Arwen's eyes blinked back into focus as she woke up, alarmed by Aragorn's stirring. Looking over her shoulder, she was surprised to see that it was no trick of her mind, her husband was indeed tossing and turning, obviously caught in a nightmare.

"Aragorn?" she whispered.

The man didn't respond, still lost in the land of dreams. All that was left for Arwen to do was sit up and shake him gently, but firmly.

"Hervenn nín, echuio."*

Aragorn woke up with a light gasp, startled and disoriented. His gaze darted in every direction as though looking for something; but, when he saw Arwen, he let out a soft sigh of relief and relaxed once more.

"Thank you," he murmured, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

The Elven-woman smiled gently, but she also knew she needed more than that if it meant helping out her husband. She ran her fingers tenderly through Aragorn's sweat-dampened hair, offering her comfort the best she could.

"Do you wish to speak of it?"

Aragorn didn't answer at once. Needing the woman's warmth close to him, he placed an arm across her form and then rested his head against her chest to listen to her heartbeat. Arwen couldn't help but softly smile at that, and she returned the embrace in a soothing fashion. She was there for him and she would listen. All he had to do was take his time to find the right words and then simply go ahead and say what was on his mind.

"Do you remember what I told you about Amon Sûl?" Aragorn finally asked.

"I do," Arwen answered. "You were guiding the Hobbits, and the Ringwraiths caught up with you there."

Aragorn nodded. "I was there again, yet there was no sign of Frodo or the others this time. I looked for them, fearing the worst, and I found myself in the middle of the ruins, but there was nothing to be seen. I shouted the Hobbits' names, one by one, yet I did not get an answer back. And then my blood ran cold in my veins and, looking over my shoulder, I saw one of the Wraiths standing a few feet away from me. His sword was already in his hands and he came at me; I only had that much time to unsheathe my own sword and block his attack."

The man's hands clenched into fists as he recalled his dream. Arwen, however, was the epitome of calmness, allowing Aragorn to carry on with his tale.

"We fought for what felt like hours on end, an equal match for the other. A storm started brewing over our heads and then lightning struck hither and thither, though neither of us paid heed to it. Just as our clash got fiercer, lightning struck my sword and made it burst into flames. The red tongues didn't harm my hands, but the Wraith stepped back in apparent fright. Seeing my chance, I smote him with every ounce of strength within me, wielding with the fiery blade.

"A blood-curdling cry filled the air as the Wraith's robes caught fire, yet the Wraith itself made no attempt to flee. It merely writhed in obvious pain before me, its form revealing itself as the robes were consumed to ashes. In the end, I was even able to discern a face… if it could be labelled as such. There was only a pair of sea-green eyes in a frame of transparent white, and… Valar save me, but I knew those eyes, Arwen. The last time I had seen them there was brilliant life in them, and now there was nothing more but sorrow and regret! My heart felt like it came to a stop; everything came to a standstill. And just when I thought I was losing my mind, you woke me up."

Arwen stroked her husband's face gently. "Whose eyes did you see?" she asked.

It took many moments for Aragorn to finally answer, shaking his head. "It is of no matter. It's been a long time since I saw him and he's quite dead."

"Aragorn, everything we see in our dreams is of importance," the Elven-woman pointed out.

"But this dream makes no sense," Aragorn sighed. "Why would I see such a thing, unless…?" He froze, his body tensing. "Unless I am warned against a danger that is yet to come? An evil that will consume everything I care for?"

Arwen shushed him gently. "My love, not all dreams are glimpses to the future. What danger is yet to come when the worst of evils has already been destroyed?"

"Then what could be the meaning of it?"

Arwen sat up, taking Aragorn's hands in her own. "My father told me long ago that dreams are often the mind's way to express our desires, or even things that we fear. Sometimes, however, dreams can also be a way for the mind to sort out memories and knowledge we gain in our lives. And, if there is anything troubling us, the mind still tries to find a solution while we are sleeping, using those memories and knowledge and connecting them to a whole, forming the dream. It is true the mind, working in peculiar ways, connects knowledge and memories quite strangely at times, thus giving the dreams the feeling of the bizarre. Nevertheless, the answer is there. All we have to do is discover the hidden meanings within those dreams."

"And how am I to find those answers?" Aragorn wondered.

"Ah, now we come down to it," Arwen said, a weak smile on her lips. "I am afraid that the only way you can find them is if you find the root of your troubles; whatever it is that caused that dream."

Aragorn pursed his lips thoughtfully, taking Arwen's words under consideration. He wasn't sure how he could find the root of the problem when he wasn't even sure what he was supposed to be looking for. However, he couldn't bow his head in defeat either. Perhaps the solution would be to keep an open mind – and eye – to everything and see where things went.

"I will do as you say," he finally said and looked outside the window. "Arien has arisen. We should get up as well if we're to see to our duties for today."

Arwen smiled mischievously and didn't let him go.

"There is no need to go anywhere for the present," she said softly, stroking Aragorn's cheek tenderly. "The servants know their chores and no urgent matter has come up as of yet." A fleeting kiss teased the Man's lips. "More importantly, no one knows we have woken up yet," she added in a murmur, sealing their lips in another, deeper kiss.

It was such a tantalizing request that Aragorn couldn't find the strength to say no. As a small moan of pleasure flowed out of his lips, he wrapped his arms around Arwen's slim waist and gently laid her down. They were so close now that he could feel her heartbeat close to his…

And then there was a knock at the door.

"Sire? Are you awake? A rider from Rohan has come, saying that he's from Lord Éomer's escort."

The couple groaned as quietly as possible in case they were heard.
"The urgent matters caught up with us," Aragorn said wryly, and he rose reluctantly to get dressed. "Make certain the newcomer feels welcome; I will arrive shortly!" he commanded the servant through the closed door. "And have the rest of you prepared for more visitors! I am certain the scout is here to announce Lord Éomer's arrival in Minas Tirith!"

"Yes, Sire."

The sound of hurried footsteps clearly indicated the servant had left. As for Aragorn, he cast an apologetic glance in Arwen's direction, but the elven-woman wasn't troubled. She merely rose and gave her husband a loving kiss.

"There will be other times," she reassured him. "Now go. I will see you soon enough."

Aragorn nodded and, after caressing his wife's cheek in affection, he walked out, ready to see to his kingly duties once again.

Ceranos woke up and then closed his eyes with a groan as the sunlight hit him directly on the face. He attempted opening his eyes, using his hand as a screen this time, and he dared a peek around. Just when he was about to wonder where he was, his memories caught up with him. He was in Gondor, at the Houses of Healing, where his wound was taken care of by Lord Elessar's orders.

He slowly sat up, using his strong arm as support. He winced as he felt his head heavy and his body more than a little sore, but he didn't let that deter him. He knew perfectly well why he felt tired, despite of his rest; it was part of his fading process. Apparently there was no stopping it anymore…

The faint smell of food cut into his train of thought. His nostrils twitching gently, he turned around and saw to his surprise that on the nightstand was a tray containing a bowl filled with soup and a plate with fruit. A part of the elf felt rather dismayed that he hadn't heard anyone coming in while he was sleeping; elves' senses were supposed to be sharper than that after all. As he still looked at the tray, though, Ceranos couldn't help but sigh. There was no doubt in his mind that the soup and the fruit were quite tasty, but, the truth of the matter was, he didn't feel hungry. In fact, the very idea that he'd have to go through this process of feeding seemed too much.

He pushed the tray a little further away as though to distance himself from it, and then looked around again. Tiredness was slowly getting replaced by restlessness, and he wished to do something about it. Staying within these four walls, powerless, felt too much like he was back in Rhûn now. Did he have the strength to get out of the bed though?

There is only one way to find out.

He placed one foot on the floor, then the other. He didn't much care for the feeling of the cold marble on his skin and, once he got used to the slight chill, he stood up. Reassured and growing more confident, Ceranos then targeted the chair with a set of clothes on it, wishing to see if he now had the vigour to walk. Being extra careful in case he lost his balance or felt dizzy, he walked up to the chair, happy to see that things were not as difficult as he had feared. He felt far from healthy, by all means, but part of his strength was back - for now at least.

Pleased with himself, Ceranos became bolder and decided that, if he were to stay here, as Lord Elessar had suggested to him, he had to learn a thing or two about the place firsthand. So he would venture out of the room and have a look around.

Though a fine plan, there was quite the snag to it, though. Ceranos was certain the healers would never allow him to go too far away, not while he was still recovering. They would return him to the room the instant they saw him.

Do not let yourself be seen then.

He reached for the clothes. There was a shirt, a pair of leggings and boots.

They will suffice, the elf thought with a shrug. As soon as he got dressed, he put the pillows and nightclothes under the sheets in such a way that, if anyone came in, they would think Ceranos was still sleeping. It was a deceit, there was no denying that, but it was necessary if it meant exploring the place without being missed.

With that thought in mind, he opened the door and looked around. Once he deemed that there was no one in the corridor and he had a good chance to make his escape, he walked out. With any luck, he would be back before anyone noticed him.

The soft murmur that had permeated the Great Hall ceased the moment the doors opened and Lord Elessar and Queen Arwen walked in, dressed in their royal clothing. The servants and all the people within watched in admiration at the couple, whispers of approval sounding here and there. Yet no one could realise that, behind the grace that Aragorn and Arwen displayed, there was great anxiety within their hearts; for the scout had said to Lord Elessar that Éomer's escort was only an hour's ride away from Minas Tirith, and so all appropriate preparations had to be done in quite the short notice. What was worse, the guests were, for some reason or other, delayed.

"I am sorry, Arwen," Aragorn whispered so softly that only his wife heard him.

"Whatever for?" Arwen asked in the same tone, clearly puzzled.

"For not welcoming your father as it was fit to the Lord of Imladris. Now these arrangements for Éomer's sake make me feel uncomfortable."

"You welcomed him as a son welcomes his father," Arwen said with a small smile. "Moreover, I am quite certain that he understood it could not be helped. You have told him about Daurir, have you not?"

"Yes, and I believe that you have spoken to your brothers as well. I overheard them conversing with Legolas and Gimli as we were heading here."

"They cannot help but feel curious, like all of us. They even expressed their wish to meet him once he is a bit stronger."

"That will be arranged in due time," Aragorn said.

Just then, the Great Doors opened and one of the guards declared in a loud clear voice, "Éomer King, ruler of Rohan, home of the Horse-lords, and his wife, Queen Lothíriel."

As if right on cue, the King and Queen of Rohan walked, causing everyone to stare in awe. Though Éomer came from blood of less greatness than those of Gondor, the last remnant of the Númenóreans, he walked with a pride and strength that could be seen in few people; whereas Lothíriel's graceful and fair countenance reflected clearly her own Elven heritage, characteristic of all the people of Dol Amroth.

"Welcome, friend Éomer, ally of these lands," Aragorn said in a formal greeting. "Your presence here honours us all."

"The honour is mine, my friend and ally," Éomer answered, bowing his head slightly.

Aragorn, however, clasped a hand on his shoulder. "You need not bow. Though it has been a long time since we have last met, our bonds of allegiance have not worn down."

"No, they have not indeed," Éomer smiled. "Nevertheless, I should apologise for my delay. One of my horse's horseshoes loosened on our way here and I wouldn't discomfit it more than necessary."

"I will have the blacksmith look into it, do not fret," Aragorn said, and he looked in the direction of his head-servant. Nodding his understanding, the latter rushed to carry out his lord's order. "Is everything well in the land of Rohan?" He couldn't help noticing that Éomer's skin was a bit discoloured around the eyes.

"It is now," the young king answered, sensing Aragorn's curiosity. "I will tell you the tale some time, if you wish it."

Aragorn nodded. "You can speak of it during luncheon. The table has already been set and I am certain both you and your wife will appreciate the nourishment after such a long journey."

"Thank you, my friend," Éomer's smiled.

Aragorn smiled back and, with a wave of his hand, dismissed everyone in the court before taking Arwen by the hand to escort her and the newcomers to the dining hall. At that moment, however, a healer burst through the door and approached his lord, agitated.

"My Lord, the Elf you asked us to attend to," he panted in an attempt to speak and catch his breath at the same time, "Is gone."

Aragorn and Arwen exchanged a glance full of worry.

"Have you not looked for him?" Arwen asked the healer.

"We have, my Lady. He's nowhere in the Houses of Healing," answered the healer, distressed.

"Then try searching everywhere else," Aragorn said. "Even out in the streets if it is necessary. He cannot have gone too far away in his condition. Once you locate him and he is safe back into his room, let me know."

"Yes, my Lord." And with that, the healer hurried out again.

It was now Éomer's turn to look at Aragorn puzzled. "Is something amiss?"

"It seems I have my own tale to tell you, my friend," Aragorn answered with a smirk. "Let us go to the dining hall."

TBC…

Footnotes:

*Hervenn nín, echuio: Husband, wake up (Sindarin)

A/n: There is a reason behind that discoloration in Eomer's eyes, but that's another story. I'll set it up once this one's finished.