Dawn on a fine summer morning saw Eldarion riding toward Minas Tirith across the Fields of Pelennor, the sun rising at his back and Greyhame surging beneath him. The road was clear this early in the day, and Eldarion gave Greyhame his head to gallop as fast as he pleased. A spirit of playfulness seemed to have seized the stallion today, and it pleased Greyhame to sprint nearly full-out across the plain. Wind streaked past so fast that Eldarion's eyes watered, and he reveled in the moment of pure, unencumbered freedom.

Eldarion was on his way back from Osgiliath, where he had spent the past two weeks supervising the city guard and receiving reports from the area's numerous ranger patrols. Only a year shy of thirty, Eldarion now enjoyed the full status of manhood, and the soldiers of Gondor respected him accordingly. The past twelve months had been a long and difficult campaign against the hubris which Ohtar had noted in their newest recruits, but Eldarion was heartened by the belief that, with his lieutenants' dedication and the new focus on Minas Ithil's restoration, the battle for Gondor's character was being won.

The subject of Minas Ithil had been central to Eldarion's time in Osgiliath. He had met with Elboron whilst there, and heard the latest updates on both Eruthiawen and the reconstruction. While the Vale of the Moon was undoubtedly closer to Minas Tirith than even Faramir and Éowyn's settlement at Ithilien, the demands on both Elboron and Eruthiawen's time was such that Eldarion saw less of them both than he would like. Eruthiawen had been unable to join them in Osgiliath this past week, owing to her being in the advanced stages of pregnancy. Any week now, the royal household expected to receive a summons to go to Eruthiawen's side in Minas Ithil. Arwen had made the journey all the way to Harmindon last autumn to be with Túrien for the birth of hers and Sufyan's first child, and would certainly do no less for Eruthiawen and Elboron.

Eldarion leaned back in the saddle and smiled widely at the thought of his ever-growing family. Eruthiawen and Elboron, happily married and expecting their first child any day now. Túrien and Sufyan, already into their fifth year of marriage and thoroughly devoted to their daughter. Dark of hair and rosy-cheeked, little Myriam was the apple of all her grandparents' eyes, but Sawda most especially. Already Sawda was introducing the baby to everyone as "our little ramyah". Túrien and Sufyan were in Minas Tirith right now for the summer meeting of the Great Council, and Eldarion blessed the speed with which Greyhame brought him closer to reuniting with his middle sister and brother-in-law once more. He could even see the vast, looming shape of Gïdjls, their family Mûmak, grazing contentedly just beyond the city walls. No doubt the soldiers on guard would be watching through anxious eyes; Gïdjls had also grown up, and was now equal in size to any bull Oliphant.

To the west, Rohan and Gondor's ancestral friendship only strengthened and grew deeper with Elfwine on the throne. The young king - filled with the zest and daring of a warrior in an age of peace - continuing to compete in Gondor's annual Harvest Tournament despite the protests of his worried advisors. Elfwine had also taken a vow not to court again until he found someone whom he had every intention of marrying, to the dismay of the Rohirrim and the quiet approval of Eldarion. At four-and-twenty, Elfwine was still ripening into his kingship, and Eldarion could only imagine that the best years of Elfwine's life lay yet before him.

That left Almárëa as the last of Aragorn and Arwen's daughters still to dwell within the royal household. Now a maiden of seventeen, Almárëa was at last beginning to take shape into the stature of a fine woman. She remained, however, as merry as a child and as imperious as an empress. Eldarion was glad to still have at least one of his sisters to come home to; even (or rather, especially!) at seventeen, nobody could laugh and smile and charm like Almárëa. Numerous suitors waited anxiously in the wings of Minas Tirith's nobility, counting the years until the youngest princess came of age. Eldarion knew for a fact though that Almárëa scorned all of them. Instead, Almárëa preferred to spend her time divided between her studies in the Sages' Tier and shadowing Arwen at her queenly duties.

Keeping ever-present, loving watch over it all, Aragorn and Arwen remained as steady and constant in Eldarion's life as the sun and the moon. Both attended to the business of governing with the patient grace of seasoned leaders (although moments still arose when Arwen served to balance the restless spirit of a ranger ever-lingering within Aragorn). Grown though their children may now have been, there remained a timelessness about the King and Queen of Gondor that made it easy to believe their reign would be eternal. Indeed, fewer remained with each passing year in Gondor who remembered the dark times before the return of the king. Even as Faramir and Éowyn continued to show the subtle weathering of age, Aragorn and Arwen seemed to change little with the years. Time did not pass over the House of Telcontar entirely though, and with each turn of the seasons Eldarion noticed new, small thing that betrayed how his parents were not as young as they once were. Still there was joy yet to be had, and much to look forward to.

The memory of Elboron's proud smile beneath his newly acquired mustache brought a matching smile to Eldarion even as he and Greyhame drew near the Great Gate of Minas Tirith. And to think that he had not even seen little Myriam since leaving Harmindon nearly eight months ago! Being an uncle was still not a role Eldarion was entirely accustomed to, but he vowed to make up for the time and distance with plenty of doting on his niece in the days remaining before Túrien and Sufyan returned to Harmindon. It occurred to Eldarion to lament having been away in Osgiliath when they arrived, meaning he had missed out on almost an entire week of their visit. The chance to see Elboron was just as valuable to Elboron though, and so he was simply thankful that he would be able to spend at least a few days with Túrien and her family this summer.

As they approached the city, Greyhame at last slowed his breathless gallop down to a trot. With a toss of his black mane and a snort, Greyhame purposely kept as far away from where Gïdjls was grazing as he could. Even after several peaceable encounters, the horse still did not entirely trust such a vast animal. Eldarion couldn't say he blamed Greyhame. Gïdjls loomed tall and wide enough to temporarily block even the soaring Citadel from view as they passed by. The Mûmak must have recognized Eldarion though. With a stride that made the very earth tremble, Gïdjls drew closer to the road and flapped his ears - each larger than a ship's sail - in greeting. Greyhame responded by veering practically into the ditch.

"Easy there mellon-nin, easy." With a reassuring rub of Greyhame's sweaty neck, Eldarion looked up to where Gïdjls watched, evidently awaiting some kind of acknowledgment. "And hello to you as well, Gïdjls. Thank you for carrying my sister and her family so faithfully all these years."

That seemed to suffice; with a light trumpet and a shake of his head, Gïdjls turned his attention back to the matter of breakfast. The grasses covering the Fields of Pelennor weren't as lush and green as those that grew around the wellspring of the Na'Man ab Jubayr outside of Harmindon. No doubt Gïdjls would have an area the size of three jousting fields cleared by noon and still not be entirely satisfied. Eldarion thanked the Valar that Bakr and Tufayl, the chieftains of Abrakhân and Pazghar, had yet to visit Minas Tirith on their families' respective Mûmakil. The Fields of Pelennor would be grazed bare within a matter of hours. However intelligent they may be, it was never wise keep a Mûmak waiting on his dinner.

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Eldarion found his family gathered in their most precious, private of places. Tucked away in what had once been a courtyard between the House of the Kings and Mount Mindolluin, the House of Telcontar kept a secret garden. None were suffered to tend it but the members of the royal family themselves, and whatever they grew was either given to the Citadel kitchens or to the children's homes of the lower circles.

Where there had once been white cobblestones, rich earth had been brought up from Gondor's farmlands on the plains below. Benches and walkways had been removed, the better for rows of carrots, tomatoes, and turnip to be planted. Along the ornately carved courtyard walls, bean stalks and sweat peas were only too happy to grow, using the stone artwork as lattices to support their climb for the sun. As much as Arwen loved how Legolas and his people had brought life to the streets of the White City by constructing boulevards of trees, hedges, and flowers, the elvish heart within her had longed to tend and nurture growing things with her own hands. And so, Aragorn had surprised his wife with the garden plot - empty and awaiting a loving caretaker - for their third wedding anniversary. To this day, the garden was the one place where the army of councilors, advisors, and nobles always seeking the royal household's attention knew they were forbidden to intrude.

Arwen looked up from the row of lettuce she was weeding, and her happiness at seeing Eldarion returned from Osgiliath seemed to chase all the fine lines from the corners of her eyes. Peeling the gloves from her hands and tucking them into her belt, she rose. A slight grimace tugged at her smile when her back and knees protested, but such was the nature of mortality. A quick stretch was all it took to set her aright before Arwen went to greet her son with a warm embrace.

"Welcome home, ion-nin. Mmmm..." Arwen held Eldarion close and gave him one last squeeze before letting go. "It never matters if you are gone for a single day, or an entire turn of the moon, the only cure for my missing you is to see you safely returned once more."

"I missed you too Naneth, as does Eruthiawen. She sends her love, and promises that she is as well and comfortable as can be expected for the time being."

"Eldarion!" Tucking up the hem of her dirt-streaked skirt, Almárëa skipped over a potato plant to hug Eldarion as well. She grinned up a him, her nose peppered with freckles despite the wide-brimmed hat she wore. "How was Osgiliath?"

"Beautiful, especially now that the final roof has been installed on the Dome of Stars. You would love it for stargazing, Almárëa. The vault has been finished with glass, so that one might stand beneath in the rotunda and see the entire night sky. Elboron tells me that Eruthiawen has similar plans for a public observatory atop the highest tower of Minas Ithil."

"I can't wait to see the work on Minas Ithil when we go there to join Eruthia. We'll have to sort out a few gifts for the new baby too before we leave. Don't let me forget, Galieth?"

True to Lothíriel's reckoning, Almárëa had indeed insisted upon Eruthiawen relinquishing Galieth to her as a lady-in-waiting upon the latter's departure for Minas Ithil. Galieth's family had been only too happy to give their blessing to their daughter's continued stay in Minas Tirith, and so Galieth remained as an increasingly familiar presence in the royal household.

Galieth stood when Eldarion arrived, a trowel still in one hand and a basket of weeds held in the other. Her soot-black hair was tied in a low knot, but a morning spent hard at work had freed many wisps to fall haphazardly about her cheeks and neck. Even now, after nearly two years spent in Minas Tirith, a red flush still darkened her ears when she greeted Eldarion.

"Welcome home, Your Majesty. Your father and Princess Túrien will be pleased to see you returned, as is everyone else."

Eldarion was glad to see that even two years into the capital hadn't managed to entirely break Galieth of her habit of bowing in the manner of men. Even now she only just barely managed to catch herself. Galieth always seemed more sure of herself around barracks, full of soldiers, rangers, and horsemen. Eldarion decided that perhaps he would invite her and Almárëa to join him, when next he went out to check on the rangers at Osgiliath. As enjoyable as riding Greyhame at full pace across the Fields of Pelennor was, Eldarion missed the constant company of his sisters and friends. Now that he thought about it, he had not seen Elfwine since the Yuletide six months ago!

The yearning for Elfwine and Elboron was set aside for a time though when yet another family face approached from the far corner of the garden. Judging by the amount of dirt on Sufyan's knees and hands, he had been hard at work weeding the thick row of raspberries which grew along the mountainside wall. Even more exciting; little baby Myriam hung in wicker harness slung across Sufyan's shoulder. Her dark eyes brightened curiously at the sight of Eldarion, and she even deigned to take the bead bracelet she was sucking on out of her mouth to consider him.

"Sufyan!" Eldarion opened his arms to embrace the other man; a little awkward with the harness. "Ai, but its good to see you again! I see Naneth has you hard a work?"

"Good practice for the day when I am too old to ride Mûmakil anymore. The gardens of Harmindon always have room for another pair of helping hands, whether they belong to an elder or no."

Eldarion stretched to get a better look over Sufyan's shoulder. "And who is this I see? Have you and Túrien taken to kidnapping, for surely this child is too big and bright to be little Myriam!?"

With a laugh, Sufyan shook his head. He turned, and Arwen moved to lift Myriam out of the harness with a practiced ease that made Eldarion regret yet again not having been able to rejoin his family sooner. Myriam settled into her grandmother's arms easily, and Arwen's eyes were bright with adoration as she kissed the child's dark curls.

"Alas, poor Sufyan! Between my drafting him to work the garden and having to carry Myriam while Túrien is in council, I fear we shall run him to exhaustion. For you are right, Eldarion, she is a strong and hearty child. See how much she has grown in just eight short months!"

"A future ramyah in the making," said Eldarion. Then he winked at Sufyan teasingly. "Or perhaps, a Mûmakil driver, if Túrien found childbirth not to her liking and Myriam finds politics not to hers?"

Sufyan heard the cleverly hidden question, but only waggled his eyebrows and shrugged. "Or perhaps we shall give Myriam so many brothers and sisters that our bloodlines run thick across all of Harad and Harondor. Who can say? That is for Túrien and I to know, and you to only guess at, birayê mezin."

"Only to guess at what?"

The sudden arrival of Túrien and Aragorn at the garden gate caught everyone pleasantly by surprise. Both were dressed for council; although the meeting of the Great Council had been some days ago, there were always a myriad of meetings to be dealt with in the aftermath. Almárëa was quick to slyly answer Túrien's question with a grin at Sufyan and Eldarion.

"How thick royal blood runs in Harad. A matter up for some future debate, apparently."

Túrien rolled her eyes - lined with bright blue kohl as per the latest Haradrim trend - at Almárëa's insinuations. She went to collect Myriam from Arwen, and the baby eagerly stretched out chubby brown arms toward her mother. Aragorn meanwhile greeted Eldarion warmly, and promised to hear the full report from Osgiliath before dinner that evening.

After a morning spent in the oasis of the family garden, the House of Telcontar knew they could hide from their duties no longer. Arwen and Almárëa had a visit to the Burgmens' Fellow-hall in the Third Circle to meet with the guild-masters. Sufyan intended to check on the Haradrim merchants in the First Circle, while Túrien took advantage of a spare hour to settle Myriam for her nap. Galieth would keep watch over Myriam after Túrien had to leave for a meeting with Lord Findegil of Lossarnach. Aragorn meanwhile had an appointment with Prince Elphir to discuss the possibility of expanding the roadways through Dol Amroth westward into the previously remote, coastal region of Anfalas. Since Anfalas lay just south of the Ered Nimrais mountains, no doubt eventually Elfwine and Gimli would have a stake in such discussions, if they ever came to fruition. For that reason among others, Eldarion set aside any weariness at having just returned from Osgiliath to join Aragorn in his meeting with Elphir.

All-in-all, it was a fairly typical day in the royal household of Gondor. How little any of them imagined, as they went about their various duties and business, that sunset would bring with it a darkness which none among them but Aragorn and Arwen had previously known. So many years lay between them and the fall of Sauron, they had almost managed to forget what it felt like to be gripped by the cold fingers of despair. Wherever there is light though, shadows must also lie unseen, patiently awaiting the hour when they might grow tall once more.

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That night, Eldarion tossed and turned in his bed. For some reason which he could not quite put his finger on, something felt amiss. At first he explained his unease as being simply over-tired after a long day. Still, no matter how he tried to settle himself, it felt as though there were a caged bird fluttering within his breast.

The night air - heavy with the warmth of a long-set summer sun - pressed upon Eldarion's ears, muffling even the distant howl of a dog in the city below. At length he lay staring up at the canopy, counting his breaths and trying to will himself to sleep. Tomorrow was another busy day, and it would not do to meet it without rest. Then, inexplicably, Eldarion felt himself missing the cool weight of the Evenstar pendant against the hollow of his throat. He had given it to Eruthiawen as a wedding gift, with Almárëa's blessings. They both knew very well that Eruthiawen fully intended to gift it right back to her youngest sister whenever the day should come that Almárëa might marry.

Why, Eldarion could not explain, but it was that thought which finally propelled him out of bed. Nudging his feet into slippers and belting a robe about his waist, he left his room and padded softly down the hall. The moon was dark, and so a single candle was left burning in each polished bracket along the wall. The light they gave off seemed meager somehow, as if each flickering flame were being pressed inward by the night around it. All seemed quiet in the King's House, and yet Eldarion's anxiety only grew as he approaches the door to his parents' apartments.

Before he could even raise his hand to knock, Arwen had the door open. The silver streaks in her unbound hair glimmered faintly in the candlelight, and like Eldarion she wore slippers and a robe over her nightclothes. An expression of consternation furrowed her brow. Behind Arwen, Eldarion could see his father rising from bed with a similarly perplexed look on his face.

"You feel it too, ion-nin." Arwen did not so much ask as state the obvious.

Eldarion nodded. "I cannot say what, but something is amiss."

"I will go and check on Túrien and her family." Aragorn stepped past Arwen in the doorway, not bothering to tie his favourite old red robe. Eldarion also noted that he had his dagger - the curved blade given to him decades ago in Lothlórien - held loosely at hand in its sheath. Suddenly he felt rather foolish not have to likewise armed himself. For the Captain of Gondor's army to go walking about at night empty-handed...well...Ohtar would absolutely have scolded him for it, even at his age.

Arwen seemed to sense where Eldarion's thoughts had gone, but her attempt at a reassuring smile was somewhat lacking. "Perhaps Myriam is not sleeping well tonight, and we are feeling her unease."

It was more than that, and they both knew it, as surely as they knew the month was June. Eldarion shook his head. "I will go to check that all is well with Almárëa and Galieth."

"Go gently, Eldarion. If all is quiet, your sudden arrival might startle the girls more than necessary."

With a nod, Eldarion set out at a brisk pace toward the wing of the house where Almárëa used to share apartments with Eruthiawen. With Eruthiawen's departure to Minas Ithil, Almárëa had moved Galieth into her sister's vacated suite, despite Galieth's protests that it was far more space than she needed. Almárëa would not be over-ruled though, and so she and her lady-in-waiting slept in mirrored suites side-by-side at the eastern end of The King's House.

Eldarion tried not to rap too loudly or sharply when he came first to Galieth's door. Muffled noise within told him that it had been enough, and a moment later a rather confused-looking Galieth opened the door a crack. Her eyes, previously bleary with lingering dreams, snapped open at the sight of Eldarion, and she hastened to tie her robe shut over her nightgown even as she fully opened the door.

"Eldarion...is something wrong?"

It occurred to Eldarion that Galieth's voice sounded rather nice when it was roughened with sleep, as well as that, in her surprise, she had forgotten to address him by title. The creeping feeling of unease came trickling back up his spine though, reminding him why he was there.

"Is everything alright here? Nothing is amiss?" he asked.

Galieth shrugged helplessly, brushing back stray hairs behind her ears. "Amiss? No, no...all is...was quiet. Why? Has something happened?"

Eldarion had no answers. Instead, he shook his head. "No...perhaps not. I am sorry to have disturbed you, Lady Galieth. I just...let me check in on Almárëa, and then hopefully we can all return to sleep in peace."

"Are others awake too?" Galieth followed Eldarion out into the hall, her long stride matching even Eldarion's anxious pace easily. "Something is wrong. What is it, Your Majesty?"

"I do not know," said Eldarion honestly. "I...my mother too...we feel something out of place. It may be nothing, but..."

To Eldarion's surprise, Galieth just nodded. "If I have come to learn anything from my time here in Gondor, it is to trust your mother's instincts. I left Almárëa getting ready for bed just after sunset. At this hour she should be quite thoroughly asleep, and unlikely to answer to a knock."

Even so, they stopped and knocked at Almárëa's door. Once...twice...three times they knocked, but still there came no answer. Even when Eldarion called for her, Almárëa did not stir.

"Your sister sleeps heavily...but still..." Galieth trailed off, uncertain.

The uneasy feeling which had been curling in Eldarion's chest all evening was almost unbearable now, and Eldarion was beginning to believe he knew why. Whatever was wrong, it was about to be revealed. Unwilling to wait any longer, Eldarion seized hold of the doorknob and wrenched.

"Almárëa?! Open the door!"

No answer came from inside the room, and Eldarion threw his entire weight against the door jam. Wood creaked, and a thumping from down the hall told them that the night sentries were alerted and on their way. Again Eldarion drove his shoulder into Almárëa's door, and again was repelled.

"My lady?!" Galieth called out, now sounding truly as alarmed as Eldarion felt.

For a third time, Eldarion slammed against the door. This time, with a sharp crack of wood, the door broke open and swung away. The sudden swing nearly caught Eldarion off guard, but he managed to keep his feet and rush into the darkened room.

"Almárëa?!"

Almárëa's bed was empty, the covers stripped back and twisted as if caught up in a struggle. The glass doors onto the balcony were open, and outside a moonless night wafted too-warm air into the room. Almárëa was nowhere to be seen, either in the apartment or outside on the balcony. From the looks of the bed, she had been caught asleep and forcibly stolen.

"Galieth, find my father. Tell him that someone has broken in and Almárëa is missing. Make sure that Túrien and her family are with my mother, and send the night watch here to me at once."

Galieth did not need telling twice. White with shock and barefoot though she may have been, she was still a daughter of Dúnedain rangers. Eldarion had barely even finished speaking and Galieth was already out the door and running full-out down the hall in search of Aragorn.

Someone had taken Almárëa. Almárëa was missing. The very thought sent a spike of pure panic through Eldarion. For Almárëa's sake as well as his own though, Eldarion knew he had to keep his head. Broken glass crunched under his slipper as he approached the open balcony door; the intruders had smashed out a pane in order to get to the inside latch. Stepping outside, Eldarion did not have to look long to find answers.

Above Almárëa's balcony door, in a still-wet red so dark as to have been almost black, the grotesque symbol of the Eye had been painted. It was a near perfect match to the one Eldarion had found befouling the statue of Gandalf over two years ago.

Eldarion knew then what he had to do...for Almárëa's sake.

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