No," Melia shook her head. "It was not done, at least when I lived among them."

"Much has changed for the Easterlings since Sauron’s defeat," Arwen pointed out to her husband. "They had been forced to adapt many new ways in order to survive. Perhaps this is one of them.’

"That is true," Aragorn could not fault Arwen for her observation. "Though we welcome them as allies and treat them as such, there is not doubt they come to Minas Tirith as supplicants. Their people are starving and they need grain and large quantities of it quickly. It was pride that kept them from opening a dialogue of negotiation before this."

"Is this why you have assembled us all here?" Gimli asked. "In order to salve their pride?’

"If we all stand before the enemy and receive them with open arms, they are more inclined to believe that we are willing to put the past behind us, Master Dwarf," Faramir pointed out.

"They are a proud people," Legolas said agreeing with the lord of Ithilien’s assertion and the general strategy that was being employed to receive their new allies. "We have defeated them. There is no need to break their spirit. Your decision is wise Aragorn, to have us assembled here to show them that they are not merely being accepted by Gondor but by the rest of Middle earth."

"I hope they appreciate it," Aragorn replied, "I do not wish to go to war with them."

"Do you think they are in a position to do that?" Arwen asked, fearful of another war taking Estel away from her. For so many years, they had been kept apart by Sauron and all the darkness that had been extinguished in the culmination of the War of the Ring, Arwen had no wish to see another resurgence of violence that would imperil not merely her husband but all their lands.

"Not for a sustained conflict," Aragorn explained. "However, they are a warrior race and with the situation that they now face at home, this is a terrible blow to their pride. It is necessary for this alliance to be sealed before other factions in Ulfrain’s kingdom consider a military solution to their problem."

"Eomer!" Eowyn’s voice suddenly shattered the sombre discussion with its exuberance.

As they turned to regard Eomer’s arrival, they saw Eowyn had already run into his arms and was exchanging a warm embrace with her brother, the King of the Mark and the leader of the Rohirrim. Though they did not see each other as often as they would like since her marriage to Faramir, Eowyn and Eomer remained close as always and each meeting was always treated like the precious moment that it was.

"Sister," Eomer grinned as he regarded Eowyn, "how does fares the Shield Maiden of Rohan?" he teased.

"No better than the King of the Mark," she returned with a bright smile. In appearance, they were not much different and anyone seeing them together could tell immediately that they were brother and sister. While Eomer’s hair was darker and he seemed older because of his beard, he was only a young man and Eowyn could not help but treat him like the small boy who had shared much of her childhood.

"You have not made me an uncle yet?" He arched his brow at her in mischief.

"And you have not made me a sister in law," she returned just as sharply.

"I think that will be changing soon enough," Aragorn added his voice into the mix as he came to greet Eomer midway. Similar greetings were soon exchanged between the company of friends and it was as though they had never been apart.

"Where is Prince Imrahil?" Aragorn asked out loud as they settled into their seats, waiting for the last member of their party to arrive before the first course of the meal could be served.

"I have sent the servants to seek him out," Arwen informed dutifully.

"He is travelling with his daughter is he not?" Faramir asked. "I heard some talk on the way here that the girl is quite a beauty."

"Is this the daughter that he is attempting to marry off?" Legolas asked, giving Eomer a clear look of intent as he spoke.

"Yes," Aragorn grinned, noticing Eomer slink deeper into his chair as the subject reared its head. "I believe so."

"I think it is terrible," Arwen stiffened unhappily, "this business of arranged marriages."

"It is how it is done Arwen," Eowyn replied. "For noblemen, daughters are only good for alliances, little else."

"Has she no choice in the matter?" Arwen asked, staring at Aragorn a little too intently for his comfort.

"It is not a matter of choice," Aragorn volunteered reluctantly, "it is a matter of duty."

"You must remember Arwen," Eowyn explained as best she could, though she did not like how things were herself, "that we do not have long lives as elves do. We have one chance to do it right and on most occasions, very little time to make our selection. If true love is found, that is all well and good but the noble born of men do not have that choice, especially daughters. I cannot tell you how much I feared Theoden marrying me off to that slime Wormtongue during his enchantment by that creature."

"I would have killed him first," Eomer declared and no one at the table believed he was jesting.

Eowyn offered her brother a warm smile as his efforts on her behalf and continued speaking, "fortunately, I was able to make my own choice on a suitable mate for me."

"My wife, the romantic," Faramir retorted at her description of him being her ‘suitable mate’.

"Well the dwarf way is the best," Gimli replied with smug authority. "The lady chooses us and it is far simpler than attempting to understand the workings of the female mind by enduring the whole courting process. She chooses you and that is all there is to it. No fussing about with flowers or tokens of love, any mundane efforts at expressing sentimentality, just a simple direct way of getting through all the rubbish to the heart of the matter. Let her decide and save yourself the grief of trying to understand her. I have found the only thing more unfathomable then elves is the feminine mind."

"Melia, you are closer," Arwen spoke up. "Please hurl something at him."

Melia tossed a napkin at the dwarf and giving her queen satisfaction as well as a good reason for laughter around the table when the silken material hit the Gimli on the side of his head.

"Control your wife!" Gimli snorted in Legolas’ direction.

"She was under orders from the queen," the elf grinned before adding his own comment to the subject at hand. "I suppose it is difficult for us elves to understand this custom because immortality ensures that we are with our mates for a long time so it is necessary for us to make our choices sensibly. Eternity can be a terribly long time if you give yourself to someone you cannot stand."

"You know this conversation is somewhat redundant," Eomer spoke up glaring at the faces before him, "since I do not plan on wedding anyone."

"But you have not even met her," Eowyn pointed out. "You might like the girl."

Eomer released a groan of exasperation when suddenly; the chamberlain entered the hall and announced the eminent arrival of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and his daughter, Lothiriel. Although Imrahil was not as close to the king as the rest of the company, Aragorn thought deeply of the man who had aided his victory at Pelennor. Imrahil had no reason to trust him when Aragorn arrived in Minas Tirith during the war of the Ring but a genuine love of Gondor had shunted aside his suspicions and allowed him to do what was right. The result had been their valiant defense against the forces of darkness and the forging of a life long respect between the two men.

As a show of respect and regard, all save Aragorn and Arwen rose to their feet when Imrahil and his daughter entered the room. Curiosity filled most of them regarding the girl since the rumors began that Imrahil wished to marry her to Eomer. She glided into the room at her father’s side, clad in a dress of deep scarlet, with her head held low and her eyes even lower. She did not make eye contact with anyone, especially with the one her father had intended for her.

"Imrahil," Aragorn greeted warmly as the prince and his daughter stood before the company. "It is good to see you again."

"And you Sire," Imrahil answered with similar feeling. He was too much of a traditionalist to abandon the formality of addressing his king, no matter how much he considered Aragorn his friend. "May I present to you my daughter, Lothliriel?"

"Please," Aragorn gestured he continued as the girl’s eyes raised at the mention of her name.

As Imrahil made the customary introductions, Arwen noted with amusement, the reaction of the males in the room with her. They were all struck by the loveliness of the young woman as a hint of lust and desire gleamed in all their awed gazes. Arwen felt no jealousy. She had lived long enough to know the folly of that emotion as well as to recognize that their interest was passing. And Lothiriel was very beautiful. She was easily the fairest maiden Arwen had ever seen among the race of men, no disrespect to either Eowyn or Melia. Yet Lothiriel’s beauty seemed fragile and as she looked up cautiously to meet the eyes of those assembled before her, Arwen saw that the barely concealed anxiety on her face.

The poor child was terrified.

Suddenly the discussion they were just having about daughters being used as pawns in the game of alliances returned to her sharply. Did this girl know that she was brought to Minas Tirith to be wedded? Had she even consented? Arwen glanced at Eomer across the table and saw that he was similarly enamoured by Lothiriel’s beauty but Eomer was not blinded by it. Eowyn had told her of the deep sibling bond between herself and her brother in their youth and how it was Eomer who protected Eowyn from Grima Wormtongue when the counselor had real designs upon his sister. Arwen could not imagine that a brother who would protect his sister so valiantly against the desires of an unwanted suitor would become one himself by taking this girl’s hand in marriage.

"So Lothiriel," Arwen spoke to the girl kindly after they were seated and the first course of the meal was being served. "Is this your first visit to Minas Tirith?"

Lothiriel swallowed thickly, not expecting the queen or anyone else to speak to her during this gathering of friends and family, of which she as neither. "Yes," she nodded after a moment of hesitation. "It is my first time away from Dol Amroth."

"You could not have come at a better time," Aragorn joined in, understanding his wife’s intentions because he could tell that Lothiriel was little overwhelmed by the company. "With the treaty days from the signing, everyone is doing their best to celebrate the peace once it arrives. Imrahil, I assume you will be staying until the celebration is done. We wish to ensure our neighbors feel very welcome."

"I still question the wisdom of extending the Easterlings this hand of friendship," Imrahil admitted, aware that Aragorn was a king that liked honesty from his subjects, not blind obedience and valued his opinion, even if it was in opposition to his own. "I suppose my judgement is tainted by the battles we have fought against them, even before War of the Ring. However, I will curb my tongue and trust your judgement in this."

"Thank you," Aragorn said gratefully. "In my heart, I believe that this is the right thing to do. The race of men must stand united or we will falter. We were never meant to be as scattered or divided as we have become. Our world is changing before our eyes and we must change with it. The Easterlings have only Sauron and Morgoth before him to guide them in the past. They need to know that there is another way to prosper other than by conquest and destruction. Someone must be willing to show them for that to change."

"He makes a strong argument does he not?" Faramir gazed at Imrahil with a little smile, having heard this speech before and was still capable of being moved by the sincerity and hope in Aragorn’s words.

"Yes he does," Imrahil agreed and found himself bending to the will of the king once again.

Leaving her father to talk politics with the king, Lothiriel’s attention shifted across the table to find the face belonging to the one her father had intended her to marry. She had been a little surprised to discover that the King of the Mark was not some leathery faced, old war master that would treat a wife no better than he would treat a horse but instead a young man. He appeared perhaps a little older than her in years but not in appearance or spirit. She tried not to stare but curiosity forced her to look. Eomer was like his sister, with high cheekbones, a hint of bronze to his skin from being too much in the sun and piercing blue eyes that could draw blood if he intended to glare.

Upon their introduction, he had given her a cursory nod and little else, indicating that his interest in her was minimal as he turned away to continue his conversation with the dwarf as if she was not even there. His indifference should have pleased her but instead Lothiriel felt somewhat slighted that she was not worthy of even a word of greeting. Certainly her father had not thought anything about the whole thing but then her father was a man and even she was wise enough to know that they could so obtuse about things. Obviously, she was not to his liking and supposed she ought to feel relieved that the King of Rohan found her unacceptable because it would mean Imrahil would have to find another suitor.

In the scheme of things, it mattered little because she was not remaining in Minas Tirith at the mercy of her father to be handed to any man who cared to make the offer, especially the King of the Mark.

No matter how handsome he was.

*********

The evening progressed along inevitably, with the courses of the meal eaten and the draughts being served in generous quantities. As the men descended into talk of politics, the quality of draughts and stories of their past with a little more color and exaggeration in the telling, corresponding to the level of spirits ingested. Eowyn noted her brother being a little more restrained in this endeavor and noticed how he stole glances at Lothiriel when he thought no one was paying attention.

The young lady herself had kept to herself, wearing a nervous expression on her face that told everyone she was very unsure of herself. She evoked a feeling of sympathy from anyone that saw anxiety on that face so filled with childlike innocence and beauty. Eowyn noticed Arwen and Melia making some effort to draw the girl out of her shell a little while Eowyn was somewhat concerned about her brother’s feelings on the matter.

In such marriages, it was always the bride that drew everyone’s concern. The groom often painted as an unfeeling monster that would force himself upon a maiden who did not want him. However, for Eomer to refuse Imrahil’s daughter would be an insult that would not only damage their friendship but could harm relations between Rohan and Dol Amroth. Eowyn knew that Imrahil meant a great deal to Eomer. They had fought together at Pelennor and at the Black Gates. Her brother had no wished to slight the man but neither was Eomer likely to enter a marriage with a woman he did not at least feel some emotion towards. Eowyn did not blame him for she wished her brother the same happiness that she herself felt with Faramir.

"You should at least talk to her if you are going to sneak glances at her all night," Eowyn remarked as she took the seat next to her brother. Eomer had remained where he was, making no effort to join the others as he considered his predicament.

"I was not," he said hotly, giving his sister a frown of displeasure, mostly because she knew what he was about possibly far better then he himself did.

"She is very beautiful," Eowyn commented, catching a glimpse of Lothiriel whose anxious expression indicated that she wished to be anywhere else but where she was.

"Yes," Eomer nodded imperceptibly, unable to deny that much, "very beautiful."

"She looks very afraid," Eowyn pointed out. "Poor child probably believes she has no choice in this."

"I am not marrying her if she does not wish it," Eomer stated firmly. "I will not marry anyone against their will."

"Eomer," she looked at him. "We were children of a royal house, we know how things are done. How things have always been done. I could have just as easily been wedded to Boromir as I could have been to his brother. If circumstances had not altered as they had and if Theoden and Denethor had their way, it might happened that way. As much as we desire to marry for love, most of the time we marry for political advantage. Before you reject this girl outright, you must consider your position as King of the Mark."

"She is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen," Eomer confessed and surprised himself by meaning it, "not even the Evenstar can compare but you do not love something so precious by stealing it or holding it to you against its will. She is fair and I do not deny that I am not drawn a little but I do not know her and beauty fades in time. I want more than just a political alliance." he faltered as he struggled to find the words. She was possibly the only person with whom he could confide his inner most thoughts.

"I am more than just King of the Mark, just as you were more than Sister Daughter of Theoden, we were first Eomer and Eowyn and when you chose Faramir, you did so as Eowyn. Why cannot I have the same privilege?" He asked, knowing the answer before she even spoke but feeling compelled to ask the question nonetheless.

"Because you are king and I cannot advise you on how to choose your wife but I sense you like this girl but fear caring for her because she was delivered to you in this manner," Eowyn guessed far more accurately than Eomer thought her capable.

"She was so afraid," Eomer whispered softly, "did you not see it?"

"I saw," Eowyn nodded, "I think we all saw."

"How am I suppose to allay her fears when her being here is not even her decision?" Eomer asked his sister. His entire life had been one trial after another, involving constant against the enemies of Rohan with little opportunity for a private life. The women he knew were mostly tavern maids and serving girls who were willing to share his bed for a night of comfort during is travels. He had very little experience with dealing with the fairer sex other than his relationship with his sister and since Eowyn was never very conventional, she offered poor basis for comparison.

"You must talk to her," Eowyn replied, finding it very comforting that some things remained the same no matter how much time had passed. Her brother was still the same uncertain boy she knew, beneath the veneer of the self-assured King of the Mark and the fearsome warrior he had become since the days of their childhood. "If this thing between you is meant to be, you will both know it. If it is not, then you can in good conscience refuse Imrahil’s wish to see you wed. You can walk away knowing that you made some effort to give his suggestion the benefit of the doubt."

It was sound advice and Eomer was glad that Eowyn was the one to provide it. Since their youth, she had always provided him with good council, even when that advice saw them both treading dangerous ground. He saw no reason to doubt her now.

"I will do as you suggest sister," Eomer said decisively. "Not here or tonight but when the opportunity arises, I will speak to Lothiriel myself."

"Good," she smiled, glad that she had helped to ease her brother’s concern somewhat. Eowyn had a feeling that despite his repugnance to a forced marriage with the lovely Lothiriel, there might be more to his feelings than what he dared to admit. She only hoped that Lothiriel felt the same way.

***********

If anyone was able to know the contents of Lothiriel’s mind, they would have been surprised to learn that her primary concern was not the fact that she was terrified of being in such vaunted company, but how she would make good her escape from Minas Tirith. The more she tried to convince her father that she would never marry anyone she did not love, the more determined he became that she would do just that. Even though meeting the King of the Mark had sparked her interest more than she liked, Lothiriel was steadfastly clinging to her desire to remain unwed for the time being. She wished to be trained as an acolyte wizard at Isengard and was devoting her energies to seeing that dream become a reality.

She had hoped when arriving at Minas Tirith that she would have opportunity to meet the Istar Pallando that had recently emerged from obscurity in recent months. However, Lothiriel had seen no sign of him and could not ask her father for fear of giving away her plans. As it was, she was certain that her senses had taken leave of her for even considering such at thing but her father had given her little choice but to act. Once the Easterlings had arrived in the city and everyone was too busy concerning themselves with the business of the signing of the treaty, she would be free to act.

"Do you ride Lothiriel?" Arwen asked. Throughout the evening, Arwen had engaged the girl in conversation in an effort to befriend the child and learn her thoughts first hand on how she viewed this betrothal her father wished between her and Eomer.

"A little," Lothiriel confessed. "I have not traveled enough to be very adept."

"Well there are lovely trails to ride here," the queen suggested. "Perhaps you might join me when I ride."

"Join you?" Lothiriel said somewhat shocked by the offer. "I would be honoured."

"It is nothing to feel so honored about," Arwen replied warmly, "just a ride and I would enjoy the company. Besides, I think that perhaps we overwhelm you a little here."

Lothiriel let out a sigh and nodded, "I am a little shaken by all this. It has happened very suddenly."

"Do you wish to be married?" Melia asked bluntly, finding this girl’s situation too much like her own. Melia had been forced to flee the Sunlands for fear of being forced into a marriage that was not her choosing by her family. Too much about Lothiriel’s situation bore similarities to her own experiences and she found her heart going out to this girl.

"I am a creature of duty," Lothiriel answered after great hesitation but the question was one no one had asked her so far and so she felt compelled to give some response. "My father desires me to find a husband, I have no choice in the matter."

"That is not the question I asked, "Melia retorted.

"Melia," Arwen interjected, disliking the tone the discussion was taking. "I do not think that it is fair to ask her this."

"It is all right," Lothiriel stayed the queen’s concern. "My father wishes it and so I wish it."

However, even as she said the words, Melia knew she was lying. She had the same gleam in her eye that Melia remembered from her own betrothal. The same façade of acceptance to quell the fears of those who might suspect her of acting otherwise. Melia had been similarly disposed to projecting such an illusion prior to her escape northwards. She had lulled the suspicions of those around her into a quiet sleep and used their complacency to make good her escape. As much as she knew it would be scandalous for all concerned, Melia could not find it in her heart to give Lothiriel away.

"You are a good daughter," Melia replied finally. "If you have need of anything, I hope you will come to me while I am here in the White City."

Arwen stared hard at Melia for a moment, attempting to ascertain what the Easterling was attempting to do. Her senses warned her that something was transpiring beneath the skin of all this civility but she could not guess what that could be.

Attempting to change the subject and dispel the tension, Lothiriel quickly spoke up again, "is it true that there is an Istar other than Radagast remaining in Middle earth?"

"Yes," Arwen shook the disquietening thoughts away and regarded the young girl, "he is called Pallando."

"Is he coming to these proceedings?" Lothiriel asked hopefully, wishing to take her case to the Maia herself if necessary. It would spare her the trouble of secret flight if she could see Pallando here in Minas Tirith instead of Isengard.

"Unfortunately, no," Arwen answered. "He has no desire to embroil himself in the politics of this treaty."

"Oh," Lothiriel sighed with open disappointment. "I had hoped to see him."

"Do you know Pallando?" Melia stared at her.

"Oh no," Lothiriel answered quickly, "I am aware only aware the Istar by reputation. I have also read all about them and hoped to meet one. I wished I could have met the Grey Pilgrim."

"The Grey Pilgirm?" Melia looked to Arwen. "Is that the one called Gandalf?"

"Yes," Arwen nodded. "You have an interest in wizards?"

"They have always fascinated me," Lothiriel replied cautiously, not wishing the queen to know that it was magic where her interest lay, even more than the wizards conjuring such forces.

"Pallando is presently at the court of Thranduil," Melia responded after a moment, "he often keeps company with Legolas’ father."

"Legolas," Lothiriel mused, trying to recall which one of the guests she had been introduced to, went by that name. "Is he the elf? The pretty one?"

Melia who was taking a sip of her wine almost choked at that description while Arwen merely attempted to stifle her sniggers.

"Please," Melia composed herself and regarded the young woman, "do not let him hear you call him that."

"Why?" Lothiriel asked with complete innocence.

"Because the last time someone described him that way, it took almost a full month to convince him that he did no need to grow a beard," Melia replied with a somewhat glazed expression on her face.

"A beard?" Arwen exclaimed. Trying to picture Legolas with stubble was a mind numbing experience, let alone a beard.

"A beard."

Part Two:
The Easterling

What Arwen knew of Far Harad was scant.

There was little reason for the daughter of Elrond to study the race of men who gave their allegiances to Morgoth and following the banishment of the dark lord to the void, to his lieutenant Sauron. The Eldar had learnt long ago that whenever these dark powers chose to bedevil them with some form of mischief, orcs or goblins customarily carried out their bidding. Sauron reserved the armies of men under his sway for the periodic attacks on Gondor and all the descendants of the Westernesse.

For years, Gondor struggled against the Easterling forces that were composed of the Haradrim, the Balchoth Variags and the barbarians known the Wainriders. Intermittent wars throughout the last thousand years kept the Easterlings at bay and ensured that the rest of the western lands did not know the constant battle that had become a way of life for Gondor.

It was due to this sacrifice by Gondor and all her sons, that the Eldar had little reason to contemplate the Easterlings. To the elves, the danger they posed was a human matter since the hearts of men were easily swayed and they made allegiances easily. As the power of the First Born began to fade from Middle earth, the elves withdrew from their affairs, allowing the race to deal with its aberrant offshoots in its own manner. Indeed, until the War of the Ring, there was very little reason to even waste time and effort thinking about these swarthy skinned invaders since it was likely the elves would ever encounter them.

However, the War of the Ring had changed Middle earth significantly and for the first time, the Easterlings warranted some measure of interest from the elves since they had played such a significance role in Sauron’s offensive against his enemies. Unfortunately by this time, all knowledge of the Easterlings and how they came to be was almost non-existent. What was known of them was garnered from soldiers who had engaged them on the field battle. These snippets of information did not however, extend beyond the constraints of warfare and thus almost nothing was known of the Easterling races, their language, their culture or their society.

Melia’s arrival into their lives had shed much needed light on this mystery. Most who saw her had difficulty trying to place what race she belonged to for she resembled neither the dark haired Gondorians nor the fair Rohirrim. In Angmar, they guessed that she was from a distant place but could not name her origins beyond that simple observation. Only those who were well traveled had some inkling of where she had originated. Faramir who had fought the Haradrim even before the siege of Gondor and the Battle of Pelennor claimed that he and those who had fought at his side, had never seen an Easterling woman.

However, it was from Melia that they learnt that battle was a way of life for the peoples of the Easterlings. Morgoth and Sauron drove it into their natures after him. From the moment they had existed as a race, the lessons of the dark lords had been soaked into their skins, willingly or not. They knew only what they had been taught and what they were taught was to embrace destruction and to survive by conquest. Since their entire way of life was forced into this singularity, all other aspects of their culture were duly ignored. Learning was halted, exploration – non-existent, agriculture was considered a weakling’s choice and society was locked in a void of stagnancy. They fed themselves because of tributes and when that was not enough, they conquered those who could. It was a deadly cycle endorsed by Baradur.

But Baradur was no more.

The might that they had known was gone and with the Reunified Kingdom sitting on their borders, filled with seasoned warriors that had battled more then just men, conquest was no longer a certainty. Without Sauron’s power behind them, their strength had waned considerably. Unfortunately, for the Easterlings, time had run out because they were paying the price for their neglected social and economic structure. The price demanded was the unthinkable; an alliance with enemies they had battled since the dawn of their existence in Middle earth.

However, the unthinkable was surmounted because the men of Far Harad were marching into Minas Tirith, led by their own king and queen, a guard of escorts a hundred strong. They entered the city on chariots that were seen only during battle before this day. The Far Harad were cavalrymen by nature and as they rode through the streets of the White City, their weapons of spikes and scimitars were held close. If not for the effect upon their hosts, they would have entered Minas Tirith on their mumakils, instead of horses or on their feet.

The procession made their way through the city, under the deep scrutiny of the Gondorian archers poised covertly on high towers flanking the route taken or by soldiers, hidden in the crowds, disguised as common folk. Despite the overture of peace, Gondor’s war masters were not foolish enough to let down their guard when inviting such a formidable enemy past their gates, even under the banner of peace.

Before they could near the Citadel, the Easterling soldiers were led to barracks built specifically to accommodate them. During the arrangement of this historic meeting, the king of Far Harad was most insistent that he enter the White City with his personal guard at his side. In an effort to show the man that this was a genuine offer of friendship, Aragorn had consented but with a few conditions of his own. As it was, none of Gondor’s military leaders were entirely thrilled with an armed entourage of a former enemy being in the White City, let alone near the Citadel.

Once through the Citadel, the king and his existing entourage journeyed past the High Court and the Place of the Fountain to reach the White Tower from which the banner of Telecontari flew in its proud colours in the breeze. The Easterling delegation was first allowed to refresh themselves after their long journey while the household staff went about the business of preparing the court of Gondor to receive them. In this, Arwen had taken personal charge. As Elrond’s daughter, she had become quite accustomed to this duty, having performed the service on numerous occasions for her father when she prepared the Lord of Imlardis to receive his many visitors.

As customary, the visitors remained in the suite of rooms prepared for them. Compliments were sent back and forth between the two kings but no official meeting would take place until the delegation was presented at court. Banquets and entertainment was prepared and though she was merely directing the preparation, Arwen found it terribly exhausting. When it was all said and done, she found a certain measure of satisfaction in knowing that her labors had come to fruition without incident and that all was in readiness for the historic meeting.

By later afternoon, the guests had rested and all was in readiness to receive them in a ceremony that was as much for their visitors as it was for the people of Middle earth. The lords and ladies of Middle earth were now in their appointed places in the great hall, waiting for the chamberlain to make the announcement that would begin the ceremony that many of them had traveled so far to attend. Since Denethor’s time, the great hall had been shed of its somber mood. To aid with the dimness of the room, new windows had been carved through the stone walls, illuminating its wide aisles and giving greater definition to the carvings on the tall black marble columns that extended toward the ceiling.

Aragorn’s throne sat on the dais at the end of the room. It was carved from marble with an ornate canopy and the figure of the White Tree set in gems behind it. The queen did not possess a throne of her own but a place had been made at his side, carved from marble and gilded with gold. However, it was set apart from the king’s throne by more than an arm’s length.

As she stared at her husband in his kingly garments with the crown of Gondor upon his head, Arwen could not deny how splendidly he wore the mantle of king and how handsome he looked in all his adornment. Whether or not he had seen her affectionate stare, Aragorn nevertheless turned briefly to his wife and offered her a playful wink, reminding her that despite all this fanfare, he was still her Estel.

At the foot of the dais, in a less ostentatious seat carved of black marble, the Steward of Gondor also bided his time waiting for the guests to arrive. Arwen stifled a smile as she noted how decidedly uncomfortable Faramir appeared. The man might have been Denethor’s son, but becoming Steward was never a part he had expected to play. Eowyn, who sat in the seats provided for the other leaders of Middle earth, was offering her husband a sympathetic smile, aware of how much he hated to take part in such ritual.

When the chamberlain announced the eminent arrival of the Easterling entourage, Arwen and the rest of the occupants in the hall turned their attention towards the great arched doorway. The doormen on either side of it pulled open the polished wood doors, following a collective breath of anticipation from the gathering awaiting the arrival of the guests. For a few seconds, nothing transpired and the chamberlain glanced nervously over his shoulder when suddenly, instead of the Easterling king and his queen, appeared a troop of dancers. They were clad colorfully and performed a lively dance as they made their way up the red carpet leading to the throne.

It was the first time any of the assembled guests, save Melia, had ever been treated to any aspect of Easterling culture. The women wore veils across their faces and the dance they performed was graceful and fluid, almost elven in their execution. It was a sensual feast of acrobatics and coordination. Exclamations of awe escaped the spectators as they saw the dancers leaping into the air, landing with almost feline perfection. The dancers were adorned in jewelry but it seemed to be a necessary part of the performance. Their clothes were unlike any fashion seen by the Westernesse, with their midriff exposed and the skirts of their garment little more than numerous lengths of soft material trailing from their hips.

The dancers were midway down the hall when they were followed by a small troop of acrobats wielding batons bathed in fire on either end. The acrobats were men and in the performance of their display, Arwen noted that all their limbs seemed to move in perfect synchronicity. She began to understand the technique behind Melia’s style of combat. The Easterlings were smaller in stature then the men of the Westernesse, their limbs were slender and compact instead of muscular, thus requiring deft strikes instead of powerful ones. The acrobats were able to use their legs like they used their hands and as the batons flew about the air, creating spirals of color in mid air, they delighted the audience to no end.

When the dancers had reached the foot of the throne, they bowed graciously to the king and his steward before withdrawing to flanking positions on either side of the carpet. The acrobats followed the same pattern, increasing the anticipation of everyone present at the appearance of the Easterling lord and his lady. Following the entertainers were the Easterling guards dressed in their finest and carrying ceremonial weapons as they marched past the audience, a prelude to the eminent arrival of their king.

Leading them was a general of Far Harad, an imposing man with skin like carved mahogany. His dark eyes surveyed the faces before him, committing them all to memory. He wore a band of animal hide across his forehead. His black hair was short and crinkled tight against his head. He wore a thick cloak of animal hide and carried a spike. At his waist hung the scabbard of a scimitar, whose hilt was made of ivory and carved in the head of an eagle. He bowed briefly before Aragorn because joining his troops who was standing abreast of the carpet, their weapons held against their chest as the chamberlain announced, finally, the arrival of their king.

When he finally made his appearance, the Easterling king was not what anyone had expected, Arwen included.

He was surprisingly young. Arwen estimated that he was perhaps a little older than Faramir for it was difficult to make any comparison against Aragorn whose mortal span was greater than most because he was the Dunedain. When Haradrim king strode into the great hall with his queen following two steps behind, he captured the undivided attention of everyone by his striking appearance. His coloring and hair was like that his general. However, he did not seem to be as aloof and broke into a little smile when he regarded those assembled before him. Upon his shoulders, he wore the cloak of an animal native to his lands for none present had ever seen a beast with an orange pelt mottled with dark spots. The hood of the cloak, which resembled more a headdress was the great cat’s cured head, making its wearer appear almost as fearsome.

Still, as imposing as he was too look at, it was his wife that captured most of the court’s attention.

Arwen had thought Lothiriel was fair but this woman had a different kind of beauty that was far removed from the fragile loveliness that Lothiriel possessed. The eyes of every man in the room were fixed upon her the moment she entered it. With long black hair that shimmered when she moved, her brown eyes of dark amber looked straight ahead, giving little attention to anything else in the room. Her garments would be considered improper anywhere else in Middle earth for her limbs and her midriff was exposed. The skirt of her gown was slit all the way to her hips on either side and she was adorned heavily with jewels where there should have been fabric. She looked sultry indeed with her made up eyes and her reddened lips.

"King Elfrain of Haradrim, Gondor welcomes you," Aragorn spoke, breaking at last the charged silence of the moment.

"We are honored by your invitation King Elessar," Elfrain responded, his words sang with an unfamiliar accent and Arwen supposed the spoken word of the Haradrim instead of their battle cries sounded very different indeed. "May I present to you, my wife, Akallabeth."

"I welcome you lady," Aragorn regarded her for a moment and then added, "Akallabeth - that is a Numorean word."

She did not answer at first, turning instead to her husband for permission. Elfrain nodded slightly and only after this leave was given did she raise her eyes to meet that of Aragorn’s.

"Yes," she answered, her voice soft and meek. "It means downfallen."

Aragorn found the whole notion of the woman needing her husband’s permission to speak rather demeaning and started to understand why Melia had fled from the Sunlands if this was the kind of conduct that was demanded of her by the men of that realm.

"I hope that it is not a literal meaning," he responded kindly.

"In the eyes of our people," Elfrain spoke, "all women are downfallen."

"An interesting position," Aragorn remarked disagreeing completely but the Haradrim’s traditions were their own, he had no right to offer judgement. "I should like to talk more about this."

"Certainly," Elfrain replied graciously.

"This is my wife, Arwen Evenstar," Aragorn extended his hand outward towards Arwen.

Arwen rose to her feet and glided across the dais, her head held high and her eyes unafraid of meeting that of the visiting king. Her gaze upon him was received with a hint of indifference as if he was merely tolerating her audacity for the sake of the peace accord. Arwen wondered what he would say if he knew that she was thinking the same in regard to his reprehensible control over his wife.

Ulfrain stared at her a moment before turning his attention back to Aragorn, "then it is true, your lady is one of the First Born."

"Yes," Aragorn nodded, surprised that such intelligence would be of any interest to the Easterlings. "Arwen is the daughter of Lord Elrond, formerly of Imladris."

"I have never met an elf before," Ufrain said with genuine curiosity, "I should like your leave to speak to your lady about the First Born."

"You may speak to me whenever you choose," Arwen spoke up before Aragorn could answer.

Aragorn lowered his gaze as he smiled, amused at his wife’s strength of will, coming to the conclusion that the next few days were going to be very interesting indeed.

**********

Following the official introduction of the Easterling king and his queen, the entire party moved into the banquet hall where a lavish meal had been prepared for the all the guests. After Ulfrain had introduced his wife and his war master, General Castigliari, Aragorn had presented the rest of his court, starting with Faramir, as Steward of Gondor before moving on to the rest of the leaders of Middle earth assembled for this gathering. Ulfrain seemed genuinely interested in Arwen and Legolas, being the first elves he had ever met while his wife, Akallabeth, remained silently and spent her time observing those at the banquet table.

"Lady Melia," General Castigliari directed his question at Melia when the evening had worn on and the Haradrim men had come to the conclusion that it was socially acceptable to address the females at the table directly. "You are not of the Westernesse are you?"

Melia supposed at some point in the evening, this observation would be raised and had sufficiently prepared herself for the inevitable questions that would follow. "No, I am from the Sunlands."

"From the Sunlands?" Castigliari exclaimed, drawing the interest of his king and his queen to the subject as all eyes centered upon them, much to Melia’s dislike.

"Yes," Melia nodded. "I am from the Tribe of Bors."

"The Bors," Castigliari nodded contemplatively. "You are a very long way from where you began. Our people have waged war with the Bors for many years."

"I left for reasons of my own," she replied, having no wish to explain the details of her life.

"I am surprised you were permitted to depart," Ulfrain retorted, with a hint of disapproval in his voice that she had dared to break tradition by leaving on her volition it seemed.

"Melia has told us how women are confined to their homes," Legolas spoke up, compelled to defend Melia no matter what the occasion, "it seems rather restrictive, if not somewhat cruel."

"It is for our protection," Akallabeth surprised everyone by countering. "In the days of darkness, when we were forced to live under the rule of the dark lord, his minions would walk among our people. They did many terrible things to our women. It was decided that it was for our protection that we remained hidden from their eyes and from the eyes of all men."

"But you, yourself are here," Eowyn pointed out.

"Yes," Ulfrain answered instead. "My lady is a queen and a queen must take certain risks for her people. It is necessary for Akallabeth to be present during these proceedings but we still observe the custom in our lands."

"As it is your right of course," Aragorn added with a tone of appeasement, before this debate became any livelier than it was. "We do things differently here. Our women are accustomed to speaking at their own discretion and sometimes picking up a sword to defend their homes."

"A woman in a battle?" Ulfrain laughed arrogantly. "Women do no have the sensibility to endure in combat."

From where he was seated, Faramir threw a sidelong glance at Eowyn and warned under his breath, "Eowyn, restrain yourself. They are guests."

Eowyn glared at him through narrowed eyes, "you ask a great deal of me."

"I know," Faramir said quietly, beneath the hearing of the Easterlings. "But knowing your temper, it is for the best that you refrain from making comment."

Eowyn smoldered in her seat and noted the grateful expression Aragorn was offering the Prince of Ithilien for his timely instruction to his wife whose temper Aragorn knew as well as Faramir himself. Fortunately, it appeared that Eomer was not about to let that remark slide out of respect to the women present. It was also an effort to gain some kind of vindication for his sister whose own retort would not be as tactful.

"I beg to differ," Eomer spoke up, "the lady Eowyn fought at the Battle of Pelennor. It was she who slew the beast of Angmar."

"You were the warrior that killed the Witch King?" Castigliari stared at Eowyn with unmistakable astonishment.

"He was terribly confident that he could not be slain by mortal man," Eowyn shrugged, remembering Faramir’s order and forced herself to respond with civility, "therefore my presence at the battle was fortuitous."

"An amazing story," the general replied with a smile that had a tinge of admiration in it. "It is customary for your women to learn the sword, King Elessar?"

"Not customary," Aragorn answered, "however, we do not prevent them if they wish to learn."

"And do you know sword craft, Queen Arwen?" Ulfrain inquired with distaste by the whole notion of women bearing arms.

"I have learnt in my time," Arwen replied. "One cannot live for as long as I have and not. While the First Born have not warred for many centuries before the last war, we have known our share of troubles from orcs and goblins. It is a necessary skill to have in the absence of warriors."

"Perhaps our own women will surprise us in time," Castigliari commented. "With the world changing as it has in recent years, it is difficult for things to remain as they are in our own lands."

"I cannot see any reason why they should not," Ulfrain interjected. "I personally find it offensive for a woman to fight. Their use should be as child bearers, nothing more. Certainly my queen’s only purpose in the scheme of things is to produce a son for my continued reign."

"My father taught me how to fight," Melia found herself speaking before she could stop herself. How many times had she heard the arrogance of this same argument during her youth? The belief that women were too weak for anything beyond the business of child bearing, as if that were not a laborious task in itself. "He taught me to fight without a weapon and with it."

"She does not lie," Gimli added, disliking the disregard for the fairer sex being displayed. While he was mindful of Easterling customs, the very idea of anyone thinking his Lorin weak or useful only a tool of procreation offended his sensibilities. "I have seen the lady Melia with a crossbow and would pit her skills against any man."

"Your father taught you?" Ulfrain turned a disapproving eye upon her. "I suppose they do things differently in Bors. Perhaps that is why they have been at odds with the rest of the Haradrim for so long."

"Actually," Melia confessed, "the Bors think much the same as you do in regards to their women. However, my father was different. He felt the daughter of Hezare should be capable of defending herself."

"You are Hezare’s daughter?" Ulfrain exclaimed with shock, obviously recognizing the name.

"You know of him?" Legolas asked.

"Yes," Castigliari nodded without hesitation. "The tale of Hezare’s death is of great legend among my people, even though he was considered an enemy."

"He died well," Ulfrain explained for the benefit of those who did not know Easterling culture. "For our people, there can be no greater honor than falling in battle. It was said that during his last battle, he took a dozen men to his death before he finally succumbed."

"A warrior to the last," Imrahil remarked.

"It was what he desired," Melia offered, having come to terms with his death long ago and was somewhat pleased that Hezare had died exactly how he had lived, on his feet with a sword in his hand. "I am grateful to know that he went into the next world with honor."

With that statement, Arwen steered the conversation in another direction, asking Ulfrain to tell them about Far Harad and the Haradrim, sparing Melia any further indignity by having her past discussed as a subject of dinner table conversation. Despite her efforts to accept the Easterlings for what they were, Arwen could not help feeling a wave of dislike regarding their way of life and wondered if they would be equally merciful if it were Gondor who was in need. Arwen was almost certain they would not be. However, Estel’s desire to make them allies would ensure stability in the region and any action that prevented war had Arwen’s full endorsement.

The rest of the evening transpired smoothly with everyone at their best behavior despite the nature of some of Ulfrain’s questions. Castigliari was not as intrusive in his inquiries and while the sense that Arwen drew from the general that the notion of peace was one that was foreign to him, he appeared to be making an honest effort.

Of the queen Akallabeth, Arwen had no sense of anything at all. On several occasions throughout the evening, Arwen had cast her gaze across the table at Legolas, wondering if the elven archer had sensed the same things as she, however Legolas seemed oblivious. Like all the men at the table, the only thing that did not seem beyond his notice was the sinful pleasure of Akallabeth’s effect upon them. Even Aragorn was stealing glimpses of the woman in her scandalous clothing but his interest was the universal reaction of all males when sensing a new female in their presence, whether or not they were men, elf or even a much lower order of animal.

She should have felt jealousy but Arwen had too much faith in Aragorn’s love to doubt his faithfulness to her and she was not so insecure in character, to feel jealousy over what was merely an atypical male response. Still, her instincts would not relax in their disquiet because she sensed something from the woman that put her on guard. It was foolishness of course. Akallabeth was powerless by her own culture to visit any mischief upon Arwen and her own. Ulfrain clearly did not approve of allowing her to act upon her own accord despite the furtive connection her eyes made with many parties at the table during the course of the evening.

And yet when Arwen looked at Akallabeth there was this unsettling feeling rising from the pit of her stomach that she could not explain. It was foolishness, she knew but Arwen could not help it. One could not live for three thousand years and be unable to recognize when something was amiss. Yet, Arwen could not sense a single thing in Akallabeth’s company, that might give evidence to her suspicions. In fact, Arwen sensed nothing at all about Akallabeth.

It was almost as if she was not even there.

************

It was well into the night when the revelers finally ended their feasting and retired to their rooms. Scattering across the expanse of the palace, Ulfrain and his queen were escorted to their chambers by one of their own guards. Neither spoke as they stepped out of the hallway into the seclusion of their private quarters. The guard bade them a hospitable goodnight before withdrawing himself, ensuring that his king and queen had everything they required for the evening. The guard took his sentry position outside their door and would remain there to ensure the protection of his sovereign. In an alien land, in the court of a foreign king, Castigliari had insisted on this measure of protection for his king and queen.

"That was tedious," Ulfrain stated the instant he and his queen were alone in their chambers.

"I agree," Akallabeth remarked removing the jewelry that adorned her body. "However, it served its purpose."

"I do not see how," Ulfrain grumbled, shedding his cloak like the animal whose pelt he was wearing might shed its summer coat. The garment pooled on the floor behind him before he went to a chair and lowered himself into it.

"One must study the enemy if one is to strike," Akallabeth replied. "Your race’s natural disbelief that the female of the species is a weaker animal is a dangerous flaw. You discount them as enemies and are taken by surprise when you learn that they are quite capable of defending themselves and their lands. It was necessary that I observe all of our enemies, not merely the kings and lord of Middle earth but also their women."

"What concern are they to us once your scheme comes to fruition?" Ulfrain declared slighted by her tone.

"Never discount an enemy," Akallabeth said turning to him. "You may think that because the odds are great and because they are women, they will not be able to fight. Me and mine will not take such risk, nor will we discount the danger that the Evenstar poses to us. We have done so before to the utter ruin of everything we held dear. We will not do so again."

"This is different," Ulfrain started to say, fearing a little the sparkle of bald hatred in her eyes. Long before this notion of sealing their alliance in this ceremony of peace was conceived by the Gondorian king, Ulfrain had already sealed his people’s fate in a secret agreement with the new ally presently occupying the room with him. Not even Castigliari or any of his people had any idea of the bargain he had struck to ensure their freedom.

"No it is not," Akallabeth countered, smoldering fury in each word that escaped her lips. "You have done your part in this endeavor. You have allowed us to enter Minas Tirith undetected. I require nothing further from you but silence until our game is done. By the time the twilight sets upon the first day of the treaty, you will have acquired what even your former master, the underling of Morgoth could not, the taking of the White City."

"And what will you have?" Ulfrain stared at her, feeling a shudder of cold fear following her venomous words.

"The dark," she smiled, "we will have the dark again."

*************

"I think that went well," Aragorn replied as he and Arwen prepared for bed following their return to the royal chambers.

"I suppose," Arwen agreed as she undressed, unaware that this was her husband’s favorite ritual at bedtime.

"You do not think it was so?" Aragorn asked as he draped himself across their bed, watching her in fascination as she prepared to join him. He knew the ritual almost by heart now, the little things she would do before coming into his arms at night. He simply loved watching her shed the mask of queen so that she could come to him as his beloved Undomiel who needed no embellishment to make his heart flutter at the sight of her.

"They are a difficult people to like," she remarked as she ran her brush through her hair before her dressing table. "Their concept of a woman’s place is most barbaric."

"I agree," Aragorn replied sincerely, "unfortunately, there is very little we can do about that. Their customs are their own; I have no right to impose my values upon them. It was difficult enough convincing them that we had no ulterior motive for providing them with the grain to help their people. I am afraid that Sauron’s will upon them has left its mark. It will take many years to change their way of life. I only hope that close ties with the rest of Middle earth in the years to come will open their eyes to other possibilities."

"I noticed yours were very open," she teased as she looked over her shoulder at him, her brow arched in mischief. "Particularly where Akallabeth was concerned."

Aragorn gave his wife a look, "I would not worry if I were you. To admire a beautiful painting does not mean a desire to have possession of it. I would not be a man if I did not notice her. She is very beautiful but somewhat unnaturally so, do you not think?"

Arwen swung around on her stool to face him, "that is a peculiar description, Estel. Why do you say unnaturally?"

"I do not know," Aragorn shrugged because there was something in the back of his mind that wanted to speak but was clouded over and difficult to express into words. "Undomiel, you are the fairest in the land, there is no one in all of Middle earth who would say either wise."

While the flattery was not unwelcome, she did not understand what he was point he was attempting to make. "What about Lothiriel?" She countered,

"She is but a girl in compared to you," he grinned as he moved up along the bed to its edge, so that they were face to face. "I meant that you are truly fair but it is because of your heart that you are loved by all, men and women alike. To know you is to see that the only thing more beautiful than your visage is your soul. It is that I love more than all else."

"You do know how to melt my heart, King Elessar," she smiled and leaned forward to kiss him on the lips.

"Only because you do me the same turn with your smile," he said warmly before returning to the point he was making. "I make the distinction because when I see Akallabeth, I see beauty but nothing else beneath it. It as if she were a sculpture made of stone, created to be aesthetically pleasing but little else."

"That may not be by her choice," Arwen pointed out, "she is encouraged to be little else by her people. That is what the men of Harad expect her to be. "

"I suppose," Aragorn remarked as he took her hands and pulled her to him. "I wonder will she remain silent throughout their entire visit here."

"Perhaps the time here will open her eyes a little," Arwen remarked as she nestled comfortably in the crook of his arm as they held each other. "Once this business of the treaty is done, we all relax and truly become acquainted with one another."

"I never thought diplomacy could be such hard work," Aragorn sighed, breathing in the scent of her hair and feeling himself become intoxicated by the comfortable warmth of her embrace. "I do not know Elrond managed it for so many years."

"He had his moments," Arwen sighed contently in her husband’s embrace as she felt the same drowsiness pushed gently against her consciousness. "However, when it became too much for him, my father did resort to an ancient form of meditation and relaxation."

"Oh?" Aragorn asked interested. "Do not keep it a secret, if it would help fade the crease in my brow, I would be willing to learn."

Arwen smiled against his and replied, "it is called screaming."

Aragorn lifted his head just enough to meet her gaze before remarking with a lopsided smile, "on second thought, do not trouble yourself. I think I am familiar with that technique."

"I thought you might be," she giggled softly.

"I love you Undomiel," Aragorn replied as he covered her body with his and showed her just how much.

************

Lothiriel had spent much of the night wishing she were in any place other than in the banquet hall amongst the kings and lords of Middle earth. Though the conversation throughout the evening was even interesting to her, she had no desire to participate. It was not that she was being unfriendly. It was simply the fact that everyone around her had lived through such great times and she felt rather overwhelmed in their company. Despite herself, she could not deny that her father had been correct. She had been living inside books and spells for too long.

It seemed everyone at the table had gone out and found their own destinies, instead of waiting for it to unfold before their eyes. Even the ladies had not simply waited in complacence for their life to change. Arwen had lived through times Lothiriel could not even begin to imagine and the queen was not one to let the world pass her by. When her child had been endangered, Arwen Evenstar, Queen of the Reunified Kingdom had ridden off to the far north to defend him with her sword and her life. Lothiriel had not even the courage to leave her room until her father gave her no choice.

When she left the banquet hall, retiring for the evening during the thick of the feasting, she had sneaked away like a frightened child. It was no wonder she was never able to perform the magic she knew she was capable of.

How could she when everything frightened her?

"You should not be wandering about the palace at this time of night unescorted," a voice that was not her father’s stated behind her as she left the hall.

Lothiriel paused in her steps and looked over her shoulder to find Eomer standing behind her in the corridor. Throughout the evening, he had barely said two words to her though he did glance her way occasionally. Lothiriel felt uncomfortable being alone with him because she did felt an unwilling curiosity to know what was behind that intense gaze he seemed to aim in her direction when he thought he was not being observed. As he stood before her, she was suddenly struck by the notion that he was just as uncomfortable as she. It had never occurred to her that he might be just as unwilling as she about this entire situation.

"I do not think I will be in great peril," Lothiriel found her voice, though rather meekly. "This is the palace of the king."

"True," Eomer agreed with a little smile, "but I should like to escort you to your suite nevertheless."

"I do not know whether my father would approve," she replied before frowning inwardly at the fact that Imrahil would most likely be thrilled that his desire for a match between them was beginning to show signs of success. She despised her father when he thought he had won. He could be terribly smug.

"I think we both know what your father would approve," he said sardonically, placing himself at her side and ensuring a respectable gap lay between them.

"Do you want to marry me?" She asked him pointedly as they began walking down the wide corridor.

"I do not know," Eomer offered sincerely because such a direct question deserved an equally direct answer. "I must confess my counselors have been hounding me on this issue for some time now and as king I suppose it is only right that I should marry. A kingdom without an heir is dangerous and my people have known too much war of late for me to let them suffer such uncertainty."

"So you do not want a wife but rather a breeding mare," Lothiriel spoke with more boldness than she thought herself capable.

"If I did, I would not be in the position of risking my friendship with your father because of this whole affair. I would have simply consented to the union he so obviously desires between us and be done with it."

In truth, Eomer was not offended by what she had said but rather surprised that she finally produced enough spine to say it. He had watched her for the past two days and noticed how she tried to fade into the background. He could not imagine a nobleman’s daughter could become so sheltered that she was terrified to speak her mind. Eomer did not imagine Imrahil being a restrictive father. On the contrary, the manner in which the man spoke of his child indicated that he thought highly of Lothiriel and yet she was so lacking in the skills of social interaction, Eomer had to wonder if Imrahil had kept her in some tower for most of her life.

"I apologize," Lothiriel said after a moment, "that was undeserved."

"Consider it forgotten," Eomer replied. "Though you might tell me why he is so insistent that you be married. I have the sense that this is more about you then it is about me finding a queen."

"He thinks I spend too much time hiding behind books," Lothiriel offered, confiding in him because he was as much a victim in this as she was and Lothiriel was starting to feel some empathy towards him. "He wishes to marry me off so my life might begin, so he says."

"That is hardly a crime that deserves you being married off at a moment’s notice," Eomer replied, thinking it would be strange that Imrahil would object to his daughter improving her mind with books. Imrahil was learned himself. If anything, Eomer thought he would encourage it.

"It is the kind of books I read," she added reluctantly.

"Oh?" He raised a brow. "Not those awful things with overt description about intimate relations between men and women?"

Lothiriel’s jaw dropped, "of course not!"

"There," Eomer replied with a smile, "I knew that there was a voice somewhere there."

"There will be curses too if you make that comment again," she returned tautly but broke into a smile of her own a moment later.

"So what then?" Eomer asked. "What kind of books would upset your father so?"

Lothiriel supposed that there was no harm in his knowing. Besides, if he knew the truth then perhaps he would tell Imrahil outright that he would have nothing to do with her and that might put an end to her father’s plans of marrying her off.

"Books of magic," she admitted quietly.

"Magic?" Eomer exclaimed, taken by surprise. Aside from learning that perhaps she was not as vacuous as he initially thought, the girl had personality enough to acquire a very peculiar hobby. No wonder Imrahil was determined to wed her away. Eomer’s friendship with Gandalf the White had made him accustomed to the ways of wizards and to a smaller extent, magic. Though he did not like the invocation of powers he could not see, Gandalf had taught him that it was not to be feared if used wisely. Magic was an untapped part of the natural world that only a select few had access.

"Yes," Lothiriel nodded, fearing the worst by his reaction. "I have always wanted to learn about magic and spells. I suppose you think me an oddity as my father does?"

"Do you practice it?" Eomer asked, ignoring her preconceived notions about his thoughts.

"Not well," she replied, supposing she might as well reveal this to him, since she had told him so much already. No doubt, he was thinking of what he would say to Imrahil about extricating himself from any possibility of a marriage, even as he stood before her. "A good many of my spells have gone awry. My father was most upset."

"I can well understand that," he pointed out, trying to stifle the chuckle that wanted to escape him at the ordeal Imrahil must have endured throughout the years, loving a child with such a mischief making past time. "He was probably beside himself with fear that you might harm yourself or others."

"He did mention that," Lothiriel shrugged. "I suppose that you will tell my father now that you have no wish to marry such a strange maiden?"

"Have you met my sister?" He gave her a look. "After having her spar with me for most of our childhood with the sword, for me strange is a matter of perspective."

"You mean you do not intend to tell my father you wish to abandon the possibility of a marriage between us?" She exclaimed, uncertain whether or not she should be upset with him or impressed at his open mindedness.

"Not until I know you a little better," Eomer replied. "This is our first real conversation. It will take more than this one occasion for me to decide I cannot abide you."

She stared at him, "thank you, I think."

"Lothiriel," he said seriously as they finally reached the door to the suite of rooms occupied by her and her father, "I will not be party to forcing you into anything you do not wish. Your father may desire the marriage but if you do not, then that is all there is to it. He is my friend and I do not relish the insult I would give to him by refusing your hand in marriage but I will if it suits neither of us. You need not fear being forced into it, at least not by me."

Lothiriel found herself captured by that penetrating gaze and believed with all her heart that he meant to keep that promise. He was so unlike what she had expected. Prior to her arrival here, she had built in her mind the illusion that he was some heartless creature that was forcing her into a prison like existence she did not wish. This fantasy had allowed her to feel justified in her decision to flee Minas Tirith, leaving behind all she knew. However, it was not so easy to maintain now that she had met the King of the Mark and discovered that he was not the monster she believed but rather a man with a seemingly kind heart, caught up in this situation as helplessly as she.

"Thank you,’ she spoke after a moment debating these thoughts in her head. "I do not know how it will all turn out King of the Mark, but I will not forget your kindness."

"I am glad," he replied with a smile. "I bid you goodnight lady."

With that, he departed, leaving her to watch him contemplatively. Lothiriel turned away when she could not longer see him, her thoughts had suddenly become a storm of emotions conflicting with one another. She did not know whether or not she could marry Eomer of Rohan but for the first time since her father had told her of his desires, Lothiriel realized something.

Marrying the King of the Mark was still frightening but loving him was not.

*************

The White Tower seemed to gleam like a needle in the sunlight on the day the history treat was to be signed. After so many years of toil and battle, when the folk of Gondor believed that they would never know anything as luxurious as lasting peace, the people of Middle earth were about to enter a union that would bring them to the day when war was merely a distant memory. Despite the importance of the occasion, the actual signing of the treaty was a private affair, with only the leaders of Middle earth in attendance at the great hall. The celebration would come later, when the representatives of the king made the announcement on the wall of the Citadel, to all the people of Minas Tirith.

Throughout the city, all those who would rejoice at this new peace were preparing the eminent celebration with great fervor. It was the same within the walls of the palace as servants went about their duties, happily chatting amongst themselves and looking forward to the celebration that they too would have some opportunity to enjoy once their service was done. For many of them, it was difficult not to be effected by the atmosphere of revelry, not when they still possessed fresh memories of how Minas Tirith had almost fallen to the forces of dark lord in Mordor.

The business of the treaty was a matter for men and as the leaders of Middle earth, assembled in the throne of King Elessar; their ladies busied themselves with other matters. Arwen was not offended because she knew that their absence was a concession made to the Easterling king, who felt that women should not be present in what was wholly a matter for men. Although Aragorn had been prepared to argue the case in her favor, it was Arwen who beseeched him to let the matter pass. After all, she knew her worth to her king and she did not need him to prove it to her by insisting upon her presence when it might jeopardize the peace that he had so carefully cultivated these past months.

Eowyn who lived at the court of Rohan for most of her life, was well aware of the demands of politics and did not take this as a slight while Melia had no wish to be anywhere near Ulfrain at all. The Easterling king had far too much interest in how she had come to be so far from the Sunlands then the former Ranger found comfortable. She was more than happy to be excused from the duty of being present.

Thus, Melia and Eowyn spent the day riding, with Nunaur escorting two ladies. Arwen was certain that the march warden of Eden Ardhon’s insistence on joining them had more to do with his curiosity about the White City and the surrounding lands then to providing a suitable escort for two ladies who were capable of fending for themselves. Arwen had wished Lothiriel to accompany them but the young woman was nowhere to be found and Arwen suspected that she was most likely hiding somewhere to escape the talk of impending marriage. Arwen herself, would have like to have joined Eowyn and Melia but she was needed at the palace for there was much to do this day and even the Queen of Gondor had endure the occasional sacrifice.

There would be time enough to celebrate when the treaty was signed.

***************

Aragorn Elessar had much reason to be proud on this day once the ink had soaked into the parchment that made up the papers of the newly formed alliance. As they shook hands and commended themselves at being able to put aside past differences to build a new future, he felt for once the weight of responsibility was not such a terrible burden when this was the end result. Behind closed doors, Ulfrain and he had met, with Faramir, Legolas, Gimli, Imrahil, Eomer and Castigliari bearing witness to they occasion as they each cast their seal upon the scrolls that would return to each of their realms as the proof of their alliance.

"You have been most hospitable Elessar," Ulfrain declared once they had done away with the business at hand and were relaxing around the table where the treaty was signed.

"You are my guest Ulfrain," Aragorn said graciously, "and while you continue to remain in my kingdom, you will be treated as a friend."

"Thank you," Ulfrain bowed his head in gratitude. "I would like to show you a token of my appreciation." He gestured to a servant who had been allowed in the room to replenish goblets and see to the needs of the party present. The young man, one Aragorn knew well, was apparently anticipating Ulfrain’s beckoning and stepped forward promptly. He came forward with a curious looking bottle and several goblets poised on a silver tray.

"This is a spirit of my realm," Ulfrain explained as the serving boy began to pour the amber fluid into the goblets upon reaching the table. "We use it to celebrate important occasions for it is rare indeed."

"Yes," Castigliari added. "It comes from the flower of a plant that blossoms only once in seven years. The plant itself is rare so there are very finite quantities of sektari, that is what we call it, in existence anywhere."

The servant offered the men at the table a goblet each of the sektari once it was poured and Aragorn took a exploratory sniff and found that it had some measure of potency. "A good reason to imbibe it so infrequently."

"I am always eager to try different kinds of spirit," Gimli remarked but did not hold the goblet to his lips, not yet.

Ulfrain noted their hesitation but did not take offense. If anything he had half expected their hesitation. After all, poison was a very old way of removing a political rival and Elessar would have been within his rights to employ a food taster in such a situation. However, to allay the fears of everyone present, despite the mood of supposed goodwill, he raised the goblet to his lips and took a deep swallow. Castigliari followed suit and only when both the Easterlings had lowered their goblets, did the Westernesse of Middle earth partake from their own.

"A very distinct flavor" Faramir remarked after a moment as the fluid warmed his insides.

"Yes," Legolas nodded and his senses were far keener than those present. "It leaves something against the tongue."

"It does take some becoming accustomed to," Castigliari volunteered politely. "This vintage however, does seem a little different from what I have tasted before."

"How so?" Aragorn asked. Despite himself, the king could not deny his healer’s instincts who was curious to know the effects of any concoction, mostly because he had acquired a vast knowledge of herb lore during his time as a Ranger and employed them often when healing the sick or injured.

"If there is fault in it, I cannot taste it," Eomer remarked, draining the goblet because its contents were so pleasing to the taste.

"Yes," Imrahil agreed with a nod, having in his time, experienced a great deal of fine spirits and found none that could compare to the texture of this one. "It is truly magnificent."

Castigliari stared at the men before him and noted that they were enjoying the drink a little too much for his liking. Even the elf, who apparently had little stomach for hard spirits, had downed the contents of his goblet and was reaching for the bottle for more. King Elessar was somewhat dazed but he appeared to have as little restraint as the others when he wrestled the bottle away from the lord of Eden Ardhon and filled his own goblet with almost ravenous need.

"What is going on?" Castigliari turned to Ulfrain in question and saw his king, unaffected by the wine.

Aragorn heard Castiglari’s demand but he could not open his mouth to respond. Suddenly, he felt as if he were trapped in amber, with everything slowing to a snail’s pace around him. Castigliari’s words became slurred in his hearing and he noted Legolas dropping his goblet onto the table. It seemed as if the chalice took a long time to reach the polished wood before it finally landed and rolled onto the floor. Legolas was staggering and his words reached Aragorn’s ears as a muffled sound. He saw Faramir trying lowering his goblet, eyes flaring in understanding before the fog overtook him too. Gimli was trying to stand up from his seated position but could not quite manage it. Eomer had actually succeeded in leaving the table but he did not reach further than that before he was driven to his knees. Imrahil had already given up in defeat.

"What have you done to us?" Aragorn shouted but the sound came out of his mouth in a whisper.

Suddenly, what had appeared to Aragorn as the servant boy he knew since coming to reside in the palace, was no longer a boy at all but rather something else entirely. Whether or not it was because of the wine or some power Aragorn could not discern, the boy’s features seemed to melt away and was usurped by a was a decidedly feminine replacement. It took Aragorn several seconds for him to recognize her.

Akallabeth stood before him, her lips pulled across her face in a cruel smile as she regarded him and the effects of the sektari upon him. When she spoke, her voice was slow but he understood every word of it.

"Now that you are in a better frame of mind to listen," she smiled coldly, "it is time we can discuss our treaty."

Part Three
Turnabout  

Something was wrong.

Arwen did not know what exactly prompted this feeling of dread but she could not ignore it. With everything in readiness for the celebration of the treaty, Arwen had taken a moment to visit Eldarion in the nursery. Once the festivities were set in motion, her presence would be required for most of the night at the side of the king so while there was a moment to spare, she was eager to spend some time with her son. Ioreth was as alway, close at hand when Arwen was not, ensuring the crowned prince of Gondor was never alone, though the nurse did not spoil him. There was no one else in the whole of Gondor whom Arwen had complete confidence in the care of her son, then Ioreth.

Arwen had been sitting in her chair, feeding Eldarion his milk when she was struck by a sensation that immediately raised alarm through her soul. It passed over her like a shadow and froze her heart in her chest. The hand holding Eldarion’s bottle dropped a little, slipping the teat from the child’s mouth. Eldarion expressed himself with a small gurgle of protest. Ioreth who was changing the baby’s sheets in the crib reacted to the sound by lifting her gaze towards the queen and was just as disconcerted by the vacant expression on Arwen’s face.

"My lady," Ioreth called out. "What is the matter?"

Arwen blinked, remembering herself. She swallowed thickly but was unable to dispel the uneasiness that settled over in the last few minutes.

"I do not know," Arwen said quietly, her face showing clearly how disturbed she was. "Something ill swept over me. It was most distressing."

In the time that Ioreth had come to be in the service of the queen as the royal nurse to the crowned prince, she had learnt one thing about elvish senses and that was never to distrust them. Arwen’s connection to her child and her husband was defined by her ability to tell by sense alone, if they were well or unwell. It was not merely a gift of her elven heritage to have such heightened senses but her emotional bonds to her family.

"Are you alright?" Ioreth asked her with concern.

"Yes," Arwen nodded slowly. "I am well but I fear something has happened."

She rose out of her chair and crossed the floor to Ioreth. "I must go to Estel," Arwen replied hastily as she handed Ioreth the babe in her arms. "I must see for myself if he is well."

"I am certain that he is," Ioreth insisted, unable to believe that anything could befall the king within the walls of his Citadel. "No danger can penetrate him here."

"I was once stolen from these very walls," Arwen retorted, recounting all too well how the dark elf Eol had stolen her out of her home during the first week of Eldarion’s life. "After that, I refuse to believe that any place can truly be called impenetrable. I must go see him."

"Of course my lady," the nurse answered, feeling a little of Arwen's anxiety transposed upon her heart as she took Eldarion in her arms. The queen was seldom wrong and if she was fearful then Ioreth knew with utter confidence that it was for good reason.

"Thank you," Arwen replied before striding towards the door. She had almost slipped past Ioreth’s sight when suddenly she halted in her steps and looked over her shoulder at the old woman. "Ioreth, remain here and do not let the prince out of your keeping."

"I would die before I let anything harm him," Ioreth stated with such steel in her voice that Arwen knew she meant it.

Arwen offered Ioreth a slight nod expressing her unspoken appreciation before leaving the nursery behind her. She made her way quickly to the great hall, telling herself that this was nothing but foolishness; she was basing too much on a simple feeling. If she had been fully human, she would accepted that argument as being sound but she was not human, she was an elf. Perhaps she had chosen to live as mortal but she was still a daughter of the Eldar, descended from the elves of Doriath and it was her birthright that she be blessed with their keen senses, senses that were almost as important to her as sight or smell. Something was amiss; she could feel in her bones.

The question that disturbed most of all however, was whether or not she was too late to stop it.

It did not take her long to reach the large doors that barred the Great Hall from the rest of the palace. Two sentries were in position outside and as Arwen proceeded with every intention of passing them, she was suddenly astonished by the fact that they had quickly moved to obstruct her progress.

"I am sorry your highness," the guard said with apology etched upon his face, clearly unhappy by the duty he was forced to undertake at this moment. "We cannot allow you to pass."

"I have no time for nonsense," she declared sharply. "I will see the king."

"No," the guard stood his ground, his spear and that of his companion, created an effective obstruction before her. "We have been ordered by the king not to let anyone interrupt him during the signing of the treaty."

"I do not care!" Arwen snapped. "I will see him now. You will let me pass immediately!"

"We cannot disobey the king’s orders," the man answered sincerely. "He ordered us not to let anyone interrupt him."

"I am his queen," Arwen returned imperiously, "he will have your heads for this insult upon me. He has never barred me from his presence for longer than before either of you have lived. He will be furious if you do not let me see him."

"My lady," the guard tried to reason with her, "we have our orders."

"Then you will tell him that I am here and wish to see him," Arwen said in a low voice, her temper barely restrained, "immediately."

Perhaps shaken by the intensity of her words or the possibility that the king would want to see the queen, the guard decided that it could not hurt to confirm that the orders he had received from King Elessar included Queen Arwen. After all, she was right about never being barred from the king’s presence for any reason since Aragorn Elessar had taken up residence here. The guard himself had felt some reservation when the orders were first given but it was not his lot to question the king in any shape or form.

When he finally relented and disappeared into the hall to inform Aragorn that she was here to see him, Arwen felt her heart pounding in her chest. She could not believe that such orders would include her, without good reason. Nothing had transpired this last day warranted such action. Or had it? She was forced to ask herself the question when she considered his orders more deeply. Her instinct for danger had brought her here. Was this part of it?

She had little time to debate the matter further for the guard return and gestured to his companion to widen the door so that she could pass.

"The king bids you to enter my lady," he answered contritely, wearing an expression of obvious concern about how this would effect his future in the palace.

Arwen said nothing as she entered, even though she knew she was within her rights to be smug. However, she could not be so self-assured when it felt as if she were skirting the periphery of disaster.

Upon entering the hall, she saw the king and the rest of their friends seated around the table that had been placed there for the purpose of signing the treaty. Everyone appeared well enough, except the general Castigliari who had a strange glimmer in his eyes that could have been anxiousness. The others however, seemed relaxed and comfortable as if nothing troubled them. Yet as she advanced further toward them, her senses screamed alert with each step she took.

"Undomiel," Aragorn spoke when she neared him enough. "I had thought you would respect my desire not to be interrupted. I gave those orders to my guards for a reason."

Arwen was stunned by his words and noted that the others were staring at her with just as much disapproval. She tried not to show how shaken she was by this because these were men that she considered more than just friends but almost like family. Legolas’ gaze was indifferent as he stared at her wearing an aloof mask. However, it was Aragorn’s expression that unsettled her most. It was devoid of the warmth that she had known since the moment of their first meeting. Whenever she came into his presence, she would see a sparkle of joy in his eyes told her without doubt she was nothing less than wonderful to him. Now his eyes glared at her as if she was a stranger who meant nothing.

"Even for me Estel?" She asked after composing herself.

"Especially you," he said sternly, "because you are my wife and my queen."

"I thought I was more your love then any of those things," she returned, trying to understand what had happened. She gazed briefly at Ulfrain and saw no answers there, merely derisive amusement.

"Of course you are," he replied automatically however he said them without any true affection but rather an uncomfortable statement of fact. "However, love does not alter the fact that it is time you knew your place. When I issue orders that I am not to be interrupted, I expect that they are followed, even by you."

"As it the place of any queen to obey," Legolas added.

Arwen stared at him in disbelief. This was the elf that only a night ago had argued at the barbarism of treating women like chattel. Legolas’ words as much as Aragorn’s was sending her carefully erected composure spiraling towards panic.

"What has happened to all of you?" She suddenly demanded unable to bear this any further. "What have you done to them?" She aimed that accusation in Ulfrain’s direction.

"My lady," Aragorn said sharply bringing her gaze back to him, "you forget yourself. You will not speak to my guests in this manner. Nothing has happened to any of us, save that we have been intruded upon by a wife who does not know her place."

"Estel please," Arwen went to him and placed her hand her hand upon his face, "whatever has made you like this, you can fight it. You have the strongest will of any creature I have ever known, you can defeat this thing that has imprisoned your mind."

Aragorn’s eyes widened a second before he shifted his gaze towards his companion at the table. For a brief second, no one responded at all to Arwen’s plea. She was about to speak further when they suddenly shattered the silence of the great hall with riotous laughter. The only one, who did not engage in this amusement was Castigliari but it did not matter, the sound was almost painful in her ears for all the malice behind it. It was not the laughter of amusement but derision.

"Oh Undomiel," Aragorn replied after he composed himself. "You do have a vivid imagination. Tell me Legolas, is this the way with all elven females?"

Legolas smiled and raised his eyes briefly to Arwen, a gleam of dislike surfacing briefly in his eyes before the cold mask fell over him again, "not usually but then Arwen had always been filled with self importance."

"Aragorn, please!" Arwen tried desperately to reach him, her heart filling with indescribable fear because the situation was worse than she possibly imagined. Something had taken over Estel’s mind and for the king to be someone else’s creature was a terrifying thing indeed. "Let me help you. Your mind is not your own. You would not behave the way you have, if it were."

She dropped to her knees before him, taking his hand in her own and holding it against her cheek, hoping perhaps the physical contact might help him break through this enchantment for she could think of no other name for this malaise that had taken his mind. She gazed at his face, desperately searching for any signs of the gentle man who had made love to her the night before and felt anguish when she could see no trace of him.

"Get to your feet," Aragorn’s voice was hard as flint. "You are making a spectacle of yourself, madam."

Arwen swallowed thickly, her heart plunging to the depths knowing that wherever Estel was, she could not longer reach him. She stood up shakily and took a step behind her before whirling around to face Ulfrain, her eyes no longer filled with anguish but rather fury.

"I will not allow you to gain control of Middle earth in this manner. This is your doing, I am certain of it. What sits in the throne of Gondor is no longer my husband, he is your creature and until a way is found to lift this terrible veil from the eyes of those present here, I will see to it that they will not be of use to you."

"Undomiel!" Aragorn shouted and forced her attention back to him, away from Ulfrain whose only reaction to her declaration was a triumphant sneer.

"You are unwell," he stated firmly, "I think perhaps it is best that you retire to our chambers so I can deal with you when time permits. In your current state, I think perhaps that it is best that you forgo the festivities this evening. Faramir, Legolas, I would ask you to escort her to our chambers and ensure that she remains there."

Faramir and Legolas stood up from their places at the table and immediately took flanking positions on either side of Arwen.

"As you will Aragorn," Faramir replied graciously.

"We will see the lady to her chambers, rest assured," Legolas added, wrapping his fist around her arm.

"Unhand me!" Arwen demanded but his grip was iron.

"Do make this any harder for yourself then it must be Evenstar," Legolas warned as he started to pull her away from Aragorn’s presence.

"I will not let you do this!" Arwen hissed at Ulfrain as her two trusted friends pulled her away from the table.

Ulfrain spoke for the first time and he did so with a clear smile on his face, "it is already done."

As Arwen was forced out of the great hall, with Aragorn watching her departure dispassionately and the others seeming just as oblivious to her predicament, she feared that Ulfrain could be right.

***********

"This is madness!" Castigliari exclaimed once the queen had been removed from the room.

"I do not see how you can say that after what you just witnessed," Ulfrain said with a satisfied look upon his face. Akallabeth’s plan was transpiring far better than anything he might have imagined. When she had first proposed it, he had been skeptical. However, seeing it at work had altered his opinion considerably. The others at the table were seemingly oblivious to everything that had transpired before them, able to act only when the play required them to. Nothing would escape their lips that were not sanctioned by the puppet master who held their strings.

"She knows!" Castigliari declared, unable to hold back any longer the storm of frantic thoughts that had been coursing through his mind when he had first learnt the truth about this entire charade of a treaty. "She will not simply remain in her chambers quietly and allow you to steal her husband’s kingdom. She is an elf! They have special senses."

"Yes that is true," Akallabeth appeared out of the shadows, where she had remained discretely hidden. "She did know. Damn elvish perception. It took most of my efforts to mask my presence from her, I could not shield him as well."

"If she escapes the Citadel to report what she knows, we will have the entire army of Gondor thirsty for our blood!" Castigliari cried out. "Ulfrain, I have fought for our people longer than you have been alive and what you are doing is wrong! It can only end for us in disaster."

"I thought you said you had him under control," Akallabeth looked at Ulfrain with clear disapproval as she approached Aragorn who was seated listless on his throne, making no reaction to anything being said.

"I do," Ulfrain snapped and stared at Castigliari, "it is for our people that I am doing this. If not, we would have to bow down before the Westernesse like defeated animals! Is that what you want?"

"No!" The general demanded, "I do not want that. I want our people to endure more than anything but the time for war is over. We can neither afford to wage or sustain ourselves while doing it! We do not have the power of Mordor behind us any longer and our people are suffering. All they know how to do is war! I believed in this alliance, Ulfrain! Times change and we must change with it."

"We will be in a better position to change when we are in control," Ulfrain retorted. "I will not have these Gondorians tell us how we should our rule own lands. I will not let them tame us in one of their provinces!"

"That would never have happened!" Castigliari declared and surprised himself by how much he believed it.

"Are you so sure?" Ulfrain countered his argument with just as much intensity. "Can you be truly certain that they would not have use their offering aid to hold us to ransom?"

As much as the Easterling general wanted to deny it, he could not commit himself to doing so with complete sincerity. He did have doubts. There was a part of him that wish to die like a warrior, not the defeated supplicant of a foreign power. However, as a general who had waged countless battles in his time, he also knew which fights could not be won and he had to accept that this time they were defeated.

"You know I cannot," he turned away as Ulfrain came towards him.

"You have been my friend and that of my father’s Castigliari," Ulfrain said sincerely. "What I have done will ensure that we will survive and also remain ourselves. I never did this with any thought other then that of our people."

"You bargain with a creature of darkness," Castigliari threw gaze at Akallabeth who was watching the proceedings with bored impatience. "I hope you do not damn our people as well as yourself in this agreement."

Ulfrain swallowed thickly and replied, "I suspect it may be too late for me but it will not be for the Haradrim. I need to know that you will stand by me in this."

Castigliari took a deep breath and wrestled with his emotions. Against his better judgement, he knew what he had to do and realized at that instant that he was just as damned as Ulfrain. "I will help you in whatever way I can."

"Thank you old friend," Ulfrain patted him on the shoulder, "I knew I could trust you."

"My trust is the least of your problems," Castigliari raised his eyes to Akallabeth. "The she elf knows that there is something wrong with her husband and she is warrior trained. She will attempt to leave the Citadel to get word to the rest of Gondor’s military that the king has been enchanted."

"No she will not," Akallabeth said coldly and regarded Aragorn with a little smile. The king was motionless in his chair, staring blankly into empty space as she leaned close to his ear and spoke in soft, dulcet ones.

"Aragorn, your wife intends on stealing your son with the aid of her friends, the lady Eowyn and the lady Melia. She intends to spirit him away to her father’s city, where he will be forever beyond your reach. She has been planning this a long time Aragorn, since he was born and since she discovered that she no longer wished to live among the race of men. She was planning to leave tonight, while you were celebrating the signing of the treaty. If you allow her to escape, you will never see your son again."

"No," Aragorn’s lips muttered as his expression shifted from anguish to anger with each word that Akallabeth spoke. "I will not allow it."

"Good," Akallabeth smiled, pleased that the potion she had administered to all of them had worked so splendidly. His mind was open to suggestion and it only required a skilled enchantress to plant the required thoughts in his head. "You know what you must do. You must stop her. You must have your guards confine her to her chambers and bring your son to you, beyond her reach."

"Is that necessary?" Castigliari asked quietly, mesmerized as well as appalled by Akallabeth’s powers all at once.

"Yes," Akallabeth nodded standing upright and pulling away from the king, "she will be so busy trying to reach her son, she will have little time to interfere in our plans. Whatever happens, the Evenstar cannot be allowed to leave the Citadel to speak of what is transpiring here, her or her companions. We will keep them like rats in a cage. By the time, she begins to suspect what it is we are truly up to, it will be too late for her or for Gondor."

************

At almost the same time elsewhere, Eowyn, Melia and Nunaur returned to the palace before the festival celebrating the treaty was to commence. It had been a beautiful day beyond the confines of Citadel’s imposing walls and the party had been more than happy to escape it into the country around Minas Tirith even for a few hours. The evening would promise nothing but duty and tradition so it was a pleasing afternoon when the two women could shed their noble titles to simply be themselves.

"You were most a pleasant company Nunaur," Eowyn remarked as they left the royal stables and made their way across the courtyard. "You are certainly a more agreeable march warden then Haldir."

"You have met Haldir of Lorien?" Nunaur asked somewhat surprised and curious as to how the lady of Rohan would know of the march warden."

"Well I met him when he was still Haldir of the Golden Wood," Eowyn answered, recalling with little fondness the encounter. It had been during the quest where she had accompanied Arwen to the Blue Mountains. She had been injured and they had paused at Lothlorien so that she could be tended to. Haldir had called her impetuous when she was determined to be on her feet as soon as possible, instead of lingering at Lothlorien in order to recover. Time had been of the essence during that quest and Eowyn had no intention of being the reason that it was wasted when the stakes had been so high.

"And you do not remember him fondly?" Nunaur guessed. He had met Haldir on occasion and found the elf somewhat arrogant. Apparently, he was not the only one who noticed this particular trait.

"Not really," Eowyn replied, remembering with some embarrassment how she had told Haldir that if she were not a lady he would be on the floor for his impertinence to her.

"Haldir can be difficult to tolerate," Melia agreed. "However, one simply has to know how to deal with him."

"Well not all of us has a special way with understanding elves that you do," Eowyn gave her a look of sarcasm.

Nunaur chuckled, having enjoyed the witty banter between both women exchanged throughout most of the day. They were indeed spirited creatures both of them although even Melia seemed temperate compared to the fierce flame possessed by the Lady of Ithilien. Having met Eowyn, Nunaur could well imagine her standing face to face with the Witch King of Angmar and slaying him in battle. She certainly demanded respect, even from one who has lived as long as he.

"We will have to hurry," Melia remarked as they neared the entrance to the palace, "the celebration is due to commence shortly."

"As much at the occasion demands celebration, I think I have had my fill of playing the cordial host to these Easterlings," Eowyn sighed.

"You do not like them?" Nunaur guessed by the frown upon her face.

"It is not that I do not like them," she admitted, "it is their ways seems rather barbaric. I never thought I would be consider myself fortunate for being born a woman in Edoras, considering I had to sneak away to fight at Pelennor disguised as one of the Rohirrim."

"The general seems tolerable enough," Melia remarked, unable to deny that he reminded her a little of her father. "He appears open to new ideas."

"Unlike Ulfrain," Eowyn snorted in dislike. "His arrogance leaves a great deal to be desired. Offensive indeed!"

Eowyn of course referred to the remark Ulfrain had made about how women handling weapons was offensive to him. Unfortunately, the demands of diplomacy had kept Eowyn from making a rebuttal and inwardly she was still seething about it.

They had entered the palace walls when suddenly, Nunaur had paused in his steps beside them. The elf’s expression became one of dark concern as he halted in the middle of the corridor leading deeper into the structure.

"Nunaur?" Melia stared at him in concern. "What is the matter?"

"Something is wrong," the elven march warden replied, his eyes searching for something neither of them could see.

"What do you mean?" Eowyn demanded.

"I sense danger," Nunaur replied appearing somewhat confused by what his senses were telling him. "I sense it drawing near."

Eowyn felt terribly vulnerable as he made that statement, clad in her riding clothes without the benefit of a weapon. With Nunaur in escort and because the route taken during their ride was relatively safe, there was little reason to be excessively armed. She could not imagine what danger there could be but she had been in Arwen’s company long enough to know that the senses of elves were not to be distrusted. Too many times before had that perception save their lives before and Eowyn was not about to question it now.

Suddenly the tension of the moment was interrupted by the echoing sound of footsteps marching down the corridor. Nunaur’s gait seemed to tense even further as if the danger was pressing up his spine. His hand dropped to his hip, resting firmly upon the hilt of the elven blade waiting to be unsheathed from its scabbard. Instinct and logic waged a desperate battle inside the minds of Eowyn and Melia as they tried to think off all the reasons why Nunaur could be wrong. In the end, simple memory won the day because during their encounter with the Dark Elf Eol, both women had seen the fragility of the palace’s supposedly invulnerable reputation.

However, what emerged from the corner of the corridor was not some terrible creature of darkness but rather half a dozen palace guards. Their gazes fixed firmly upon the two women as they approached and there was something in their manner that immediately put Eowyn on guard, though she could not understand why she should react to them with such caution. These were guards she had seen at every visit she had made to the palace since becoming the Lady of Ithilien. There was no reason to fear them and yet instincts made her wary nonetheless. They came to a pause before her, their faces were stone as they regarded Eowyn and Melia with eyes equally hard.

"Lady Melia, Lady Eowyn," the leader among them spoke. "We regret to inform that you are to be taken into custody by the order of King Elessar."

At first it did not register because it was simply too incredible for her mind to accept.

"In custody?" Eowyn demanded. "For what reason?"

"We have not been told," the man answered, his expression showing that he was just as bewildered by this orders but not enough to prevent him from carrying them out. "Our orders are only to see to it that you are brought into custody."

"This is outrageous!" Eowyn retorted as she saw the guards making a move towards them. "I do not for one instant believe that the king sanctioned this. I demand to see him! Better yet, I demand to see my husband, the Steward of Gondor."

"Neither the king or the steward will see you my lady," the guard answered. "It was Prince Faramir that issued the king’s orders."

Eowyn was stunned into silence.

Behind her, Melia and Nunaur were similarly astonished by the guard’s revelation. It was too incredible, all of it. To believe for an instant that the Aragorn they knew would order their arrest without even revealing why was impossible. However, it was no more improbable then believing Faramir would issue orders for his wife’s incarceration. Yet here it was before them, an impossibility about to become reality.

"I do not believe you," she whispered soft as she struggled to regain her composure. Thoughts swirled in her head, memories of the husband she loved more than anything, who had entered her life when she was of the belief that she would never love again because of a broken heart. He had rekindled the spirit inside her with his love, embraced the woman she was as something amazing, not at all to be tamed but relished. To believe that he was capable of this was impossible and Eowyn refused to believe it.

In fact, she would not.

The guard had stood close to her when he revealed his orders, preparing to take her into his keeping even though he did not see any danger. It would be his undoing. Moving with speed that was almost elvish in its execution, Eowyn reached out and pulled away the sword at his hip. He reacted quickly but she was faster and by the time, he understood what had happened, the man felt the steel point of his sword against his throat.

"Withdraw," Eowyn ordered in a low voice.

"Do not be a fool my lady!" The guard tried to reason with her as the other guards unsheathed their weapons. Nunaur had also reacted in kind, offering support to Eowyn as he hurried to her side; his sword also unsheathed and brandished.

"The rest of you will go back the way you came," Eowyn repeated herself, pressing the blade harder against his throat. A little more effort and she would break skin. "Withdraw or I will run this floor red with his blood!"

For a moment, they hesitated, disbelieving that she would carry out her threat, but when Eowyn jabbed her the sword a little more, drawing a cry of pain from her victim, disbelief melted into understanding.

"There are five of us," one of them cried out as their captain trembled beneath Eowyn’s blade. "You cannot hope to fight your way through all of us."

"I stood before a creature that lived and breathed in Sauron’s midst. Darkness followed its every step and in its wake it swept aside warriors greater than any of you will ever hope to be with the power of its sorcery. I killed this thing and sent it into the shadow realm when all others around me had fallen, when even the King of the Mark lay at my feet. Do not presume that because I am woman, I cannot fight and defeat each one of you. I have face far eviler things then five guards who do not know when to retreat when it is in their best interests to do so."

Her speech had the desired effect of shaking them and despite the fact that they were five armed against two, they decided to heed her advice and withdraw. Eowyn stood firm until they had disappeared down the hallway, until Nunaur could no longer hear their footsteps. However, the departure was temporary and no doubt, even as she and her companions stood their ground, the soldiers would be returning soon enough and in greater numbers. When Eowyn removed her sword, Nunaur slammed the hilt of his own against the back of their prisoner’s neck, causing him to crumple to the floor in an unconscious heap and saving them the trouble of worrying about a hostage as they decided what they would do next.

"That was very impressive," Melia declared with unhidden admiration.

"Thank you," Eowyn said with a little smile, "I did that rather well, did I not."

"I would have withdrawn," Nunaur responded.

"We have to find Arwen," Eowyn declared striding down the hallway.

"We should find Legolas," Melia replied. "Perhaps he can stop this."

"He could have, he would done so already," Eowyn retorted as they took the servants corridors that veered them away from the main halls of the palace. "Besides, if my husband can be made to issue such an order, then there is no guarantee that Legolas is not affected in the same way."

"You cannot be certain of this," Melia countered, not wanting to believe that Legolas could be party to this nightmare that was slowly unfolding before them.

"I think she is right," Nunaur answered grimly. "I sensed danger when we entered the palace but it was not the danger of those guards. Something of great evil has cast its shadow upon us all. I can feel it all around us. It may be unwise to attempt to reach Lord Legolas."

"Would it be any easier to reach Arwen?" The former Ranger inquired.

Eowyn paused briefly as she turned to Melia, "if Aragorn made such an order and Faramir ordered it, then reaching the Lord of Eden Ardhon will not help us. We need to reach someone in authority and aside from the king and the steward, that person is the Queen of Gondor. In any case, I do not believe that Arwen would stand by and be party to this without good reason. I am hoping she can explain some of this."

"It is a worthy course of action, my lady," Nunaur stared at Melia.

"I agree," Melia nodded after considering Eowyn’s words briefly. "However, we cannot remain out in the open like this. We have to reach her quickly before the entire palace is roused and hunting for our blood."

"I hope it does not come to that," Eowyn replied as they started moving again.

Melia hoped the same thing as well but after what they had just been witnessed to, it did not seem likely.

**************

"Your highness, what has happened?" Ioreth asked after Arwen and she were left alone after Legolas and Faramir had left the royal chambers.

Ioreth had remained in the nursery, listening closely with rising disbelief as she heard Arwen arguing with the Prince of Ithilien and the Lord of Eden Ardhon as Arwen was forced to remain inside the royal chambers with armed guards outside her door ensuring she did not leave. Only after the nurse had heard the door closing behind the two men did she emerge to find Arwen standing in the center of the room, shaking with shock and anger.

"Something has happen to Estel," Arwen finally found her voice to speak after seconds of silence. The queen was clearly distressed and attempting to gain control of her anxious emotions. "The Easterlings have bewitched him somehow."

"Bewitched him?" Ioreth exclaimed. "How so?"

"He is different," Arwen stammered, "cold. He stared at me like I was a stranger, like I meant nothing to him. He would not let me see him and rebuked me for not knowing my place. That is not my Estel!" There was an edge of panic to the Evenstar’s voice that the old woman had never heard.

"Of course it is not," Ioreth hurried to the elven queen and consoled her with a comforting embrace. "If you say that he is bewitched, then I believe you. I heard Lord Legolas and Prince Faramir, I could not believe that is was them speaking if I had not seen it for myself."

There was no doubt in Ioreth’s mind that the king was bewitched as the queen claimed. Since the day she had been brought into this palace to take on the role of nurse to the crown prince, one thing was evident to her and to all those who lived within its walls, the king utterly adored his wife. It was a love so powerful that it warmed the heart to see someone as brave and noble could feel so much for one woman and seeing that same adoration in his loves’ eyes reflected back was equally as satisfying. If even half of what Arwen had said was true about Aragorn’s words to her in the great hall, then Ioreth was more than convinced that he was under some spell because nothing could compel him to speak to Arwen in that fashion.

"He has guards at the door," Arwen declared when she pulled away from Ioreth’s arms. "Those who control him do not wish to me to leave and they know I will try. Come, Ioreth, we do not have much time."

"What do you intend to do?" Ioreth asked as Arwen made her way to the nursery.

"I will remain here in my chambers because I must know what it is they plan to have him do," Arwen replied. "Estel and the leaders of Middle earth have be cast under some form of enchantment by the Easterlings, the spell must be broken. If they are allowed to leave Minas Tirith, the Easterlings will have puppets in every realm in the western lands, at Dol Amroth, Rohan, Ithilien even at Eden Ardhon."

"Then you must leave the Citadel," Ioreth said quickly, "you must attempt to reach our war masters and tell them what transpires here."

"I cannot leave," Arwen paused at Eldarion’s crib. "They will be expecting such a thing of me so it must be you."

"Me?" Ioreth’s eyes widened.

"Yes," Arwen answered, "it must be you because you must take my son with you. I dare not risk his life by allowing him to remain within his father’s reach, not when Estel’s mind is stolen. As it is, the enemy who was committed this sorcery has a great deal of power with the king under his sway and until we are able to convince others of what has happened, if that is even possible, there is nothing that is beyond his reach."

Ioreth nodded in understanding, despite her fear to do what Arwen asked. It was true. If Aragorn were indeed someone else’s creature, through him, they would be able to accomplish anything because there was little in Gondor that did not bend to the will of King Elessar. She cast her gaze at the babe in his mother’s arms, the child that had become as dear to her as any of her own children and knew that she would do anything to protect him.

"I will not let anything happen to him my lady," Ioreth said firmly and meant it.

"Thank you," Arwen smiled, assured that if it were in her power, Ioreth would keep Eldarion safe. However they had little time. If guards were not yet posted to terrace and gardens outside the royal chambers, there soon would be. Ioreth had to leave before they arrived. "Pack as little as you can. You need to move swiftly."

No sooner than she said those words, both women were alerted to a loud pounding against the door to the royal chamber. Arwen paled visibly and bade Ioreth to remain silent as she went to investigate. She had hoped for more time and her heart sank as the relentless pounding continued, indicating whomever was on the other side had no patience to wait. Calming herself, Arwen went towards the door, pausing first to retrieve Anduril that was hanging above the fireplace. She hid the weapon behind her and continued forward to answer the door once more.

When Arwen opened the door, she was not surprised to see the guards waiting outside in the hall though she wished she had more time. There were at least six of them waiting to be let in and Arwen suspected that the only justification for such numbers if they were in anticipation of receiving a great deal of trouble from her. There was only one thing that could bear that much resistance from her in their eyes and that was if they threatened her child.

"What is it?" She demanded.

"The king wishes the crown prince brought to him my lady," the guard responded. "Please let us in."

"He is not here," Arwen lied, aware that it was likely to do any good but she had to try nevertheless. "He was taken into the gardens by the Lady Ioreth."

The guard however was not so easily deceived and wanted proof. "I would prefer to see the nursery for myself, my lady."

"I do not give you leave to enter the royal chambers guard," Arwen said haughtily, sounding every bit the indignant monarch when she spoke.

"We have been given permission by the king," the guard repeated himself. "Please allow us entry or we shall be forced to take more drastic step."

"No," Arwen declared firmly.

Unfortunately, it appeared that they were more than willing to carry out the king’s order and she was shoved away from the doorway when they barged past the door, their numbers filling the room. The leader immediately took steps towards the nursery but Arwen was far swifter than he to allow him to enter. She barred his way with Anduril in her hand, her eyes gleaming with as much menace as the blade itself.

"Over my dead body, will you take my son," she hissed, raising the sword for them to see how determined she was on this point.

"Do not make this worse than it already is," the guard beseeched her but he had also drawn his weapon.

"Your king has been bewitched and you are playing into the hands of the enemy by obeying his demands. Do you not think it strange that you are ordered to steal a babe from its mother?" Arwen declared, hoping to reach them on some level.

"The king knows all about your plan to steal the prince away from Minas Tirith," the guard retorted. "He knows that you plan to return to your elven kinsmen and forsake Gondor!"

"What?" Arwen stared blankly at him.

The accusation took her by such surprise that her guard slipped for an instant and her attacker closed in. The guard had no intention of hurting her but he was intent on disarming her of the king’s sword. Unfortunately, Arwen had been accustomed to swordplay an age longer than her opponent had and she blocked his heavy swipe easily. However, the retaliatory strike brought the other guards forward and Arwen realized in a split second of despair that she would not be able to stop them all. She only hoped Ioreth had sense enough to flee.

However, it appeared she was not about to face this battle alone. Suddenly, without warning, Eowyn burst into the room, with Melia and Nunaur following. Her friend assessed the situation immediately and when her arrival deterred the attention of the guards from the queen, Eowyn raised her sword to fight. Arwen had little time to watch Eowyn defend herself as the queen blocked a powerful blow for the leader of the guards whom she had been battling. Anduril clanged hard against his sword and though the weapon was heavier than she was accustomed, she proved herself when he stumbled back from the ferocity of her attack. She swung the blade over her head, putting all her strength into it as she took advantage at his loss of balance He was barely capable of fending off her blow, let alone take the offensive.

Arwen had no wish to hurt him and swung again with just as much power behind her blade. Thanks to her elvish heritage, she had far more endurance than as he staggered backwards; she searched for something she could use to end their battle without actually taking his life. A heavy sculpture at the corner of the room came into rich and Arwen grabbed it with one hand and smashed the object against the side of his head when he was trying to come at her again. The stone carving shattered in her hand, crumbling to the floor as fragments and her opponent fell to the ground without a sound.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she looked up to see Eowyn battling the other guards. It was the first time Arwen had ever seen Eowyn fight another human being other than sparring with Melia. She had seen the Lady of Ithilien battle cold drakes, slay a dragon and the foul remnants of Mirkwood’s spiders but to see her fight an enemy armed with a sword was another thing entirely. Arwen could not help but stare with some measure of awe because Eowyn was amazingly fast. She was almost as fast as Estel and a part of Arwen was almost curious to see how Eowyn would fare against her king in a contest of swordplay.

Eowyn fought with cold ruthlessness. She did not strike blindly and each blow against her opponent was made to count. She did not fight to kill but to disable and though she did not resort to the clumsy solution that Arwen had employed, she left her challengers with wounds to ensure they would not be in any condition to offer pursuit but would eventually recover from.

Melia on the other hand, fought with whatever was at hand, in this case the poker from the fireplace. The former ranger had enough agility and skill with her hands to ensure that she was able to hold her own. Unlike Eowyn’s calculated movements, Melia’s style of defense was spur of the moment and intuitive, allowing her to take her opponent by surprise. What was left of the guards, Nunaur was able to dispatch with the skill afforded to a denizen of Mirkwood who had battled far dangerous things than Citadel guards in his time.

When the battle was over and the guards were either subdued or unconscious around them, the four combatants faced each other with a flurry of questions.

"Arwen, what in the name of Manwe is going on?" Eowyn demanded. When she had entered the queen’s chamber and saw the attack, she had not even considered why, only that Arwen needed her help.

"They came to take Eldarion," Arwen explained breathlessly, still a little stunned that things were unfolding as they were. "Something has bewitched Estel. Not just him but all who were present at the signing."

"Then that explains why Lord Faramir would order his wife and Lady Melia taken into custody," Nunaur shook his head in understanding.

"They are all affected by whatever spell the Easterlings has wrought upon them," Arwen declared, unsurprised by this news since she remembered how Faramir and Legolas had escorted her to her chambers. "The guard told me that Estel believed I was going to steal Eldarion away from him and return with him to Imladris. They had come to take him away from me."

"This may not be the best place for him," Eowyn replied. "If what you say is true, if the king’s mind has been taken then Eldarion is a powerful bargaining tool to use against you."

"Agreed," Melia added. "They would use your love for your son to control you. That is probably why they had the king order your son brought to him."

"Ioreth!" Arwen called out. "It is safe for you to show yourself."

Ioreth appeared shortly after, her expression wrought with worry as she held the infant prince in her arms. However, it dissipated considerably when she saw that the queen was unhurt. It had been unnerving indeed for her to remain hidden when she could only hear the sounds of swords clashing beyond the walls of the nursery. Once Ioreth had joined them, Nunaur prompted them to leave the royal chambers, taking flight into the gardens that surrounded this section of the palace. Unfortunately, the safety it afforded would only be fleeting. Once the guards were discovered, the alarm would be raised throughout the Citadel.

"We must get Eldarion out of here," Arwen stated firmly, "we must get to the war masters in the city."

Eowyn who was more familiar with the extent of the king’s hold upon his kingdom was not convinced this would be any better for Eldarion. "Arwen, I do not think that will be any safer. Even if you are able to reach his counselors, they will have a difficult time of it being able to unseat Aragorn. He is king. His word is law and nothing he has done so far has endangered Gondor or its people Not yet at least."

"You cannot call our husbands behaviour as normal!" Arwen countered.

"Evenstar," Nunaur interceded, understanding Eowyn’s point all too well. "As distasteful as the Elfstone’s behaviour has been, he has not endangered anyone and to them, he is perfectly within his rights to treat his wife and his son as he chooses. We cannot guarantee Eldarion will be any safer in Minas Tirith then he is here."

"You need to take him beyond Aragorn’s reach," Melia suggested. "You need to take him out of Gondor."

"Out of Gondor?" Arwen gasped with shock but soon realized that they were right. Eldarion was not safe and Estel was still king even if his mind was bewitched. She thought deeply as to what needed to be done and came to a solution far sooner than she would have liked, even though she did not like it very much. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her uncertain nerves and revealed to her friends, the only way she knew to protect her son.

"He must be taken to Lorien then," Arwen admitted reluctantly. "To my grandsire, Celeborn."

"Yes," Eowyn nodded agreeing that this was a good choice, "Celeborn would ensure no harm comes to Eldarion and not even the armies of Gondor would dare attempt to intrude upon Mirkwood without regretting it bitterly."

"It is a long journey," Melia added, "and one that could prove useful because we need a wizard here to break this spell and Pallando still dwells at Thranduil’s court. You can take Eldarion to Celeborn and send word to Eryn Lasgalen that Pallando is needed in the White City."

"Not me," Arwen answered staring at her son a moment before raising her eyes to the others. "Ioreth, you will take my son to Mirkwood and Nunaur, you will go with her."

"I will not leave none of you here alone Evenstar," the march warden stated vehemently

"You can and you will," Arwen said firmly, her voice commanded the same obedience demanded of her grandmother Galadriel, rather than the Queen of Gondor. "This task is far more important than the lives of three women. If the Easterlings gain possession of my son, they could conceivably affect the future of Middle earth for the next three centuries, do you understand? Through his father and through him, they would have the power to spread darkness across the land. We cannot let that happen and the only way to ensure that is for you to do what I ask."

Nunaur’s debate with the decision could be seen clearly on his face however, Arwen suspected that he would agree to her wishes. He was an elf after all. He would yield to the logic of the situation.

"Alright," he finally agreed. "But what about you? What will you gain by remaining?"

Arwen raised her eyes to Eowyn and Melia before answering, "time."

Time to stop whatever the Easterlings were planning from taking shape. If it was not already too late.

Part Four
Flight and Fight

Everything had been transpiring as she had envisioned.

Ever since her father had told her of his intention to wed her off to the King of the Mark, Lothiriel of Dol Amroth had constructed with surprising precision the form and course of her escape. She had bided her time and given no inkling to anyone of what she had planned, determined that nothing would stand in her way when the time came for her scheme to move forward.

For days since her arrival in Minas Tirith, Lothiriel had played the part of the frightened and timid daughter of Prince Imrahil in order to disarm those around her from what she intended to do. Her performance had been most convincing and now she was making her way across the Citadel away from the palace. In a short time, she would pass beyond the gates into the city. She would be free at last. Lothiriel should have been thrilled by this accomplishment.

She should have been but she was not.

Even as she widened the distance between herself and the palace, Lothiriel was not as pleased as she should have been. Dressed in the garb of a servant boy, her hair tucked neatly under a cap while all traces of her gender were concealed beneath plain, course material, she felt confused by what she had done. In one instance, she was grateful to escape her father’s tyranny in deciding whom she would marry but in another, she felt ashamed that she had broken faith with him by her flight. Defiantly, Lothiriel reminded herself that her father had broken faith with her first by forcing her to marry but the argument did not have its earlier potency.

This should not be hard, she told herself as she hastened her pace. The enclosure of stone surrounding the first level of hill upon which the Citadel was built was coming swiftly coming into sight. Once through its gates, she would be beyond her father’s reach. On this day, the gates that were normally sealed to all save invited guests were flung open for the celebration of the treaty. Revelers were already gathering in numbers in anticipations and Lothiriel would be able to lose herself within the crowds as she slipped through the gates.

Once into Minas Tirith, she could take advantage of the fanfare and slip out of the city to make her way westward to Isengard. It was within reach now and she should have been pleased by this fact but she was strangely subdued about her success. Unwillingly, her thoughts kept returning her to the King of the Mark as she considered with far more frequency then she liked, their encounter in the hall the night before. Lothiriel’s life had ensured that she did not have any suitors. In the beginning, there had been a few but she had little interest in them and when rumors of her past time has filtered through the nobility of Dol Amroth, they dwindled into nothingness. It was a situation that suited her well for she had never found any of the suitors to her liking.

And because none of them could meet her gaze and pierce her thoughts with a deep penetrating stare.

The amount of time she was devoting to that particular feature of the King of the Mark bothered Lothiriel more than she liked. She found herself thinking less of Isengard and more of the smile that assured her he would not force himself upon or the jest that tried to draw out her voice. He was nothing like what she had expected and what he was, she took in with some measure of pleasant surprise. She had expected a warmonger on horseback and received in turn, an almost shy and unassuming young man who was not quite as certain about the whole idea of marriage as she. It was nice to know that he looked upon their desired betrothal with as much trepidation.

Oh No.

Lothiriel came to a startling realization when she looked up and saw the gates splayed wide open before her like the invitation of a lover. Was it possible she was falling for him? It cannot be! She cried out silently as she made her escape from the Citadel, hardly capable of exulting her freedom with such thoughts in her head. Yet with each step she took, she knew that she was not certain of anything. Perhaps she did not love him for though her heart was kindled with fire, it was still too new and uncertain to be interpreted as being something that permanent. Still there was the possibility it could be nurtured into something passionate.

I will not be drawn into this, Lothiriel told herself defiantly. She had made plans! Plans that she had harbored all her life when other maidens around her were making insipid wishes about being little more than breeding mares and a beautiful playthings for some lord who would only display them at important occasions. She had wanted to be more then that! Lothiriel stormed past the gates, crushing mercilessly the treasonous thoughts in her mind as she continued forward into the city. She had almost succeeded in this ruthless purging when a stray thought crossed her mind and made her groan in disgust with herself.

The road to Isengard passes through Rohan.

Lothiriel was so furious for even thinking such a thing that she continued walking ahead, brushing past bodies without even noticing them, all the while rebuking herself for falling prey to a smile and a penetrating gaze. She did so until the bodies thinned and the light form the streets dimmed. When she finally paid notice as to where she was, Lothiriel found herself coming to a halt immediately. For a moment, a sliver of fear ran through her as she saw the lack of people about and the fact that she had taken a path that had led her away from the main body of revelers.

Where she had found herself was strangely quiet. Even the buildings were dark with only a faint light here and there to give any indication that there was life at all. She heard the snort of horses in the distance and something that sounded like voices. Anxious because she was lost and seeking out someone to help her find her way from this collection of seemingly empty buildings would mean exposing herself, Lothiriel debated what to do. The celebration was not long from beginning and if her father did not know she was missing yet, he would soon enough when she failed to appear as his escort for the night.

Unfortunately, she had to leave the city as soon as possible and that meant having to find her way out of this maze of buildings. They seemed very unfamiliar to her and had the smell of freshly cut wood. As she skimmed the walls of one of the buildings, she could feel the splinters against the newly shaved surface. Whatever this construct was, it had been made only recently. Lothiriel stilled her fear and decided to find the voices if she could without revealing herself.

Like a moth drawn to the flame, she was similarly attracted to the light emanating from one of the buildings. It was one of the few that bore such illumination and it was close enough for her to discern that the voices she was hearing came from the open window that allowed the light to escape into the darkness. Crouching low, she moved as softly as she could manage and soon reached the base of the wall. She hoped to listen to the speakers enough to learn where she was. As she drew nearer, she could hear the voices sharpen in clarity and strained to listen closer.

For a moment, the language did not register immediately.

It was neither elvish, Westron nor even the language of the dwarfs. The only reason she knew it at all was because she studied the book of magic and had taught herself to understand the language of its authors and some of it was written in speech that was not all proper for her to know. It was Black Speech and it was not even the dialect spoken by the orcs of this day and age, no it had far more ancient tone to it. Her heart froze in her chest as well as the rest of her body and for a second, she dared not even breathe.

Who was it that resided in this dwelling that knew Black Speech, Lothiriel thought frantically.

She wanted to run away immediately. If she had any sense about her, she would have. However, her imperatives had altered significantly with the results of her eavesdropping. Knowing that it was folly but unable to stop herself, she raised herself just enough to peer over the edge of the windowsill.

Within the room before her was at least a dozen Easterlings. Though they were not dressed as fanciful as she had observed of Lord Ulfrain the night before, Lothiriel recognized them instantly by their appearance and by their clothes. Puzzlement immediately filled her mind. Why were they speaking Black Speech? She had not made much comment during the discussions the night before but she was certain the Easterling general had stated that the people of Far Harad and the Easterlings had their own language.

"All is in readiness," one of them spoke. He seemed to be the leader and was addressing the others like he was deploying troops for attack. It would take Lothiriel a little longer than the immediate time to learn that he was in a way. "The spell has been cast," he continued to say.

Spell?

Lothiriel’s thoughts flared immediately with interest. What spell? She was certain that it was not appropriate for the Easterlings to be spell casting within the city of King Elessar.

"Then we should go," another declared. "I tire of this guise."

"As do we all," the leader retorted with understanding, "but it is almost over. We will have no need of any mask once we are done tonight."

"That pleases me," a third voice entered the discussion. "I do not like these Easterlings or these Haradrim. They are barbarians. It is no wonder that Morgoth’s underling was defeated with these primitives fighting his battles. They act without thought and their passion is misdirected and ultimately detrimental instead of an asset."

Morgoth’s underling? Lothiriel’s mind whirled at the description. Did he mean Sauron? Who were these men that they could call Sauron an underling of Morgoth? And as far as her eyes could tell, each man in the room having this dark discussion was Haradrim. Yet they spoke as if they were something else. But what?

"When we are done with our task tonight, we will deal with them as we will deal with the others," the leader declared firmly. "However, we need to go now. It is time to shed ourselves of this mask and don another."

In the amber light that filled the space of the room, Lothiriel saw the shadows shift and as her eyes widened in realization of what she was seeing, all thoughts of escape fled her mind. Like a stag caught in a hunter’s sights, she could do nothing for an instant as she was mesmerized with shock at what she had seen. Slowly, with more stealth then she knew herself capable of managing, she made a retreat from the building and hurried back the way she came, leaving it far behind her.

There was no reason for her to find out which way to go in order to leave Minas Tirith because there was only one place she wanted to go at this moment and that was back to the Citadel and the White Tower. She had to tell her father what she had seen in that room. What the shadows and the soft light had revealed to her, what she to tell King Elessar and the rest of the Middle earth’s leaders.

She had to warn them all before it was too late.

**************

She did not think it would be so hard to let him go but it was.

Despite the event being more than an hour behind her, the time did not lessen the sting of their parting and she could not ignore the ache in the very pit of her that came from his loss. Yet there was nothing else for Arwen, Queen of Gondor to do but to let him go, to let her sweet babe escape the Citadel while it was still possible for him to do so. By now, Arwen was content with the knowledge that Nunaur was beyond the reach of Aragorn and the menace that had snared the mind of her beloved king. If he who was once march warden of Mirkwood and now of Eden Ardhon chose to move unseen through the Citadel, not even the burden of an infant and a human female would alter that fact. He was an elf after all and stealth was more than just ability but away of life for her people.

When it came to the life of her son however, Arwen was not prepared to rely simply upon Nunaur’s skills of evasion. With her companions at her side, the queen had ensured that the soldiers searching the grounds of the Citadel had more than just her son to occupy their attention. Remaining in the open, when she, Eowyn and Melia should be seeking concealment, the three women maintained the guise that they were attempting to escape the Citadel as the soldiers kept in close pursuit. So intent was the enemy on their capture, that attention seemed to have faded from the whereabouts of the crown prince. Arwen hoped that their subterfuge was enough to give Nunaur the advantage he needed to smuggle Eldarion and Ioreth out of Citadel.

Even though their immediate course was obvious, Arwen had not considered what they would do beyond eluding capture and ensuring Eldarion was taken safely from the Citadel. While it was also obvious that they needed to save Aragorn and the rest of their loved ones from this dark enchantment, how this was to be achieved was not so easy to discern. With the king under their sway, the enemy had a great deal of power at their disposal and it was fast becoming clear to Arwen that she could not hope to reach Aragorn on either an emotional or a physical level. If Aragorn willed it, all of Gondor’s warriors would place themselves between himself and his queen, ensuring that Arwen would never reach him to break the spell that had taken his mind.

However, if she could not reach Aragorn what other course was left to them?

The sensible thing to do would be to leave, to put as much distance between herself and Aragorn as possible. While she remained in the vicinity of the palace, she was in danger and Arwen no longer knew her husband to be able to judge what he would do to her, Eowyn or Melia if they were captured. Additionally, escaping the palace on this night would be a relatively easy matter. If this had transpired on any other night except this one, Arwen would not have held out hope that any of them could leave the city without considerable difficulty.

Fortunately, the shadow that had fallen over Aragorn and the other lords of Middle earth, appeared restrained momentarily by the celebration of the treaty. The people of Minas Tirith were being allowed through the eight of the gates that protected the White Tower within the Citadel. Celebration or not, the home of Aragorn Elessar would not tolerate intruders and because of this, Arwen knew that the orders to arrest her and her companions would not extend beyond the walls protected the palace.

However, despite the logic that forced her to use this advantage, Arwen could not leave and she doubted she could convince Eowyn and Melia of the same even if she were so inclined, which she was not. The shadow that had fallen over the palace was an exercise in subterfuge that the enemy was careful not to squander. Whatever it was they desired to do, secrecy was their greatest desire. They could not seen to show their hand too soon by allowing Gondor to see how much the king’s character had altered by letting it known that Aragorn had ordered the arrest of his wife. It was this need that compelled her to stay.

"Arwen watch out!" Arwen’s thought snapped back to the present when she heard Eowyn’s voice slice through her thoughts. The queen looked up to see an arrow surging towards her through the fading light of the sun.

Dropping swiftly to her knees, the projectile sailed over her head and struck the stable wall. The arrowhead dug deep into the stone but not enough to remain there. Melia was at her side in seconds. The Easterling raised her crossbow and was sending forth a deadly barrage of iron bolts through the air towards the guards that were firing at them from the wall surrounding the palace, dead ahead. Melia’s aim seemed much lower than it ought to be and when the bolt struck, Arwen saw the soldier buckle to his knees in pain. The three women had tried their hardest not to kill any of the soldiers who pursued them though it was becoming increasingly harder to maintain that desire when their enemy did not seem as concerned.

"Come on," Eowyn declared as she wrapped her fist around Arwen’s arms and prompted her into a run. They had returned to the stable at Melia’s insistence. The Ranger had desired to retrieve her crossbow and since the stables were in the absolute opposite direction of the route Nunuar had taken to leave the palace, it seemed like a good idea. However, the stable were proving to have too many shadows and corners that was ripe for ambush for them to remain in its vicinity any longer.

"We need to get into the palace," Arwen declared as they ran along the wall of the structure, barely escaping more archers as a barrage of arrows followed the path behind them. "It is too dangerous for us to remain out here in the open much longer."

"Into the palace?" Eowyn asked with some measure of urgency as well as puzzlement, "are you certain Arwen?"

"Yes," Arwen nodded. "They expect us to leave the Citadel and they commit themselves to prevent us from reaching that end."

"She is correct," Melia managed to say though she was panting slightly from all their exertions. "The enemy would expect Arwen to seek help beyond the gates of the Citadel. If it is Ulfrain who is responsible for all this, I do not think he would see us as much of a threat. We are after all women," she retorted with unconcealed disgust. He would think us capable of nothing beyond escaping and finding help."

"He does not think us strong enough to pose any threat to him, is that it?" Eowyn grasped what Melia was saying and felt a knot of disgust in her stomach at the presumption of the Easterling lord.

"More or less," Melia shrugged, knowing her race far too well.

"I do not think he will expect us to confront him," Arwen added, glancing over her shoulder and ensuring that they were following her closely and tracing her steps. As an elf, Arwen knew how to move about quietly then any human alive, save perhaps Estel. "If we take refuge inside the palace, it will give us a moment to think of a plan."

"I think a plan would be in very good order now," Eowyn retorted, disliking the pitch black darkness that Arwen had led them into. The barrage of bolts from Melia’s crossbow had bought them some time and Arwen had taken advantage of that, leading them behind the royal stables which was bathed in darkness for it was situated far away from the palace to avoid the stink of manure.

"All I have in mind is to learn what they are up to," Arwen replied as they paused a moment, catching their breath even though the odor left something to be desired. Her elven sense recoiled at the stench and she knew that they were near the immense tunnel system that ran throughout the Citadel for the purpose of sewerage, leading to its outlet in the Anduin.

"Beyond that," she met the gaze of her two companions, "I am at a loss."

"We need to break this spell they have over the king and Faramir," Eowyn declared hotly, hating it immensely when she was so helpless. It often took its toll upon her temper.

"We would all like nothing better," Melia declared. "Unfortunately, none of us know anything about spells or magic, so even if we could reach one of them, there is little we could do to free them and the king in his present state of mind could have us executed. We could never get close enough to Aragorn in any case."

"We have to try something!" Eowyn hissed with exasperation, aiming a little hint of accusation at Melia. "We cannot simply remain here with our hands tied, scurrying about in the dark like frightened children."

"Until we have a plan that is precisely what we must do," Melia’s own ire at the situation bubbled to the surface. "We must watch and wait," she replied, her Ranger instincts speaking in her stead now.

Arwen could sense Eowyn’s distress and knew that the Lady of Ithilien’s anxiety was mostly for her husband. All of this had transpired so quickly and while Arwen’s elven senses had given her some forewarning to prepare her for the danger, it was not so for either Eowyn or Melia. They had been plunged into this without warning, with little time to comprehend that suddenly their husbands had become strangers with no feeling for them at all. Arwen could appreciate their anguish. She had never thought she could see anything as terrible as the indifferent look in Estel’s eyes when he ordered her out of the great hall as if she were nothing to him. It had cut wounds in her heart that Arwen knew she would not forget easily.

"Eowyn," Arwen placed a gentle hand on her best friend’s shoulder, " I feel as you do. I hate how they have been taken away from us but we must be patient. We must move cautiously. We have no idea what we are facing. I am not even certain that Ulfrain is the enemy."

"Who else can it be?" Eowyn asked, unable to believe that it was mere coincidence that the spell cast over Faramir and the rest of their friend would occur when the Easterlings were at court.

"I do not know," Arwen shook her head, her senses paying careful attention to everything transpiring around her while they had this conversation. "I do not think that Ulfrain is capable of embarking on this deception alone. He did not give me the impression of having any particular skill of cunning."

"The only skill he did have is arrogance," Eowyn snorted in clear agreement with the queen. "However, you are correct. An attack upon Gondor in this fashion is extremely dangerous, far too dangerous for Ulfrain to gamble the well being of his entire kingdom."

"Unless he was extremely certain that he was going to win," Melia nodded in agreement. "Far Harad’s army despite the impressive display when marching into Gondor for the treaty, is in tatters. The Wainriders are destroyed and the rest of the Easterling races are in similar disarray. Those of the Sunlands have returned to their borders and the Corsairs do not even have a fleet after Pelargir. If Ulfrain has an ally in this, I would like to know who."

"Someone who is unknown to us," Arwen mused. "Someone new."

"I hate this," Eowyn sighed, still feeling the sting of the guard’s words when he had told her that it was Faramir who had issued the order for her arrest. In her mind, she knew that her husband and her love was not responsible, that he was made someone else’s puppet but it still hurt. "Give me an enemy I can fight, not this! I fear how far this has poisoned Faramir. If he was capable of issuing the order for my arrest, is he capable of bearing arms against me?"

"I do not think I want that question answered," Melia said softly as corresponding emotions regarding Legolas sprang forth inside of her. She could not imagine staring into her prince’s eyes and have him look at her with indifference. It stabbed too closely to her own fears about her mortality someday eroding away his love into obligation and weariness.

"Be assured that it is a weapon they will use," Arwen retorted, sparing them nothing because she could ill afford to. Melia and Eowyn had to face the possibility just as she was forced to send their son away from his father because she could no longer be certain that Aragorn would not hurt the child.

No one spoke for a moment but Arwen’s eyes were better in the dark than either Eowyn’s or Melia’s and she could see they were wrestling with difficult realizations in the anonymity of the shadows. It was hardest on Melia because she had already so many insecurities about her life with Legolas. At the core of the former Ranger, no matter how much she tried to ignore it was the fear that one day her elven husband would tire of the old woman she was destined to be and leave. Instances like this only serve to make Melia more conscious of the fragility of her life with him.

"We should not linger here too long," Eowyn broke the silence after a time. "It will not take them long to discover where we have gone. We should depart before they seek us out again."

"Yes," Melia nodded. "However, I do believe they will assume we are heading away from the palace not towards it."

"We should to maintain that guise for as long as it is possible," Eowyn agreed. "However that means remaining unseen when we enter the palace."

"With the celebrations about to begin, the palace is full of people," Melia reminded them, "getting past the guests and the servants will not be easy."

Arwen had a solution but it was not one she liked very much. "There is an alternate route into the palace, one were it is very unlikely we will encounter anyone."

Eowyn noted the reluctance in the voice of the queen, despite the fact her revelation was to their advantage. "Then why do you sound so disagreeable about it?" She asked suspiciously.

Arwen let out a deep breath and told them. As anticipated, her answer did little to impress them but unfortunately, it was the only course left to them.

"Why is it every time I come to Gondor, I always end up going on some terrible escapade with you?" Eowyn complained at Arwen with accusation as they follow the disgusting odor to its source.

"Because you are a glutton for adventure," Arwen managed a little smile. "Think of all the things you have seen since being in my company."

"You elves have an odd concept of humor," Eowyn retorted. "One would think that beings that long lived would have got it right by now."

"We have sophisticated humor," Arwen declared, enjoying the banter a little because it took away from their present crises a little. "It is not our fault that you children are not grown up enough to understand it."

"Says the elf who married a man who wanted to name their child after a hobbit’s pony, " Eowyn bit back.

Melia rolled her eyes and muttered, "oh just get in the accursed sewer the both of you."

************

So urgent was Lothiriel’s desire to return to the palace and warn her father and the king of what she had seen, she had barely thought to change out of her clothes when she hurried through the gates of the Citadel. The celebration had begun by the time she reached the gates that led to the inner sanctum of the Citadel where the White Tower resided. Her guise as a servant boy had proved to serve her well during her return journey for she was hardly accosted by anyone as she made her way through the body of revelers enjoying the sights and sounds in the street.

The people of Minas Tirith had turned out in all their numbers to enjoy the entertainment planned for the celebration. High above the sky, fireworks displays filled the canvas of night with luminous colors, drawing cries of astonishment and wonder from those who were watching avidly. Flowers of flame blossomed across the sky. They were followed by streaks of light that appeared like a rain of starlight falling to earth and great beasts soared briefly across the clouds before disappearing into nothingness of legend once again.

For those whose tastes for amusements exclude fireworks, there were other distractions. Jugglers performed in the street, keeping a loft in perpetual motion items such as balls, pins, small batons breathed in flame and even knives. There were fire-eaters swallowing their meals before amazed audiences and magicians who were devoid of any real power but delved in parlor tricks to add an air of wonder to the evening. There were tents scattered throughout the Citadel with more elaborate displays and though Lothiriel did not see these herself, she had heard talk of acrobats and performing animals.

The air was moist with the scent of food from vendors parading through the streets, carrying their wares while the riotous banter of men on the mead was never distant from her ears. Lothiriel wished she did not have to bring the news of what she had discovered to the king because she did not desire to see this atmosphere of merriment brought to an end. Unfortunately, what she knew was too urgent for her to delay her passage to the palace even for a second.

When she arrived at the gates that to the White Tower, she met immediate resistant from the guards who were stationed there regarding the notion of allowing her into its confines. However, she made her case earnestly and removing enough of her disguise for them to see her features and at the heart of them, they suspected that she was telling them the truth for she did appear to be of noble birth. It also helped that the gossip about the palace had inferred that the Lady Lothiriel of Dol Amroth was the beauty and not even the clothes of a servant boy could hide that fact from the guards when Lothiriel explained herself. After a reasonably lengthy plea for her case, they allowed her past them.

She was escorted immediately through the grounds into the palace where the celebration for the nobles was taking place. As she was led through across the High Court towards the White Tower, she noted that there were many guards about the place and the mood of celebration that had been so thick beyond the gates surrounding the palace was suddenly absent. If she did not know better, she would think that the atmosphere was somewhat somber and Lothiriel wondered if perhaps her news would not be such a surprise, that perhaps they already knew that there was danger.

Once into the palace, the atmosphere of tension dissipated slightly with the halls filled with household staff and servants, scurrying about like frantic ants for the preparation of the banquet that would be attended by the king’s guest. As she watched them going about their business, completely oblivious to all else around them, Lothiriel came to the conclusion that maybe what she knew was a secret after all. It was likely that the tension outside was merely that belonging to guards who were poised for trouble in the instance the celebration got out of hand with so many revelers beyond the gates.

She was led into the Great Hall where the king was seated on his throne. Her father was present, having been summoned once her whereabouts were reported to him by the guards. Also present were the other lords of Middle earth, including her cousin Faramir, who she knew very little since she had seldom visited the White City in the past. What did surprise was her was the presence of the Easterling lord, Ulfrain. What concern of it was his that she had fled from the palace?

"Lothiriel," Imrahil spoke first when she was presented to them, "where have you been?"

"I took a walk," she stammered, afraid to tell him that she was running away. It would only make him angry and at the moment, the news she had to tell him was far too crucial for it to be mired by the circumstances of how she had happened upon it. "I wanted to see the rest of the celebration so I left the palace for awhile." Her excuse was weak and she knew it but Lothiriel did not care, she had to tell him what she had discovered.

"Dressed as a servant boy?" Aragorn remarked, the king’s gaze fixed upon her.

"I thought it would be simpler to enjoy the walk if I was dressed as one of the common folk," Lothiriel explained. "Please listen to me, it does not matter why I left. I discovered something when I left the Citadel."

"I am afraid it does matter a great deal," Imrahil said sternly. "You are my daughter and I do not excuse your behavior. I do not believe for an instant that you departed for a mere ‘walk’. When I could not find you, I had your room searched. You took things with you that could only be justified if you did not intend to return."

"Father no," Lothiriel tried desperately to explain even though she knew that she was well and truly caught in the lie. She turned her gaze upon Eomer, hoping that he would aid her in some way. He had seemed so kind the night before, as if he truly cared. However, the King of the Mark stared back at her with puzzlement at what she would have him do. His lack of feeling for her plight shook her and it was at this point, she really began to notice them.

The benefit of being a stranger to Minas Tirith was being able to view these lords objectively and though she did not know them well enough to be any judge of their character, she knew that they were men of warmth and camaraderie. During the two encounters where she had been present at the table with them, she noted the depth of feeling they had for their wives and for each other. It radiated from their eyes like beacons.

She remembered Aragorn’s good humored personality, so far removed from the cold ruthlessness of Denethor, to the dwarf lord’s crusty words that were always laced with affection to those around him. The elven lord Legolas, like all elves, appeared aloof at times but there was nothing distanced about the way he spoke to his friends and his wife. Her cousin Faramir whom she met only a number of times in her life was more reserved, he liked to listen and possessed a wry sort of wit that spoke of mischief particularly when directed at the lady Eowyn. As for Eomer, she was not so clear but she did know that when she stared into his eyes, she felt herself being cut to the bone by the power of his gaze.

Not any more.

She saw nothing in his eyes but the black of oblivion and it was not just him, it was all of them., her father, the king and her cousin. All of them.

"Tell me Elessar," Ulfrain spoke up with a smile, "are all women here such a handful?"

"Our discipline it appears is severely lacking," Aragorn drawled smoothly, his gazed fixed upon Lothiriel as if she were a badly behaved pet.

"Father, please," Lothiriel ignored them and pleaded with her father to listen to what she had to say, "I saw something. I have to tell you!"

"I did not give you leave to speak," Imrahil said viciously. "You have embarrassed me before my king and the lords of Middle earth! You would do well to remain silent or I might just forget that you are my child."

The words stunned her into silence and she swept her gaze across the room and saw that Imrahil’s words was met with approval by the rest of the gallery. Her mind whirled in confusion, unable to understand how this could be. She had been present when Legolas had staunchly defended the lady Melia to Ulfrain the night before. He had called the behavior of the Easterlings towards their women, cruel. Such a radical shift of character was not possible over night, not unless something else inspired.

"What has happened here?" She found herself asking out loud before wisdom allowed her to think better of it.

"What has happened is that I have willful child who cannot obey her father!" Imrahil barked back.

"You are not my father," Lothriel stared at him. "My father would be angry but he would not simply silence me when I attempt to speak of something important."

"Not your father?" Imrahil laughed but Lothiriel caught sight of the glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. "You only wish that because you have provoked my severest displeasure."

"If you were my father," Lothriel challenged with more courage than she thought herself capable of possessing, "or if you were my king," she turned her eye upon Aragorn, "you would be more concerned with hearing my news then silencing me."

"What news do you have child?" Aragorn asked, picking up the verbal gauntlet the child had cast down before him

Lothiriel told him and expected to see fear in his eyes but once again there was nothing. He did not even blink at the news.

"You are certain of this?" Aragorn looked at her hard.

"Yes," she nodded. "I saw them. They will be able to breach the White Tower with very little resistance unless you do something now."

"Do not presume to tell the King of Gondor what he ought to do daughter," Imrahil snapped, wrapping his hand around her arm.

"But he must!" She cried out desperately, "they are coming! Are you not concerned?" Lothriel demanded of Aragorn before realizing something else.

"You are not concerned are you?" The words escaped her in a whisper as understanding finally dawned upon her. "You know. You know all about them."

Aragorn did not answer her but spoke directly to Imrahil, "I think your daughter needs discipline for her behavior. It would be best if she did not attend the festivities tonight. I will not her embarrass you or the court of Gondor any further."

"Father!" Lothiriel stared at Imrahil in desperation as Aragorn’s words sealed her fate.

"As you wish Sire," Imrahil nodded. "I will have her confined to her room."

"I think that would be an ill advised idea," Ulfrain added his voice, a little smile of pleasure crossing his face as he spoke, "she has already proved capable of breaking confinement at will. I think something a little more drastic is required."

"I agree," Aragorn nodded and Lothiriel could not believe the unreality of the situation as they spoke about her as if she was not even in the room. "Imrahil, I think we should place your daughter in the dungeon until tomorrow."

"No!" Lothiriel exclaimed horrified by the mere suggestion. "I have done nothing that warrants such action! What is the matter with all of you!"

"You will not speak to the king in that manner!" Imrahil hissed and lashing out with a balled fist.

The blow struck her on the cheek and was more shocking then it was painful. Her eyes became wide with astonishment as she clutched her cheek flaring with pain. In her entire life, Lothiriel had never seen her father raise his hand to her or her brothers. Tears pooled in her eyes despite herself because she had no wish for any of them to see her weep. Even in these terrible circumstances, she had too much pride for that.

"Father, do not do this," she begged as he began to pull her out of the room. "I know you are not yourself! None of you are! Something has done this to all of you!"

However, no one was listening, Imrahil most of all.

Lothiriel broke away from his grip and ran to Eomer, clinging desperately to the hope that he might still remember something of the feeling he had shown to her the night before.

"Lord Eomer," she pleaded coming to him, "you promised me you would never see anything done to me against my will. Please help me now."

Lothiriel placed her hand against his cheek, hoping that he would react to her touch because last night, despite how much she may loathed to admit it, she had felt something for him, something that was so unexpected she had scarcely believe the emotion could come from inside her. Lothiriel also knew that she was not alone, that in those few moments she had seen his heart and knew that he cared.

For a brief second, she saw something surface, a flicker of familiarity that sparked hope inside her. However, its existence was brief and it was soon crushed under the weight of all that blackness again. Still staring at her as if she was nothing to him, Eomer removed her hand from his face and spoke, not to her but to her father.

"Your daughter needs help Imrahil," he said tonelessly. "I think you should give her all the help she needs."

Lothiriel dropped her gaze to the floor in disappointment, feeling the anguish bubble inside her heart as she felt Imrahil’s grip upon her once more, dragging her away from Eomer and being unable to believe how much it hurt thinking that he did not care.

************

"I shall never forgive you for this," Eowyn grumbled as they walked along the edge of a slimy walkway within the dark tunnels beneath the Citadel.

When they had lowered themselves into the cavernous passage, they had produced a makeshift torch to light their way forward. The flame allowed them to see ahead although none of the company were at all grateful for this fact. The walls glistened with slime, dirt and filth that none of the women were eager to identify too closely. The walkway was slippery with similar grime and it took required some skill to travel across it without slipping into the murky canal running next to it. The dark water bubbled on occasion and none of them wanted to think what kind of life would inhabit such a disgusting bog.

The stench alone was overpowering and because the floors were so dangerous to traverse, their journey was painfully slow. On occasion they would hear the screech of rats or see something crawling across the wall that made them flinch. Dragons and drakes were one thing but tiny, crawling insects had the power to make even the bravest of them shriek in revulsion.

"Do you think this is my first choice?" Arwen retorted just as tersely. "You are not the one with elvish senses, I can smell everything in this place far better then you can."

The queen was leading the way because she had better eye sight then all of them. However, she was uneasy about being enclosed all around for she was an elf and her race was not partial to any place that would keep the stars from their sight for lengths of time. The passageway seemed endless and were broken intermittently by the grates on the ceiling. During these occasions, they remained very silent, listening carefully for movement above for it was imperative that they remained unseen.

"For once I am grateful to be mortal," Melia commented with similar distaste. While she was not an elf, she was a Ranger and like all her kind, she preferred the outdoors herself to the gritty substance of urban living. "As much as I dislike our present location, this is the safest and most covert way to enter the palace. Your choice was wise Arwen."

"Yes it was," Eowyn admitted begrudgingly. "I do not fault your choice, just the situation."

"The situation is indeed dire," Melia had to agree, shunting aside thoughts of Legolas as someone else’ creature for it would only hinder her spirit. "I wish Pallando were here. The Istar would have this spell broken in a minute."

"Unfortunately, Pallando is many days if not weeks away," Arwen replied. "We cannot wait for him to help us."

"Do you know anything about spells?" Eowyn asked. She found that elves had amazing skills in their possession. She supposed that one had to fill one’s time with all manner of things when one lived that long.

"Not really," Arwen confessed, wishing she did. "I know how to call upon the power of my people to aid me in times of crisis but spell lore was not something I sought to learn. My father had skill in such matters but I think what he learnt, he did so mostly to protect our people from Sauron. If we had need for such craft, we would simply turn to Mithrandir for assistance."

"The Grey Pilgrim," Eowyn nodded. "My brother liked him a great deal."

"There was no greater Istar than Mithrandir," Arwen said sadly, suddenly missing the old man a great deal. Mithrandir had been a great friend to her father and to both herself and Estel through the darkest of times and the best of them. "I miss him terribly."

"So we are alone in finding out how to deal with this," Melia commented, returning their thoughts to their present predicament.

"It would appear so," Arwen nodded. "The difficulty with breaking spells is that more often than not, you need to know the exact one to be able to counteract it."

"I do not think Ulfrain will be forthcoming with that information," Eowyn retorted.

"Maybe it is not Ulfrain we should ask," Melia suggested as they came to the fork in the tunnel and followed Arwen as she chose which one they should take.

"You mean Akallabeth?" Eowyn looked over her shoulder at her.

"Why not?" Melia replied. "She may not be as cowered by her husband as we think."

"No," Arwen said firmly. "We will not ask her. I do not quite know what to make of her yet and until we do, I would not look to her for help."

"What do you not think she will aid us?" Melia asked puzzled.

"It is simply best that we do not," Arwen replied, recalling the uneasy sensation she experienced being around the Haradrim queen. "I sense something odd from her, something I cannot define clearly and it is unwise to approach her when we are so uncertain of her."

"So what do we do once we enter the palace?" Eowyn inquired, frowning at the carcass of a dead rodent floating past her.

"I am not sure," Arwen admitted, wishing she had more answers for her friends. "We need to find one of the men, to see if anything can be done about breaking the enchantment."

"That will not be easy to do," Melia replied. "I do not think we will be able to remove them against their will and enchantment or not, catching Legolas unawares will be next to impossible."

"We will never get close enough to either Aragorn or Faramir, Arwen," Eowyn offered grimly. "The king and the ruling steward are too valuable to the enemy, they would hurl everything at us to prevent us from reaching either."

Eowyn was still awaiting an answer from Arwen when she was suddenly overcome with inspiration. "Eomer," she exclaimed with excitement. "If we cannot reach the king or Faramir and if Legolas is too difficult to catch unawares, then it is Eomer we must attempt to approach."

"Eomer," Melia mused, considering the suggestion and found that if they were going to embark on such a dangerous course then it was Eomer that they offered them the best chance of success. "I think you are right. They may not expect us to reach him. After all, the logical course would be for us to make an attempt for our husbands not a brother, especially in the mind of Ulfrain who believes women are beholding to their men."

"If there is any way to reach them emotionally then Eomer would be our best alternative because he is my brother. Our affection for one another is far older and deeper than any other here. He was my brother before he was King of the Mark, before my love for Faramir even."

"You have convinced me," Arwen declared, grateful to have some way to strike even though she was uncertain how successful they were going to be in attempting to break this spell. Still, this course was better than lingering in helplessness. "We must wait until the banquet begins, when all the guests have arrived."

"I wonder how they intend to explain our disappearance," Melia remarked as they neared a junction in the tunnels. "The absence of the queen would go unnoticed surely."

"I wondered about that myself," Arwen replied taking the correct fork in the tunnel. Ahead, they could see a beam of light filtering through the roof. The stench of refuse had begun to wane a little and tinged with the aroma of food cooking. "This whole thing puzzles me."

Arwen did not answer for they were soon at their destination. Beneath the beam of light was a ladder leading through a narrow tunnel through the roof. At the end of it was an iron grate that would no doubt lead to a floor somewhere in the palace. Neither Eowyn or Melia questioned how Arwen knew this intricate network of tunnels beneath the palace but supposed after all the dangers the queen had endured since taking up residence, it was probably sensible that she knew alternate means of escape in case of danger.

"Where does this go?" Melia asked as Arwen slung her sword over her back and began to climb up the ladder.

"With any luck, into the kitchen," Arwen answered with a grunt as she placed her hands on the filthy rungs and pulled herself up.

"We will be seen!" Eowyn returned but followed the queen nonetheless.

"I am hoping that they will be too busy with the preparations for the banquet to notice," Arwen replied as she ascended into the tunnel within the ceiling.

"You hope," Melia grumbled disliking the tenuous nature of their plan. Unfortunately, they had no other alternative.."

"Hope has nothing to do with this," Arwen said softly, "only luck."

None of them could disagree.

**********

Lothiriel had pleaded her case with her father until her throat was dry. She had continued to do so even after she had been seen out of the king’s presence by her father and given to guards to be escorted to the dungeons. She did not even know that the palace had dungeons to begin with although she was in no hurry to have this particular mystery satisfied. Lothiriel had tried earnestly to convince the guards leading her through the White Tower that the king and all the lords of Middle earth had been subjugated by some strange power but none would believe her. If anything, they seemed to regard her pleas as some fanciful tale conjured by a bored aristocrat.

She hated being so helpless and incapable of being of any help to those she loved. She thought of her father and remembered the stinging pain of her cheek thanks to the blow he had delivered to her. In his right mind, he would be horrified by his behavior because he was not a man who was intentionally unkind. Like all rulers, he had to be hard at times. One could not sit in authority and preside over the lives of so many by being weak and for so many years, Dol Amroth faced the same threats as Gondor from the evil of Mordor and its Easterling allies. Somehow, she could not be allowed to languish in a dungeon when the threat of what she knew still remained.

As Lothiriel was marched down the corridor with guards flanking her on either side, she considered what to do. She had to find the queen! Lothiriel remembered Arwen’s kindness and knew that an elf of her age would know what to do. There was the possibility that Arwen’s mind could have been similarly tainted as her king’s but it was the only plan that Lothriel had in mind. Unfortunately, while she remained in the custody of these men, she was no good to anyone.

There was only one thing to do. She had to escape.

She thought furiously the spells that she had conjured up in the past and was filled with a sense of chagrin at the memory of how none of them had worked. When she asked for snow, it rained. When she asked for a flower to blossom, the entire household staff fell asleep. She knew she had power to conjure and though it was nothing of the kind practiced by the Istari, it was also unfocussed and notoriously unreliable. Lothriel shook these thoughts out of her mind and forced herself to focus because she had to succeed in freeing herself.

She opted for the simplest spell possible. It was one that would allow the men marching her to the dungeon to fall asleep. She did not want to hurt anyone and she did not trust herself to attempt anything more complex. Lothriel was not blind to her lack of skill. Closing her eyes, she chanted the words softly, hoping for the best or in this case, for sleep.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. She knew that something was happening because she could feel the flutter through her that signaled her invocation was taking some measure of shape. However, there was no sign of drowsiness in any of the men surrounding her. Her lack of success suffused her being with anger and she hissed the words with more venom then intended.

Suddenly, the soldiers beside her doubled over in what appeared to be pain. Lothiriel felt her heart sink, realizing that she had done something terrible to them that would require her discovering how to undo it. However, when they dropped to their knees, clutching their stomachs and coughing loudly, it was soon clear that they were not in pain at all, rather in a state of extreme nausea. She could only stare wide eyed as they began retching at her feet, prompting the young woman to break away from them. For a brief instant, Lothriel did nothing but stare in dazed astonishment at what she had done as the men began emptying the contents of their stomach in rather disgusting fashion.

Well it was not sleep but it would do, she supposed.

Once she regained her sense, Lothiriel chose to take advantage of the spell she had cast and hurried down the hall, leaving behind her the soldiers who had larger concerns then her departure at the moment. She did not know where she was going as she put greater distance between herself and her captors, turning corners and running down darkened hallways away from the corridors that were filled with servants and other occupants of the palace. She was near the kitchen when she turned a corner and ran straight into someone else. The young woman fell promptly unto her rear.

"Lothiriel!" Lothiriel looked up at the voice uttering her name and saw the queen of Gondor staring at her.

"Your highness!" Lothiriel was just as amazed as she saw the queen standing before her, dressed in breeches and bearing a sword at her hip. Next to her, the lady Eowyn and Melia were in similar state of dress.

"What are you doing dressed like that?" Eowyn asked staring at Lothiriel’s own garments.

"I can guess," Melia retorted before she was able to answer.

"Let her speak," Arwen gave them both a look and helped the girl to her feet. "What are you doing Lothiriel? It is not safe to wander about the palace at this time. Something terrible is happening."

"I know!" Lothiriel exclaimed, feeling her entire soul filled with a sense of relief because it appeared that the queen was perfectly aware of what was happening with the king and the rest of the men. "You know about the king? He is under some kind of enchantment I am certain, they are nothing like themselves."

"Yes," Arwen nodded, trying to calm the girl down as she ranted her story. "We know. The king ordered us to be taken under custody."

"He told my father to put me in a dungeon!" Lothriel declared, grateful that she was not alone in this nightmare. "He would not even listen to what I had to say and when I finally convinced him to listen, he did not even care!"

"What you had to say?" Arwen’s brow arched in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Lothiriel took a deep breath and knew she had to reveal what she had been doing when she stumbled upon the Easterlings. Fortunately, it did not appear as if they were very surprised when she told them her story, at least until she had wandered unwittingly into the Easterling barracks that is. In anything, the lady Melia seemed to expect it.

"I saw them," she said breathlessly, "they did not know I was there but I saw them."

"What did you see?" Eowyn asked feeling this dreadful sense of foreboding knotting up her insides with each word Lothiriel spoke.

"The Easterlings," Lothiriel replied. "They are not Easterlings at all. They are shape shifters."

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