This is a one-shot I wrote for the amazing @Eleftheria01 please check out her work and support her.

Note: I know this is not accurate, and the plot is messy, but I worked on it🤪. I hope it's good enough that it will be ignored.

Thank you! Have fun reading.

3rd POV

The sky was painted gold and violet; putting any painting that dared to compete with its majesty to shame. The sun was setting in the west and rays of gold and orange light spilled across the valley of Gondor. The purple mountains that bordered the extensive valley spread patterns of soft shadows across the grass land, drastically shaping the valley

Evelyn watched it all, the perfect scene mirrored perfectly in her brown eyes as she stood upon her bedroom balcony. She was in one of the highest towers of the great white city, Minas Tirith, watching as people said their goodbyes in the markets far below. The white railing glittered in the sunlight as it sunk ever further behind the mountains to the west.

Evelyn was the queen of Gondor, and she had been for two years. It was only so long ago that this city had once been under siege of the greatest host of orcs in the tower's history. The war of the one ring had ravaged the land, dug furrows the earth, and thousands of men rode to death in battle.

"You really have to go?" She asked, not turning from the sight of her city bellow her. The first year had been the worst, because of the drastic vertigo that struck her every time she stepped foot outside. It had faded away with time, but her caution remained intact. She couldn't step out onto her balcony unless she had a hand on the stone rail.

Two hands slipped onto her shoulders and she felt the chest of her husband press gently into her back. She breathed in softly as his thumbs rubbed the skin of her exposed shoulders to comfort her. She wore her usual navy-blue gown. It was ankle length with a fitting waist and an identically colored shall that looped around her shoulders and fell to the ground with a short train.

"You know I'd stay with you if I could." Her husband whispered into her ear and she crossed her left arm over her chest and held his hand that lay on her right shoulder.

Evelyn was married to Aragorn the second, otherwise known as Aragorn, son of Arathorn. She looked back at him and he looked downwards to meet her brown and amber flecked eyes. He was only a head taller than her, but that didn't seem to stop her from acting taller than she was.

"I know." She whispered, but a small scolding look crept over her gentle face. "But when will you realize I highly disapprove of you gallivanting about Gondor and Rohan." She spoke. As she expressed her needless concerns Aragon smiled fondly down at her.

Always she worried for him - his health and wellbeing - always worrying that he'd be lost, killed or taken captive by ruffians. She never doubted his skill, but she doubted the world about them. She finally had what she wanted; she had a loyal husband, and a city she cared for, and she hated that even though the threat of Sauron was gone; they were still in danger.

"Always you worry over me. All you'll get to show for you anxiety is grey hairs." Aragorn smirked down at her. Evelyn's eyes narrowed as she gently shoved his chest. He didn't even sway, and - instead of whatever reaction she'd thought up - Aragorn chuckled heartily.

Evelyn stepped inside their bedroom and she walked over to the mirror as she self-consciously tucked her curly light-brown hair back behind her ears. She preferred it wild, always flying about her head like the mane of a tawny lion.

She pulled back the curls in her fist at the back of her head and selected a worn-out tie on her dresser. She twisted her hair around the band until it was securely fastened in her hair, safeguarding a perfect pony-tail.

"If I get grey before you do, I will blame you." She threatened mildly.

"You'll blame me?" Aragorn asked with an amused smile on his face as she looked back at him through the mirror.

"Yes. I'll say you rained havoc down on my nerves, and drove me to the brink of insanity." She said, although she was unable of getting the words out without smiling. For added effect she stuck her tongue out childishly at the smirking king through her reflection in the mirror.

"Darling, you've always been-"

"Beautiful?" Evelyn smirked as she turned to face him as she walked over to the closet to select her night gown. "Graceful... Poised maybe?" She held up a white night-dress with golden embroidery up to her body and posed dramatically. "The shining jewel of Gondor?"

"- completely mad." Aragorn corrected her wild assumptions. Evelyn smiled to herself as she stepped into the bathroom attached on the left side of the room - opposite their four-poster bed that was dressed in cream sheets and a maroon comforter.

Evelyn closed the door as she undressed and hung the blue gown on the back of the door as she dressed in her nightgown. It was knee length, opaque with gold embroidery and spaghetti-straps.

Evelyn was going to have to say goodbye to her husband for the week as he rode to Edoras as the behest of Éowyn and Éomer who had called for a diplomatic meeting. Aragorn had to go, just as Evelyn had to say; she stayed for her people. Who would they look to when Aragorn was gone? So, the task of managing Minas Tirith while Aragorn was absent had fallen to her shoulders.

The people of Gondor loved Evelyn, for she loved them and it was plainly obvious from her kind actions. Evelyn had fought in battle with the fellowship of the ring and had even walked from Rivendell to the white city with an orc pack, behind, before, and around them at all times.

As Evelyn stepped out of the bathroom, she found Aragorn sitting down at the foot of their bed, his elbows on his knees with his hands clasped as he followed her with his eyes until she leaned against the poster on his left side.

"I'm sorry." Aragon said honestly and Evelyn looked down at him where she stood. Her hand lifted and pressed against his scruffy cheek, looking into his blue eyes. They had met to join together and guard a ring-bearer to the black lands of Mordor that lay at their doorstep. And now they found themselves married almost three years later.

"It's not your fault. I am sorry I was acting like such a baby." She said and stepped between his legs and he wrapped his arms around her waist as pressed his cheek to her abdomen as she rubbed his back and arm.

"I'll be alright, my queen." Aragorn sighed and Evelyn ran a hand through his hair.

"I do not doubt you my love; I do, however, insist you have misplaced your trust in me. I may know how to keep Minas Tirith safe, but I am just learning how to run a country." Evelyn sighed and Aragorn heard the stress in her tone.

He looked up at her and smiled gently, without showing his perfect teeth, and gazed lovingly into her eyes. "Ev, I have trusted you with my very life on the battle field. I'm sure you can handle a week of overseeing the city without burning it to the ground." Evelyn groaned and sat beside him on the bed and leaned into him.

"I'd much rather be cuddled." She pouted playfully and Aragorn smirked at his love's attempt to sway him from his course. He was convinced that staying wouldn't do much harm to him, but if he wanted to keep Evelyn safe in a stable country built on trust, then he had to leave the next morning.

Aragorn kissed Evelyn's temple and breathed in deeply; smelling her beautiful curls. He memorized her sent long ago, but it never failed to calm him and help his body relax. She smelled of vanilla and lemon which she usually drank before starting her morning activities. The smell of the citrus seemed to have permanently stained her hands, but Aragorn didn't mind. He loved her scent; it was intoxicating to him.

She began to drift off once they had settled into bed and he couldn't help but stare at her back as her ribs expanded with every drowsy breath. She was perfect to Aragorn, and he hated leaving her.

Aragorn wrapped an around her waist and pulled her closer. She shifted in his arms a moment before her body settled and she exhaled comfortably. It didn't take long for the rhythmic thumping of her heart and the release of her breath to lull him and coax him into the hypnotic waves of sleep that he so easily fell prey to in that beautiful moment...

(Time skip)

The sky was pale and dusky blue. The sun had not yet risen over the mountains to the east, and the land was silent with the first morning calm. No one stirred in their beds, no one was clanging around shops or bussing themselves around the city.

The only wakeful people in this early dawn were the small caravan of horses that waited to accompany Evelyn's husband to Edoras. Aragorn sat upon a handsome stallion called Beren - which was roughly translated to 'bold' in Sindarian -. The stallion was dark, a white diamond on its forehead and a rich brown mane.

Evelyn sat astride her own horse, a young stallion she called Eleanor. Her blonde hair was thrown over her left shoulder which was spotted with auburn and white patches in her silky pelt.

Evelyn always rode him a mile out into the grass lands where she would have time to possess the fact, she would have to be apart from Aragorn for another week. It was hard. He always had to work, and oversee important decisions. Evelyn knew it was for the good of Gondor and that he'd get out of it if he could; so, his frequent absence was not knew to her, but it wasn't expected either.

Aragorn urged his horse into a trot, and the others followed suit. The sound of hooves on the flagstones seemed to echo across the city streets, and it resonated in Evelyn's ears.

Evelyn rode on in silence, but Aragorn never left her side. She wore her brown curls lose today, with a single lock from each side of her head pulled back and clasped with a silver bead at the back of her head; the purpose for this was to keep the smaller hairs out of her amber-brown eyes.

She wore a dark blue dress with silver stays and small white vines embroidered onto the hem of her skirts. Her back was covered by a brown cloak that tied in front of her chest with a silver clasp that resembled the fans on Aragorn's crown which was nestled atop his dark brown hair.

"Do not be troubled, meleth nín." Aragorn said softly to Evelyn and leaned over to her on the back of his horse and lifted her chin gently with his soft - yet calloused - hand.

Evelyn smiled softly and spoke in elvish; for she knew the guards would not understand her, and therefore, she could speak freely. "Orthach 'uren ir tirach enni." She whispered softly; her voice drifting along with the cool morning air.

Her words translated to 'You lift up my heart when you look at me' and was a beautiful term of endearment she spoke in the elegant language of the elves.

It didn't take long for them to reach the one-mile marker where she always stopped and Evelyn looked at Aragorn, almost breaking her emotionless facade to plead with him, beg him not to go. But it took every ounce of her strength to lean across the back of Eleanor and meet Aragorn's lips in a last goodbye.

Warmth spread through her body, but it was soon stolen away by the bitter hand of time as Aragon bid her a heartfelt farewell and urged his horse and small company onward. It hurt to watch him go, just as it hurt every time.

Evelyn couldn't wait till he was out of sight to return to her duties as queen of Minas Tirith, and she turned Eleanor back towards the white city which was touched with the golden dawn-light. Eleanor carried her across the grassy plains, and forwards to the white city.

(Small time skip)

It hadn't been more than an hour since they had departed from Minas Tirith, and less than thirty minutes since Evelyn parted from Aragorn when she rode towards her city, her mare slowed to a trot, and her brown hair was tossed widely about her.

"I have the upmost faith in him." Evelyn spoke aloud to her horse as she sauntered towards the city. She said this to not only to bring ease to her steed - who was anxious for her rider - but herself. Evelyn knew Aragorn was capable of anything, but she still worried for him.

The whiney of a distant horse found Evelyn's ears on the wind. At first, she thought nothing of it, but she began to hear hoof beats and nickering. Evelyn slowed Eleanor to a halt, and turned her head about, searching the vast plains for the source of the sounds.

Her eyes passed over the grass lands and focused on a black shape moving towards her. Horses and riders. They had come from nowhere, but there they were now; plain as day. Six riders and six bulky horses ranging from black to cinnamon in coloring.

Evelyn had seen riders in the valley before, and it was usually people returning from trade routes, new traders from other lands. They played host to new arrivals many times before, and Evelyn was always egger to help someone in need.

Eleanor and Evelyn stayed put as the horses and riders drew closer by the second until Evelyn could make out the faces on the riders. They were all male, and all human. The man at the head of the group was tanned from years under the sweltering sun, with black hair under a large grey hood. His face was edged with a short beard which had strands of salt and pepper that accented his dark hair.

The second rider on his right was toned similarly with dirty blonde hair that was braided backwards to the nape of his neck and his face was covered with stubble.

The third rider on the left was darker skinned, a long and jagged scar across one eye with brown hair and a brown beard that was trimmed short.

The fourth rider and fifth riders were both brunets, with paler skin than then the first riders. One seemed to be missing an arm, and the other had half of his head marred with burn-scars.

The fifth was red haired, with freckles all over his pale and splotched face, his ears were decorated with golden rings and his eyes were slender and a shocking shade of green.

It was unsettling, and mildly intimidating to see six men ride towards her, and Evelyn shifted uncomfortably in her saddle as the men began to slow their horses down and trot slowly towards her.

"My lady." The gravelly voice that slithered though the air belonged to the first rider. His tone of voice was slow and sort of handsome, but Evelyn loved the voice of her Aragorn more than this.

"Good morning. My companions and I need place to rest and restock our provisions." The man spoke in an educated manner and he bowed his head humbly in Evelyn's direction.

She was stunned for a moment but she quickly spoke, "Good morning. You shall find comfort here, good men." She spoke, and extended her hand to the white city. "Please allow me to escort you to the gate." She couldn't curb the strange feeling that began to bubble in her stomach as the men introduced themselves.

"My men call me Alvar." The leader of the group spoke and gestured to his men with a sweeping gesture or his thick and meaty hand.

"And where are you coming from, Sir Alvar?" Evelyn asked and urged Eleanor forward, going once more towards the gates.

"We come from Rohan, my Lady." Alvar spoke in a stick accent, riding alongside her. Eleanor was uneasy when she looked back and saw the rest of the men following closely and silently. None of them spoke or even took their eyes off her back.

"Rohan? By chance, do you come from Edoras?" Evelyn asked, her eyes darting between the men and Alvar. Her stomach was churning and her instincts screamed at her to get away from these men, but she saw they needed help, and she could not ignore that.

"You've got the intuition of one of the Istari." Alvar said, smirking seductively at Evelyn who seemed to shrink in her saddle. She quickly brushed off the anxiety that shook her, and straightened up in a regal fashion, and held her head high.

"That compliment falls flat, for I will not be doted on by a stranger." Evelyn said blatantly, and looked ahead to the massive gate that would open into the city of Minas Tirith.

"Forgive me, my lady. I didn't take you for a woman of such brazen words." Evelyn turned back to face Alvar with a retort ready.

A hand was slammed over her mouth and another wrapped around her waist in seconds. Evelyn yelped in shock, but her cries were swallowed by the leather glove that was pressed to her face, suffocating her.

Evelyn failed her arms about as she was pulled from her reeling horse into the chest of Alvar who wrapped his arms around her body, squeezing her ribs tightly - robbing her of oxygen - and hashing her harshly as Eleanor took off running, reeling away from the white city and taking off into the grass lands.

Evelyn felt a minor sting of betrayal from the actions of her loyal steed, and she grabbed at the arms of Alvar, trying to pry his arms off her mouth so she could call out to the gate guards. She was unprepared; no sword or weapon of any kind. She was growing dizzy with the lack of oxygen and the constricting arm around her chest shot pain up her body as Alvar sat there, looking stoic.

"Barack, Kelfir." Alvar grunted as Evelyn's struggles slowed and her body went slack against his. "Go to the citadel, we continue with our plan tonight." Alvar said and let go of Evelyn, who was trapped between his arms as he took hold of the reins again.

"Aye." Barack - the blonde with the braided hair - nodded towards Alvar as a form of respect and urged his cinnamon hued stallion onward - followed by the man with the scar ridden face - the two of them riding to the gates while the other four turned their horses back the way they had come, and rode off, taking Evelyn - queen of Gondor - with them...

(Time skip)

Evelyn's brown eyes fluttered open, her body burned with exhaustion, and her head ached as though it had been smashed in. She tried to focus on her surroundings, taking in the purple twilight sky, dappled with the shining stars of the cosmos.

She was on the ground, laying against a stiff clump of dried grass. She could see golden firelight against the grass in front of her, and her darkened silhouette stretched out over the cracked dry ground.

She grunted in pain as she tried to push herself up, but her wrists burned and he managed to look far enough over her shoulder to see her hands tied behind her back with a crude piece of rope. Her legs were bound as well, and her hair stuck out every which way with blades of grass sticking out of her curls.

It all came rushing back. She remembered being grabbed and pulled off her horse, being smothered by leather gloves and unable to breathe. She'd been pulled under the glassy surface of the obsidian sea of unconsciousness, and the day had turned to night by the time she now awoke.

Her eyes lifted from her tied hands to the fire that was crackling a few feet away from her. She could see it reflecting off the eyes of four of the men she had attempted to help. So much for gratitude and a mild week.

She saw the man Alvar, smirking darkly at her with malicious intentions dancing behind his eyes in a deranged state of mind. Two of his men were missing from the group. The blonde and the dark-skinned man with the jagged scar across his face.

"Good evening, my lady." Alvar drew out his sentence as his hand shifted. Something caught the firelight and Evelyn's heart leapt into her chest at the sight of the crude knife in Alvar's hands.

"What do you want with me?" She asked bravely, though her voice betrayed her fear that threatened to suffocate her as it welled in her throat.

Alvar stood and his grey hood slid off his head and pooled around his broad shoulders. "I thought I'd be obvious at this point, honestly." He smirked and walked around the stone ringed campfire to kneel beside her, hands on his knees. "I am kidnapping you, Queen Evelyn."

Evelyn's heart pounded in her chest like a caged bird. The knife was gripped tightly in Alvar's hands and he looked from her stone cold face to the knife and chuckled darkly.

"Oh, the knife." He held it up, and Evelyn shifted out of pure instinct. "I'm not planning on using it... yet." He added, reveling in the fear that flickered in her amber-brown eyes that shone golden in the fire light, his enormous shadow covering half her face and the rest of her body.

Alvar stood, grabbing Evelyn by the hair at the back of her neck and pulling her up wit him until she was sitting on her knees - hands behind her back, which was stiff as a board -. She couldn't help but feel angry at her vulnerability, wishing she had her own sword at her hip once again.

"You won't get away with whatever you have planned." She said boldly. "The white city didn't fall under the siege of ten thousand orcs, and it will not fall to a band of horsemen." She spat and Alvar's face hardened momentarily before even drew in a deep breath. His knuckles were white from the intensity of his clenched fists, and his bushy brows furrowed angrily.

"You're right, Queen Evelyn; the white city will not fall. However, the white city will be under new rule once the right corrections have been made." Alvar spoke and sheathed the knife and hung it on his belt beside his broad sword.

Evelyn had a million questions swirling around her head, but she dared not ask them. They clearly wanted her to fear them, and they wanted her to know that their intentions - as wicked as they were - were achievable. This scared Evelyn, seeing as they were so confident that six horsemen would bring the white city to it's knees when legions upon legions of orcs could not.

She would have to stay silent, stay passive if she wanted to stay alive. If they wanted her dead, she would not be breathing at that very moment. They needed her, most likely for ransom, or as a bargaining chip. Either way, she was vital to their plan. She was easily disposable in her defenseless state, but they were not going to harm her yet, and that meant there was a chance everything would be perfectly fine...

(Time skip)

Aragorn's horse carried him up to the great hall of Edoras. People looked at him in awe as he rode up to the steps and swiftly dismounted. His black cloak drifted in the breeze as he walked up the steps - accompanied by four guards -.

He'd been called here for a council, and according to the letter he had received, it was urgent.

His leather boots padded silently as he walked up to the grand doors that lead into the hall of Edoras, where Éowyn and Éomer sat in throne. The guards at the great door looked from one another, looking for confirmation in one another's eyes as Aragorn and his company approached them.

"My lord Aragorn." One of the guards spoke. He was young, red-haired, blue eyed, skinny. "You come unannounced to the hall of Edoras. Please state your business... sir?" The young guard stuttered, unsure of the practiced lines.

This troubled Aragorn, making his brow crease with worry, but he spoke all the same. "I come at the behest of Éomer and Éowyn. I received word that there was to be a council. I have come in friendship." Aragorn said regally, and the guards exchanged chances once again before the red-haired guard nodded slowly and they took the brass handles of the doors and pulled them aside.

Aragorn knew this hall well, as he had taken shelter here more than once during the battle of the ring. The hall was alight with golden flame flickering on the candles that sat upon small pedestals atop wooden chandeliers.

Were once a single throne had been, now sat two. Éowyn was queen of Edoras, while Éomer sat in throne as her second in command. The two siblings sat on their thrones now. Éowyn straightened up at the sight of Aragorn and she stood quickly, stepping down from her throne and walking briskly towards Aragorn, meeting him in the middle of the hall.

Her golden hair was pulled back in its usual style. She wore a russet colored dress with golden embroidery and a circlet atop her waves of flaxen tresses.

"My lord Aragorn. How wonderful to see you again." She spoke in her silvery voice, a smile on her lips as she took his hand in a friendly gesture. "What sits ill with you?" She asked as her brows furrowed and her lips turned downwards in a worried expression.

Aragorn's worry deepened as he heard this. "I received word that you - my lady - wished my presence on a council." Aragorn spoke, but his tone was thick with anxiety and his head swam with a dozen questions.

Éowyn turned to look at her brother who also stood and walked toward the two. "My lord Aragorn. No message signed by our hands or bearing our seal has left this kingdom since our last council." Éomer spoke with an inquisitive hint in his tone.

This wasn't possible. The kings seal of Edoras had been stamped onto a scroll of yellowed parchment. Éomer's signature placed on the bottom corner in bold lettering. Aragorn dug into his cloak pockets and retrieved the scroll and passed it to Éomer who looked at it with surprise and even anger in his gaze.

"This is a forgery, done by a skilled hand." Éomer grunted as he looked over the letter. "Someone who has seen my signature before." Éomer passed the scroll back to Aragorn and nodded at him.

"We'll have to investigate." Éowyn said, looking briefly at the letter as it passed from her brother's hand to Aragorn's once more. "We must act quickly." She said as she gathered her russet colored skirts and walked off, her shoes making soft clattering sounds as they clicked across the stone floors.

Éomer and Aragorn followed quickly, keeping in step behind the Queen of Edoras as they marched down a hall and towards a staircase.

(Small time skip)

Aragorn, Éowyn and Éomer stood facing a man who sat in a stubby stool and a handful of apprentices. This was the man who wrote up proclamation and letters for the king and queen, before he had them looked over and signed by either the former or the latter.

The man was old, with white hair, a crooked back with thin arms and legs. His brown eyes blinked nervously up at the three royal figures before him as he wrung his well worked hands.

"Your majesties, I did not write this." He said as he looked over the letter on the table before him once more. "I was uninformed that these was to be a council. Would you have me send one to King Bain of Dale?" The man asked. There was no lie in his kind eyes, and much honesty in his tone.

Aragorn didn't find his interest in the older man, however, his eyes found themselves scanning the four apprentices. There were three boys and a girl. His eyes drifted slowly from one to another, scanning their features as she sifted through the emotions on their faces, looking for one in particular. Guilt.

The girl was a little older than her twenties with shoulder length straw colored locks that fizzled around her rounded face. Her cheek was smudged with black ink under her bright hazel eyes, and her hands had several stains upon them as well. Her expression read concern for her master, worried he would be accused of something she was sure he had not done.

Aragorn turned his gaze to the first boy. He was young, only a teenager. His hair was ash brown, with brown eyes and a pointed face that was painted with the youthful blush. He was thin as a twig with a cotton shirt stained horribly as if he was so clumsy as to spill more than one inkwell on his shirt and too poor to buy another he could risk dirtying.

The second boy was older, his body was much more muscular than the other three. His hands were large and rough. He had tanned skin with white scars on his knuckles. His hair was ash brown, and cut shorter than most. He was not as ink-stained as the others, and he had obviously been a farmer before this new job. It was plainly clear by the sloppy scrawl on the parchment he sat before, his hand poised above the inkwell with a white quill in hand.

The third boy was of medium build with blonde hair, blue eyes and just above the age of seventeen. His upper lip was shaded with the fuzz of a mustache growing in, and his cloth was poor with holes in the sleeves of his cotton shirt under his brown vest.

Aragorn lost his focus as his eyes trailed back to the first boy. His forehead was touched with sweat and he was blinking rather quickly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard every so often. He was nervous, and his eyes read guilt.

"It's yours, isn't it?" Aragorn spoke and everyone turned to look at him as he locked eyes with the young boy. "You wrote the letter." The boy's face blanched as everyone looked from Aragorn to him.

"Riley?" Their master spoke, "did you write this false calling?" The boy he addressed as Riley began to shake and his eyes shone with unshed tears as he collapsed on his knees, choking.

"I'm sorry!" He croaked, "they told me that if I did as they asked I'd have enough money to support my young wife and son." The boy cried, and everyone looked at him in utter shock.

"Who asked you to do this?" Éomer asked sharply.

The other looked up at Éomer with teary eyes and a water stained face. "He calls himself Alvar, but his men often address him as Requiem." The man shook. Éomer nodded to one of the guards and he advanced on the boy who didn't flee nor struggle.

There was a distant shout and everyone lifted their heads to the sound. A couple of men were shouting and there came the frantic cries of a frightened horse.

Aragorn turned back to the staircase and quickly ascended the stairs, taking them two at a time. He rushed through the hall until he burst out into the sunlight. A pinto mare was bucking and reeling as people approached her. Aragorn's heart dropped as he recognized the frantic mare and the saddle that sat upon her back.

Aragorn was starting at Eleanor, Evelyn's horse. Something had gone terribly wrong...

(Time skip)

Evelyn didn't dare to move as she watched as the men around her ate and prepared to move out once more. Alvar knelt beside her, a spoon of something hot in his hand. Evelyn didn't brake contact from his hooded eyes as he poked at her mouth with the hot spoon.

"Anyone in your position would be desperate for their last meal." Alvar grumbled and set the spoon back in the tin bowl before he passed it off to one of his men.

Evelyn had listened carefully and gathered their names, trying to find a connection to them and the throne of Gondor. It was alarming to see their surety as they spoke of what they'd do once Minas Tirith was theirs.

A man called Jackal was missing an arm, and he made a point of showing off his skill with a blade by skinning and cleaning a rabbit they'd caught. This was so she would be intimated by each and every one of them.

The man with the burns across his face was referred to was Monty, who used an ebony wood bow with long silver made arrows.

The red head was Clinton but he never spoke a word, and only made his point by signing to his companions with his crooked fingers. Evelyn guessed he was mute; either from birth or from a more gruesome event. Evelyn knew in some places, mutiny or assassination was punishable by the removal of one's tongue.

Evelyn shuddered and Alvar smirked at her before he dragged her to her feet. She'd never once closed her eyes for longer than a blink during the night and now suffered the consequences. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles and her body felt weak and stiff from laying on the hard ground all night.

"If it was my last meal, I would be desperate, but this is obviously far from my last." Evelyn said bitterly, and Alvar scoffed at her, shaking his head.

"You know," he started, running a hand through his dark hair. "I watched as your king, Aragorn, said goodbye to you." Evelyn's heart thundered in her chest. "He looked at you like you were his whole world." Evelyn watched as Alvar stepped around her, his presence constricting on her body like a snake around a terrified mouse.

Alvar bent down behind Evelyn to clap a large hand on her shoulder and whisper in her hear, "I used to look at someone like that too." Evelyn turned her head to look Alvar in the eyes. In the reflection of his dark eyes she could see herself - small, defenseless, pale as a ghost -.

"Your-" Evelyn started; attempting to connect the dots that were strewn about her like dew drops on a spiders' web.

"My son." Alvar spoke and stood once again, this time looking down at her with faded loss that ghosted across his glassy eyes. "I named him Regar. He was young when he first took up the mantle of our... family business." Alvar smirked to himself.

Evelyn drew in deep and even breaths to slow her pounding heart. "What happened to him?" Evelyn dared to ask, looking timidly up at Alvar; she was completely aware that she was at his mercy.

The slap came faster than she'd thought. Alvar's hand shot through the air and struck her across the face. Evelyn's head whipped to the side and her cheek burned like she'd been stung by hot coals. Her mouth hung open as anger burned at her throat as she whipped her head back to stare at Alvar angrily.

Alvar straightened himself up and drew in deep breaths to calm himself. "I could brake you." He snarled harshly. "I could kill you now, watch as you bled out like a stuck pig; Then I'd deliver your body to the white city, leave you dead at the gate and await news of the king." He said, grabbing Evelyn by the collar and yanking her to her feet.

"But you haven't." Evelyn found herself snapping, glaring with an intense ferocity in her brown eyes. "You haven't killed me because you need me." Alvar set her down, letting her wobble on her feet, chucking to himself.

"No, I haven't yet." He said and put a hand to the sheath of his sword. "But when I do, it will be slow. You will be in more excruciating pain than you could ever imagine."

With that, the man called Monty grabbed Evelyn and held her firmly as Alvar mounted his black horse, and beckoned for Monty to place her on the back of the horse behind him. Evelyn struggled as Monty held her in place while the red-haired man - Clinton - tied a length of rope around her body, strapping her to Alvar's back.

Evelyn looked around, no longer seeing the white city and its glistening pearl towers. She was far from home now, pulled into an adventure she did not want. Her body shook as the horse began to make its way west.

She didn't know how Aragorn would find her, and she knew by the time he returned their tracks would be washed away by the winds of time. It was in that moment of fear that Evelyn looked down at the rushing grown below her, and thought of the one of the thing she'd miss most about Aragorn if she never saw him again.

There were too many things of which to chose from, but Evelyn thought back to the thing she first noticed when it came to Aragorn. His eyes. His eyes were blue as the sky which hues of cobalt and silver weaving into the mass of color, a tapestry of color and unyielding devotion that swam within the whirlpools of his eyes.

She needed to see his eyes one more time, and at the same time she feared she might. What if the reason they kept her alive so long was because they wanted Aragorn to see her eyes full of fear before they killed her.

"Tego ven i Melain am mand." She whispered to herself and allowed the ember of her anger fester and burn inside her body. She was not going to let anyone hurt Aragorn though her.

"May the Valar lead us to safety." She repeated her plea in the common tongue; so quiet that the pounding hooves drowned out her words...

(Time skip)

Aragorn felt as though every ounce of air in his lungs had been stolen away. He didn't waste a second to stare at the frantic mare to know something was wrong. Evelyn was in trouble; Eleanor would never have left her rider's side

Aragorn mounted his horse and rode out of Edoras with the shouts of his own guards and Éomer son of Éomund at his back. He tore through the city and had been riding for nearly two hours straight. There was a pass in the mountains that lay ahead, a straight shot into the realm of Gondor.

His brown hair flew about his shoulders as her urged his steed onward with Sindarian commands. He jabbed his boot heals into the side of his horse, eyes fixed on the pass. His thought never strayed from the dozens of possibilities.

She could be dead, assassinated in the middle of the night after he'd left. He couldn't help himself from seeing dramatic images of Evelyn, his queen, dropped across their bed as white sheets soaked up her crimson blood. He could imagine gouges in her body, dug through with crude knives, and his body began to seize like a rusted machine.

He could see a million versions of her mangled body, torn to shreds by orcs or wild animals. He could see her glassy eyes as she lay pale on the ground, her hair mingled with the dry grasslands.

These ghoulish versions of her plagued his panicked mind as he drew closer to the mountains that were shrouded by a thick layer of mist. As Aragorn drew closer he could hear hoof bests echoing through the passage. It didn't take more than a moment for him to realize that it wasn't his steeds.

Aragorn slowed his horse to a halt and stared intently through the dark. His blue eyes searched the fog ridden passage and his heart beat accelerated to impossible speeds. His heart was in his throat, and it felt as though it would explode.

He stayed still as the hoof bests stopped, and he heard muffled shouting. He recognized the grunts and yelps. The sounds of struggling were coming from an unbearably familiar mouth.

Aragorn dismounted his horse, abandoning it on the rode. He didn't know how he knew it was Evelyn. He knew it could have been a figment of his overactive imagination, but when it came to Evelyn, he sparred no expense when it came to her safety. He didn't know how he would ever leave their city again if she never returned with him.

Aragorn stepped quietly to the side of the road, unclipping his black cloak from his shoulders. He usually wore the same attire as he had on the journey from Rivendell with Frodo Baggins, only now it was clean, and patched up nicely.

Aragorn had a hand on Andúril - which would never leave his side out of habit - and his blue eyes scanned the foggy path ahead as he slunk about.

He crept across the stone ground like a spindly spider; inching ever closer to the sounds of struggle and he listened intently. He placed a hand on the ground so that me might better gauge the distance between the unknown captors and his wife.

"What are you doing? Hold her down!" Someone barked. Aragorn's blood rolled to a boil as the thought of someone hurting his beloved Evelyn to get to him and his throne made him sick.

"Ah! Crap, the queen can bite!" Someone cursed and there was a brief sound of splattering.

Aragorn inched around the rocky terrain, crouching between borders and indents inches mountain walls that cut the path into a narrow slit between the mountains. He could feel his heart beating like a drum as the early morning sunlight burned away at the fog, until he could just make out the people camped in the middle of the road. They obviously hadn't heard him coming and he had the perfect view from his spot - crouched beside a large bolder. He counted four men, four horses and a small figure standing proudly in the fog.

"Gerich thû sui orch!" He heard the defiant voice of Evelyn snap. The men had no clue what she was saying and therefore, they did not care. They completely missed the fact that she had just told them that they smelled like an orc.

A small smiled snuck onto Aragorn's lips at the thought of his wife shouting insults and profanities at these men the whole time he'd been missing and they hadn't known a word of which she spoke.

There was a page of anxiety that rung through his chest as the largest man of the group turned to Evelyn, his burly figure dwarfing her completely, but Evelyn didn't move an inch. She stood her ground and held her head high, like the queen he knew she was.

There was a glint of something silver that was pressed right up against Evelyn's abdomen and Aragorn felt sick. This man had a blade to her stomach in a threatening motion.

"It has come to my attention, dear Evelyn, that perhaps you have been cursing us behind the guise of a different tongue." The man said. His voice was deep and velvety, but his tone was rough, and his intentions cruel.

"Perhaps don't call me that." Evelyn challenged and narrowed her amber-brown eyes as her wild curls twisted in the hot breath that the horrid man breathed onto her face. The slight crinkle that appeared on her nose hinted to the fact that the man's breath stunk, and Evelyn wanted desperately to tell him that in the common tongue.

"Don't call you what?" The man said as the knife pressed into her stomach a little more, it wouldn't be hard enough to brake her skin, but it would cause mild discomfort. "Dear?" He purred and Evelyn inched forward and the man's brow creased in confusion as to why she was stepping into the weapon.

Evelyn glared at the man as Aragorn inched about the campsite undetected until he found refuge in a well hidden crevasse in the side of the mountain. He watched there helplessly as his wide continued to challenge the man with her eyes until he grabbed her roughly by the hand and forced her to the ground.

"Don't move." The man said and held up the knife for her to see plainly before he tucked it into his belt.

(Time skip)

Darkness shadowed the lands and the mountain pass was shrouded in darkness before someone dared to start a fire. Evelyn's face seemed to be perpetually fitted in two different emotions since this whole parade had started. Her face either held fierce defiance and anger or it fell completely emotionless and stoic

Her hair was in a matted tangle - with the long golden grass of the plains they had long ago passed, was sticking out in every which way - and her face was smudged with dirt. Her dress was dirtied and at one point had been cut up one side of her leg when she had nearly fallen off the horse. The slit revealed her black trousers beneath for situations like this.

Evelyn usually rode Eleanor in the mornings, and she preferred to have breeches on under her skirts incase of an incident, and partly out of habit.

There was once a time where Evelyn was deprived of clean clothes and a bath for months. She had worn clothes that were fit for a man, not a lady like herself. All her life, people had ignored her and thought her worthless, but now a stranger's plan depended on her presence and she would not be ignored.

A small fire crackled and ate away the kindling and full they fed the tongues of orange and yellow flame. The smell of sausages and beans filled the air and made Evelyn sick to her stomach. Evelyn hadn't eaten for three days since she had been kidnapped and held hostage, and now the smell of such food made her sick to her stomach.

She watched as one by one, the men fell into slumber, all except the man called Clinton, the red haired mute as it so happened. The man watched her intensely but he didn't look or feel like the other horrid men.

Clinton just stared at her as if he wasn't allowed to take his eyes off her and Evelyn found herself feeling sorry for this man.

It didn't take long for inspiration to strike at Evelyn and she softened her gaze towards the man. This was the first time a woman had looked at Clinton in such a nice manner that it confused him.

He grew even more confused when the complexity of Evelyn's demeanor shifted even more as she held up her hands and began to sign to Clinton.

(You are Clinton?) She signed with her gentle fingers as they fluttered and wove through the air in a graceful strand of sign language.

Clinton -taken aback by surprise - raised his red eyebrows and nodded slowly, making a quick nod of his head and watched intently as Evelyn smiled at him.

(Do you know why Alvar needs me here, Clinton?) Evelyn signed quickly, and Clinton hesitated before responding.

(Yes, but I won't tell you.) He signed firmly as a stiff expression crossed his face. Evelyn felt her hope falter and she slumped. She was trying to find good in him - as cliché as that sounded -. It was one of Evelyn faults. Sometimes she was too trusting.

Clinton noticed her disappointment and watched as the stoic expression returned t her nice face. He felt guilt wash over his body and he quickly held up his hands again. (But I can show you.) Evelyn's head cooked to the side as Clinton stood and walked over to Alvar's horse and began to rummage through the saddlebag before he fished out the thing he had been looking for.

Kneeling beside her, Clinton held out a compass. It was silver and dull from years of bounding around a pocket full of other things that wore down the shire and scratched up the surface. Clinton handled it for her, and opened the lid so he could display what was inside. There was a small piece of one inside that could be placed on the ground and point northwards. Inside there was a picture, drawn with graphite in a beautifully detailed portrait.

The picture was of a young boy, only twelve by her reckoning. His has was drawn in dark and tousled wildly as if he had just finished playing outside. His eyes were stoic and his face seemed a little too stiff. Portraits were always inaccurate, but this little boy seemed so lifelike.

(This was his son?) Evelyn signed and Clinton nodded as he repeated the last word in her sentence.

(He lost him, two years ago. He fought with the wild men that burned the Westford at Saurman's command.) He said and took the compass and placed it back in the saddlebag. The man turned back to Evelyn and continued to sign. (Regar fought at the battle of helms deep and was killed there. Rumors were the heir of Isildur was there and killed many orcs and wild men.)

Evelyn didn't want to think back to that war, she had lived though it once and she was convinced that was enough.

(Time skip)

Aragorn waited patiently as he watched the shadows of Evelyn's delicate hands danced around in the firelight as she spoke wordlessly to the red-haired beast of a man. Aragorn felt sick at the sight of his wife sitting within a circle of four, large and intimidating men. He didn't no how to pull her out of this. He didn't know ow what they wanted her for. All sorts of nefarious purposes crossed Aragorn's mind and made him sick.

If he made a wrong move or miscalculated his attack, Evelyn would most likely be killed. This thought was so painful that it struck him dumb. He sat - unmoving for hours - as the firelight dwindled and Evelyn lay down. She looked tried and starved to the ring of exhaustion.

The red-haired man never allowed himself to succumb to slumber, and he kept himself upright. If Aragorn could separate him from the others, then there would be one less guard to worry about.

His blue eyes flicked to the ground and he selected a small and rough surfaced stone from the ground at his feet and rolled it between his palms as he measured it's weight.

Without another second of hesitation, Aragorn pulled back his arm, and snapped his wrist forward and the stone went shooting through the air. At first there was only the sound of the crackling fire, and then he heard it - a cascade of gentle clattering in the dark valley of crooked rock and stone -.

The red-haired man looked up from his sleeping captive's face, and stood. He was easily twice as heavy as Aragorn, and a foot taller. His eyes were narrowed as he scanned the path of rocky spires. His eyes were so focused on the path before them, that he didn't notice the shadowy figure that slunk across the pathway behind him.

The red-haired man stalled forward in the dark with a hand on his belt where a sword and several long throwing daggers hung. Aragorn was swift as a panther in the dark as he herded the man farther and farther from his companions.

It was only a manner of seconds in which Aragorn unsheathed Andúril, and lifted it to press the tip to the side of the man's neck. His whole body froze as Aragorn's eyes narrowed at the back of his head. "Put your hands up." He ordered. The man asked and Aragorn slit his belt down the side and watched as his weapons slunk to the ground silently.

Aragorn pressed the tip into the man's back and felt a wave of guilt wash through him. Evelyn had spoken politely to this man who had aided the leader of the group in abduction. This man had abducted his wife and dragged her here into the dark valley where they would most likely have killed her.

"Go. Keep walking and don't turn back." Aragorn growled and pressed the tip of his sword into the leather vest of the man who turned back halfway to him and began to sign with his hands.

(Let me take my horse, and it will look more like a betrayal than an escape.) Aragorn didn't know why this man would go so far as to suggest such a thing until he took up signing once more. (I like her, she was nice to me." He said and pointed back to the camp and opened his mouth to point to the space where a tongue should have been.

"He cut out you tongue?" Aragorn asked incredulously. The man nodded.

(Cut out my tongue and others.) He said and Aragorn lifted his sword a little. He was unsure of this, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Evelyn would have turned this man lose herself. She was kind in that way that she always looked for the better person inside such misguided souls.

Aragorn hesitated a moment before he nodded his head towards the campsite behind them and flicked his sword at the man to signify that he wanted him to move with haste. The red-haired man did as asked and he set a bag atop his large stallion and after he walked it a fair distance from the camp - past Aragorn - he mounted his steed and urged it onwards with an urgency.

Aragorn could act now; slip back into their campsite, awake Evelyn and rescue her. He knew that if he was quick and quiet, that it could be accomplished with ease.

His heart exploded with anxiety in his chest and it sent a shudder through his body as he slowed himself to walk calmly into the campsite. His boots tread silently over the dry and cracked ground, eyes fixed in the camp as he turned around the bend. Three, three men were left guarding his Evelyn, and he had a clear shot.

The others would sleep soundly, thinking his footfalls came from their companion - the one who had so readily left them - but Aragorn didn't dare to take a chance. He slunk across the ground as he crept closer to his darling Evelyn.

He knelt beside her as his heart exploded in is chest. He needed to get her out now. Aragorn placed a gentle hand over her mouth and lowered his lips to her ear. "Evelyn." He whispered, his beard tickling her cheek.

Evelyn's eyes snapped open as she began to struggle a moment before looking up and meeting Aragorn's blue eyes. Her body instantly relaxed and she looped her tied hands under her legs so she could put them around his neck. Her eyes were wide and stung with tears.

"Oh by the Valar, Ev." Aragorn whispered as he pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapped around her body tightly. His eyes shone with unshed tears as they burned with emotion that had to be contained for the greater good.

Evelyn's lips were pressed to his shoulder to keep her from crying as her shoulders shook with silent sobs. All the fear, all the doubt has risen up in her throat and began to cloak her like a noose. She was out of danger now that Aragorn was here, as she began to relax.

"Aragorn; king of Gondor, and the heir of Isildur." Aragorn froze stiff as someone could and sharp was pressed to the side of his neck. "Get him up." The voice behind him ordered. Aragorn briefly closed his eyes in frustration as someone gripped his shoulders and pulled him up. Another man grabbed Evelyn to exclaimed in protest.

"Aragorn, wait!" She yelped as someone forced the two apart, and a man pulled Evelyn to his chest in a vice like grip, a small dagger at her neck.

"Wait!" Aragorn shouted and held his hands up, starting in pure fear and shock as the blade pressed into the tender skin of her throat. A thousand possible endings to this situation had run through his head but he wasn't prepared to actually see it.

Aragorn put his hand up as the man walked around his side, staring like a hawk at Aragorn. The an was tall, dark haired with hooded eyes and intentions so dark and horrific danced across them. Recognition jolted through Aragorn's memory as he possess the man's face.

"Alvar, the Requiem of the South." Aragorn breathed and Alvar chuckled, his sword still pointed at Aragorn.

"He remembers!" Alvar boomed, "That's good; otherwise this would be really awkward." Alvar chuckled and side stepped closer to Aragorn. "Your sword, on the ground." Alvar commanded and nodded towards Evelyn. "I don't need to tell you what happens if you misbehave."

Aragorn glowed at the horrid man and unsheathed his sword, letting it slip from his hand and fall to the ground, letting the clang ring out over the stone valley.

"What is this about Alvar?" Aragorn said calmly, starting at the man who had abducted his wife. "Why bring Evelyn into this." Aragorn motioned to his love who was glaring daggers at Alvar with a wild fire raging in her eyes. Her eyes, oh by the Valar, he never thought he'd see those eyes again.

"I think you know. Aragorn, son of Arathorn." Alvar taunted. "You killed him." Alvar's grip on his sword tightened. "I know you killed my son." He hissed.

"I did not kill your son..." Aragorn informed him with a level head. A memory shot though Aragorn's head and he winced with the pain that accompanied it.

Aragorn had seen the boy clinging to the slick stones as rain flooded Helms Deep. Aragorn lunged forward to grab the boy by the hands but he slipped, falling with an agonizing scream into the swarm of orcs and wild men.

"He fell." Aragorn added slowly, closing his eyes as Evelyn hissed with pain as the blade dug slowly into her neck. "Evelyn has nothing to do with this. Let her go." Aragorn sounded strong and kingly, but as he pleaded for his beloved's life, pain and fear was evident in his tone. He had lost so many good people, and he couldn't afford to lose the one person who meant more to him than anyone else in the world.

"Aragorn, if you think for a second I'm leaving here without you, I will kill you." Evelyn's voice rang out strongly as she glared at Aragorn.

"It's alright, Evelyn, just do as they say." Aragorn assured his wife.

"Aragorn." Alvar chuckled darkly, "this is about what you took from me!" Alvar's eyes raged with a fire unleashed upon a city. His fist came down hard on Aragorn's jaw. He stumbled back with a grunt. Blood gushed from a gash on his lip and filled his mouth with the metallic taste of blood.

Evelyn's angry scream was cut short as she choked. Aragorn stared - whipping the blood off his chin - and froze at the sight of Alvar, yanking Evelyn's head back with his sword at her throat. Fear swam in Aragorn's eyes, but Evelyn was stiff and stoic despite the anger that burned in her eyes within the rings of golden brown that made up her mesmerizing irises.

"Alvar..." Aragorn trailed off, holding up his hands. "Your son was on the battlements, fighting alongside massive uruk hi." Aragorn spoke calming as Alvar pressed his sword to Evelyn's throat. "He slipped and fell. I had nothing to do with your son's death..."

Alvar's eyes turned with an emotion Aragorn had not thought he'd see in the eyes of his opponent. "You may be right. But I won't stop..." Alvar lifted his grin and glowed at Aragorn threateningly, "I won't stop until Gondor and Rohan fall." Alvar pulled his sword back, ready to hack it into Evelyn's tender throat.

It was in this moment that something viscous and savage, erupted inside of Aragorn. He grabbed his sword from the ground as everything seemed to slow down. With a roar of anger - and fear for his love - Aragorn's sword connected with Alvar's, and it sliced through the iron like butter. Alvar's whole body jerked back at the force and an entire half of Alvar's blade flew through the air and buried itself into the ground.

Aragorn didn't stop there. There was something almost horrid in his body as he moved, sliding his blade through the neck of the closest rider. Blood splattered across his body and the man fell back; gasping for air as his life fluids drained from the gash in his neck.

There was a shout as Evelyn whipped her head back and slammed her head into the nose of the second captor. She reached back with her tied hands and grabbed his sword, swinging it to deflect a blow from Alvar and his half sword.

"I'll kill you!" Alvar roared and spit splattered over Evelyn's left cheek. With a grimace of digest she swung her sword out and cut Alvar's hand expertly across the back of his hand. He shouted and dropped the sword.

Evelyn pointed her sword at his neck and glared savagely into his eyes. "Not if I kill you first." She breathed, though her voice betrayed the anger in her face. Evelyn had killed before, but could she take this man's life when there was another way?

"Evelyn." A gentle hand slid across Evelyn's shoulders and down her arms; replacing her hands on the sword with his own. Aragorn stuck the sword in the ground and leaved Andúril with Alvar's throat.

"If you kill me, it won't stop." Alvar growled low in his throat, but he made no move to attack. "More people will come, and they'll go for her." Alvar nodded at Evelyn who stood beside a bloodied and dirt smudged Aragorn.

"No they won't." Aragorn said firmly. "I'll always be here to protect her." Aragorn said and Evelyn intertwined her fingers with his.

"You weren't there when I took her." Alvar snarled. "You weren't there then, and you won't be there in the future. Someone will come, and they'll be smart enough to slay her where she stands." Alvar threatened and Aragorn pressed the tip of the blade into his neck, drawing a few droplets of crimson blood.

"Aragorn." Evelyn whispered and put her hands on his chest as she stepped in front of him. "Leave him." She whispered. "He makes empty promises, and lies." She said and turned to look down at Alvar who was glaring up at her with a rage in his eyes that scared Aragorn - a glare with such ferocity that he feared for his love -.

Aragorn lowered the blade but did not let them become defenseless. "Beren!" Aragorn shouted. Evelyn wondered as to why she had not heard his horse approach until now, but there he was, standing tall as he walked in a casual saunter towards them.

"Please get on Beren, meleth nín." Aragorn ordered gently and his eyes never left Alvar.

Evelyn did as she was asked and managed to mount her husband's horse, looking down at him as he kept his eyes on Alvar and walked backwards before he stepped into a stirrup and swung his leg very the side. Evelyn saw the two dead bodies laying in the dirt with blood oozing thickly into the cracked ground like rivers of crimson gore.

"You can't protect her forever." Alvar warned ominously. "Someday someone with accomplish what I have failed to do. Someday you'll walk into your room and find her bleeding out on her bed with her body gutted and torn apart." Alvar snarled, voice growing louder.

Aragorn couldn't take it anymore and he raised his sword to kill this miserable murder, but instead of the glorious decapitation that played out over and over in Aragorn's head, Alvar bent over, starting at the ground. A gasp left his lips as he moved his hand to grip something in his stomach. A dagger was wedged in his skin, just above where his navel should be.

Aragorn looked behind him and saw Evelyn with her tied hands out in front of her, and her eyes were fixed on Alvar. "A day will come from my death, but it is not this day." She said bitterly and Aragorn pressed his back towards her as an invite for her to lean upon him which she happily took up.

Aragorn urged Beren forward, leaving the gasping and groaning Alvar behind. Evelyn was safe...

(Time skip)

It had not been three days since the abduction ordeal. Evelyn had not changed, and she was out on her balcony, yet again, this time she leaned over the railing, for she had faced something far worse than heights. Evelyn of Gondor had faced the death of her beloved, and they had both come out alive.

Evelyn wore a smoky-blue dress. It was long sleeved, since at the waist and the front was open to show off her black trousers and soft leather walking shoes. The train was two feet long and dragged behind her as she walked the halls of Gondor.

The man Aragorn had let go, Clinton - the redhead - had come straight to Gondor and when king and queen had returned, Clinton stood before the gates with the kneeling forms of the two men Alvar had sent into the city. These men had not created any damage, but their intentions were to kill the king if he returned to Gondor.

"Ev?" Aragorn spoke as he walked silently out onto the balcony beside her.

"Hm?" Evelyn hummed in response as she stood straight and turned to face Aragorn.

"Everything alright? He asked worriedly and Evelyn smiled tenderly at him. He was still in edge after the threats of Alvar, but Evelyn was sure that no harm would befall either as them as one or the other were still around.

"Of course." Evelyn whispered and Aragorn set his hands on her waist and pulled her closer to him with a smile.

"Good." He breathed on her face and leaned in to kiss her. Evelyn's eyes fluttered closed as she lifted her chin and met him in the kiss. His lips reverently brushed against hers as he kissed her reverently and passionately. He handled her as if he thought she might brake, even though he knew she was made of iron, and a ferocity unrealized.

"I love you, Evelyn, my love." Aragorn whispered against her lisp and their eyes fluttered open to meet one another.

"And I love you, my Aragorn." Evelyn whispered and sunk into another warm and gentle kiss.

Evelyn was home, home with the one she cared for the most. Evelyn was home with he husband, Aragorn, the king of Gondor.

The sky around them reflected their love in gorgeous tones of pink and blue as the stars began to tuck themselves back into their velvet blanket above. Clouds glowed orange and coral with the rising sun.

This feeling she felt in her chest was more beautiful than any poem or word in the tongues of men or elves could describe. Evelyn was with her one and only husband, Aragorn. And they would be together till the end of all days; and in time, they would walk upon the white shores together, hand in hand. For now, they felt at peace....