Arwen woke out of an exhausted sleep, breathing ragged from the wretched dream she had been having. Fears stemming from the Silent Street, she had been dreaming of the loss of the child and that had become the dark-haired woman with her hands all over her husband. Because of her exhaustion, she had not woken up, and the dream had been longer—she was so sick to her stomach she wanted to vomit. It was impossible; Aragorn had sworn to be with her and her alone no matter what. The words of those former councilmen were wrong—Aragorn would never betray her for another, no matter the reason, no matter if he should. That was the problem in their minds; if she ever let him, she would have to kill herself, very simply put. She could never survive knowing that what they had shared he would share with someone else. If he no longer wanted her, she would die.

She had no idea how long she had been asleep on the divan of the House, but it was dark out and the lamps were lit. After being carried by Mennev to the guesthouse and sleeping through the dinner that Erumar and Enguina had made, she had woken to find her head in Enguina's lap. After a conversation full of tears where Arwen did not admit what had really happened with the councilmen, the two of them had comforted her and told her that she should stay with them, at least until Aragorn returned. It was a kind offer, but there was nothing Arwen wanted more in that moment than to be alone. She wanted to return to the House and cry herself to sleep again, exhausted and in pain. She did not tell them about the pain. First, in her hands. When she curled her hands it felt as though she was stabbing tiny needles into them. Then, in her back. Whenever she moved, it caught terribly. She had abused it both by jarring and by the hours she had spent in one position for far too long.

So she had returned to the House; they had walked her of course, and could barely be convinced to leave. They were worried about her, and she supposed that if it had been the other way around, she would not have left her alone either, afraid of what she might do. But her friends did not understand. If she had been in her right mind today after running from Vändir and Gildion, she would never have gone to Rath Dínen; she would never have been so foolish! She would never go there now; even if she were alive a hundred years from now she did not think she could look upon that place with anything but utter, blinding grief.

But they had gone, and she had obviously slept what little she could. The words, the things that had been haunting her since she left the presence of Vändir and Gildion, were still with her. Was that the only choice she had left? She sat up, fighting the relentless wave of nausea that washed over her, clinging from the dream, and the pain that fired up her spine from her lower back. She reached a trembling hand down over her empty womb, tears filled her eyes again. Was it her lot now to sacrifice her life for Aragorn to have a son? She could not live without him, and if she could not bear him a son to save their kingdom, then she would have to let him…she would have to help him…she would have to convince him…

"No." The word came out of her clenched teeth, nearly a snarl of defiance. She would not sacrifice her love of Aragorn; she could not see him with another, much less convince him to be with another! She would die first, before she could let it happen. That left her with one choice.

Dragging herself to her feet, she stumbled into the kitchen, immediately going to the third cupboard and drawing down the bag of herbs she had purchased from the apothecary. No, no, no…do not do it. The never-ending warning was going through her head, but she shoved it aside. She could not care what her guilt said now; this was one sacrifice Ilúvatar could not call her to make. She was already ashamed of what she had done; what was one more thing to add to her list of wrongs, of hurt that she had brought on herself and others! This was their last chance; this might be the only way for them, the only way for her to bear him a son!

If this was what she had to do, bear this shame for the rest of her days, sacrifice her honor, her dignity to give him what he deserved, then Ilúvatar help her, she would do it. There was nothing more she could do. Yet, what amazed her was that even as she sat in what she felt was defiance of his will, in her heart she still begged him, pleaded with him, that if he could, would he spare her some mercy to let her rely on him again, to help her to find him and trust him again…instead of trying to do all of it alone.

She set the water on and placed a bit more than the correct dose of herbs into her cup, grinding them up to prepare for the tea. There was nothing more to be thought, nothing more to do than this.

Aragorn dismounted Brego directly before the stables, the other two men a moment or so behind him. They were laughing and chattering among themselves, but Aragorn had other things on his mind. A great sense of foreboding had come over him, and it had only grown as he was making his way home. His heart was burdened with a weight that he was carrying that was not his own; he had been quiet on the ride across the Pelennor tonight and had been riding with an urgency his guards did not share. He knew what this weight was; he knew what had happened today, felt agony and grief pierce his heart, and yet he could not go…he could not leave until his duty was finished. He cursed heavily in his head. His duty.

Arwen had been to Fen Hollen today. There was no denying it. He could barely reach her through her pain; he had tried and was denied. It had happened all at once and though he knew what she had done, he could not understand why she had done it. What in all of heaven could have driven her to The Tombs when she knew that going there would only cause to break her? He remembered their journey only too well, and he would never have wanted to repeat it. It had been four years; why would she go there now?

His worry was too much of a burden. He turned to Hildanir just as the man was about to lead his palomino into the stable. "Hildanir, a word, please." Haneth continued forward, but Hildanir drew back.

"Of course, Elessar. What do you need?" When he looked into the King's face, he saw anxiety there that he had not noticed before. "What is the matter?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I can hardly explain, but my heart is heavy. Something has happened while we were—"

"My Lady?" he asked immediately, worry crossing his own features.

"I think so," he replied. Brego nudged him from behind. "Hildanir, if you would take care of Brego, I would be greatly indebted to you. I am needed at home almost immediately." He knew…he just knew…something was happening…something was not right.

"You do not need to ask," he said, reaching out and taking the bay's reins. "Go, my Lord."

"Thank you," he said, and without another word he was headed for the passage between the levels, walking quickly.

It seemed only moments with his long stride before he was standing on the steps before the King's House and opening the front door. He closed the door quietly, ungirded himself and set Andúril on the table.

"Arwen?" he said softly. He knew it was late, but that did not mean she would not know he was here. If he knew her, she would not be sleeping, not after her visit to the Tombs. There was an unfamiliar scent in the air, but he could not place it. Had she been burning something new?

"Arwen," he called a second time.

When he crossed the threshold into the sitting room, his heart somersaulted and dove into his toes. Arwen lay on her side several steps from the divan, her knees pulled up towards her chest, one bandaged hand resting on her stomach. Her other hand, bandaged as well, was wrapped around her throat. Even as he rushed to her side, he could tell she was shaking like a leaf and her skin was flushed, especially along her chest and arms. Kneeling, he noticed that her throat was swollen and her breathing was harsh and inconsistent. Fear coursed through him; he tried to let Ilúvatar take it.

"Arwen!" he called her, trying to get her to respond. She was barely conscious, her eyelids fluttering. He slipped a hand under her neck and tilted her onto her back, making sure her swollen throat remained open, to give her the ability to get a little more air. Her skin was hot, and he took his other hand and pressed it to her forehead; she was feverish. Her breathing had become more pant-like, her chest heaving for breath. "What happened? Arwen!"

Panic, when she did not answer and her breaths began squeaking out of her throat. Ilúvatar, please! What do I do? Help me be calm! Her eyes partially opened in her air-deprived delirium and her lips mouthed his name while he heard it in his head loud and clear.

"Talk to me," he said fervently, and he felt the bandaged hand on her stomach try to grip her own skin as pain crossed her features. She had taken something; this looked like poison to him, and he had a terrifying flashback to her lying in bed, dying after the miscarriage. "Arwen, what did you eat?"

"A…ar…" There were tears in the corners of her eyes, and he knew they were from both pain and fear; he could feel her terror in his mind along with a few disjointed words. I cannot…bre…bag…third…cupb…

Her voice in his head was scattered, just as disconnected as she was but there was a brief, flickering picture of the cupboards. He was so anxious, he never realized that she had never communicated something visually before; perhaps it was because her mind was so distraught and had no other choice. If it did not make this connection, she would die. Her eyes closed and her breathing worsened. He reached over and shoved a pillow beneath her neck, keeping her head tilted back to allow for air.

"Do not panic," he said. "Try to breathe deeply and do not move." His words were so much calmer than he felt, terror rushing through him. Aragorn threw himself to his feet. Rushing faster than he could think about what he was doing, he was in the kitchen, trashing through the cupboards until he found a strange bag in the third one—hidden? —in the back. He shoved it under his arm and hurried back into the sitting room. As soon as he reached her, he scooped her up from the floor, her breath squeaking out in pain.

"Arwen, stay with me," he urged her, and there could have been no denying the panic in his voice. He had no time to be gentle, no time to yank on his boots, or think about the state in which he was leaving the House. He thrust the door open and bolted down the stairs, running towards the sixth level and the Houses of Healing. He needed the Healers; in his desperation, he had no idea what he was doing, could not think of anything except her safety, the thought that he might lose her. Her head was hanging back off his arm, but she was really struggling now, chest heaving.

"Do not panic," he said. "Breathe deeply!" She was nearly unconscious in his arms.

There were shouts behind him, but he could not respond, barely understood the words. He only had thoughts for one thing. He was at a dead run now, and her erratic pulse frightened him as he reached out desperately for Ilúvatar. She struggled to draw another breath; it stuck in her throat.

"Arwen!" he shouted, and then he burst through the front archway of the Houses and began yelling. "Help! Please, help me!"

The startled Healers converged on him.

Aragorn's eyes were fixated on Arwen's face, his chin resting in his hands, as he just sat watching her take breath after breath. She was no longer struggling; for a moment, when he had nearly collapsed before the Healers, he had thought he was going to lose her. He had never been more terrified, more panic-stricken, than he had been almost an hour ago, holding her limp body in his arms while Talf and the other Healers had worked over her. He could hardly think straight, knowing that if he had been moments later…if he had stayed to untack Brego and not given the job to Hildanir, she would have been dead.

Once he had finally begun to calm down, to slow his own heart rate, he realized that he knew exactly what had been happening to her. He had seen it a few times before, though never quite like this. He had treated several men with severe allergic reactions before, but he had never seen it this bad, and never in an elf…and never had he expected it in his own wife. He lifted one of her hands and held it to his lips before pressing it to his face. Her hands…what had she done to her hands? Hilta had unwrapped them and was appalled at the way they looked. He had not looked at them with purpose until a few moments ago; it had looked as though she had torn the skin from them by scraping. The wounds were relatively fresh, so he could only assume that she had done it today, probably while down the Silent Street. Cladien had finished rewrapping them only moments ago.

Ilúvatar…Father…I almost lost her…I almost lost her…

The words just repeated themselves over and over in his head. He ached from every corner of his body. He reached up and laid a hand on her sweaty forehead—she was still feverish. Talf had said—

"My Lord," Talf said from behind him, and Aragorn straightened a bit, still keeping her hand in his own, but not pressed to his face. "She is out of danger. You need not worry."

"Her face is hot," he said, and he saw Cladien on the other side of Arwen's bed. She reached down herself with cool cloths, laying one over her throat, and as he moved his hand, one on her forehead as well. "Thank you, Cladien." She bowed her head to him.

"It will help," she said, and Talf waved toward the door.

"Please wait outside child," he said, "I must speak with the King. I will call you if you are needed." She went out, and Talf took her place. Aragorn was not taking his eyes from Arwen at the moment, still watching her breast rise and fall. "This was an extreme reaction, but her body is fighting back. The fever is a good sign, to be honest."

Aragorn nodded. "Thank you, Talf."

"The bag that you brought with you. Do you know what it was?" His voice was soft, and Aragorn found that ominous.

"No…it was what she ate or drank though, yes?"

"Yes. It was an herb for grinding into a powder. She drank it, causing the reaction you saw; it is an herb that is toxic and foreign to an Elvish body. If you had not brought her when you did…I should think that she would not be with us right now. You always seem to return at the moment when most hoped for, but least expected. Thank the One."

'What was it?" Aragorn asked, and he did lift his head to look at him. "What was in the sack?"

Talf appeared to hesitate and then frowned. "Vitex agnus-castus…in the common tongue—"

"I…know what it is," he said, his mouth stumbling on the words. Monk's Pepper…Elbereth, Arwen, what were you doing with that? What caused you to…why would you not tell me? Why would you not speak to me first?

"It is not something that she would ever have taken before," Talf said softly, knowing that the news had stunned the King. "Thank the One she did not take more."

"I doubt she would have known its effects," Aragorn said, lowering his eyes. "She would never have had cause to know."

"Her body has been through a tough struggle tonight," Talf said. He hesitated, and then sighed. "I am old, my Lord, and you are experienced in the world. Perhaps it is not my place to say, but it is clear why she was taking the herb."

Aragorn nodded, raising his eyes back to Talf's. "Yes…it is clear. None of this has been easy on her; this burden has laid so heavily on her heart for many years."

"You can be assured of my discretion on this matter, Elessar," he said gently. "This is a sensitive subject, I know; it should be between you both, but…I know of certain incidents that happened before and I…should like to protect her, and you, from such things again."

"I think that these things that you are referring to are already happening, have been happening, for some time," Aragorn said. "That is what brought us here tonight." And our keeping secrets from one another. Oh, Ilúvatar, forgive me! Never again! Aragorn looked back down into her face, stroking her cheek with his fingers. He closed his eyes and then looked up at Talf, his face full of pain. "Master Healer," he murmured, "is…is it possible, that the reason we have not conceived a child…is it possible that I could be to blame? Is there any way possible that I am the reason?" He wanted it to be him, if only to give relief to her troubled heart, if only to remove some of the guilt that she carried.

Talf sighed. "Elessar, you are not young, but for your people you are in the prime of your life. You are a strong, healthy, athletic man. It would be highly unlikely for you to be the cause of any such difficulties. No," he added gently, "it is more likely that, if anything, the Lady Arwen has somehow been troubled by the miscarriage." Before Aragorn could even speak to leap down his throat, Talf continued. "It is also obvious that she is an elf, and therefore, as an elf she was bound to have more difficulty conceiving than a mortal woman. Everything I have ever read about their race indicates this to be so."

"That is true," Aragorn said softly.

"I know that I do not have as much experience treating Elvish maladies as you do, since you grew up among the elves," he continued, "however, as you are asking I must speak my mind. I do not think she is having difficulty conceiving simply because she is an elf. The miscarriage of the child and the poisoning…there is a possibility she might truly be barren. I know it angers you, but you must accept this possibility."

"I will not," he stated firmly. "You are a good man, Talf, a man of medicine and healing; but Ilúvatar is above all bounds that our natural world applies. Therefore will I trust him. Impossible or no, I will trust him alone."

Talf was quiet for a moment. He was unsure what he should say and he clearly looked uncomfortable. "My Lord, if you are standing firm upon this matter, you should at the very least relieve your wife from the burden of bearing you a child. The amount of stress that has been placed upon her—"

"Was never by me!" Aragorn cried, his eyes filled with horror. "Talf, I have never in my life, in all our years of marriage, asked Arwen to give me a child. I would never ask her for something that she cannot control! She is not the one who needs to give us a child."

"She is part of it, Elessar."

"No," he disagreed, "she is the vessel. The child will come through her, as we are one, but the child is given by Ilúvatar. When it is his time, and in his will, we will conceive."

Talf hesitated. "That time may be beyond the count of years you have left, my Lord."

Aragorn leaned forward slightly, his gaze hard. "Then so be it," he said, voice low and firm. It pained his heart to say the words; he knew it would hurt terribly for them to be true, for himself but especially for Arwen. "If it is not in Ilúvatar's will, then we will have no children."

"You need a son, my Lord. The House of Telcontar will end," Talf added.

"I need nothing but her," he said, his hand gripping hers. "I would never betray her heart. Never. It does not matter what or who it would be for, I would not do it." He stared hard at Talf. "Not even for Gondor."

"My Lord," he said softly, "you need to think—"

"You are dismissed, Master Healer," he said, but his voice was not cruel or hard. He returned his eyes to Arwen's face. "I wish to be alone with my wife."

The old Healer sighed, but bowed at the waist. "Cladien will be nearby if you need anything." He turned and was gone.

None of these people understood; not one of them! He had waited nearly his entire life to be wed to her; why would he ever betray that vow for anything? They must all be mad! Mad!

How could this have happened? How had they grown so far apart that they were hiding and keeping secrets from one another? He thought of everything that he had neglected to tell her that had happened, especially his words with Nardur that had come to blows yesterday morning. He could hardy bear to think it, but had Nardur approached her as well? Had he told her that he thought her barren; had he said something that would have caused her to take action like this? He would kill the man.

Why…why would she not talk to him before taking this herb? Why would she not tell him what she had been planning to do? Could it be possible that she had made the decision to take it within the last day and that she had not been planning to do so? Was she so afraid that she could not talk with him? Was she afraid of what he might say; that he might look down upon her for wanting to take action and see if she could solve what she thought to be her problem on her own? How could he discuss this with her? She had nearly killed herself in her desire to increase the possibility of having a child. Was this the grief he had felt from her, that had been weighing on her heart these past nights, causing her nightmares? And how could he have ignored something that was so obviously serious for so long?

He pressed his forehead to the back of her hand, groaning aloud. What a foolish question! They had avoided the conversation because she was afraid and so was he. No matter how much they both individually wanted a child, they did not want to discuss it; her because it hurt so much, him because he did not wish to bring her any more pain. But it would explain so many things: the nightmares, the grief…even the supposed love-making they had two days before. He wondered vaguely, if she was yet in pain. He hoped not; he had not felt that from her today or yesterday…only her great grief.

He thought of Talf's words and his own pain at them; Talf had said that he needed to release Arwen from the burden of bearing him a child. He was still unsure what the man had meant. Did he mean that he needed to tell her that he was unconcerned about it? Or was it that he needed to tell her that he was going to find someone else to bear him a child? Both were untrue. He was concerned about having a child, but that was not Arwen's burden to bear, and he had never made it so. No, it was Ilúvatar's burden to give them a child…in his time. That, as of yet, had been the most difficult burden to bear. Time. He thought of his words to Talf, how the man had encouraged him that an heir was necessary, just as all the others had. Lifting his head, his eyes closed, his pressed his lips to her fingers, again and again.

Father, I cry out to you! Every one of these people would have me be as a King or Steward of old; I do not want to be them! I want to rise above that legacy; I desire to be faithful, not faithless. I do not want to forsake my wife; I want to have faith in you. I will not fall away. I will not fall away; I will be faithful! No matter what comes, I will trust and believe. Even though this road is long and difficult, I will trust you, and I will praise you. If I stood before, when my life was so uncertain, why fall away now? When in my indecision I faltered, yet I remained steadfast, though unsure and lost in the many struggles, dangers, and despairs my life once held. Here, my life is steady; though stressful, there are no perils, yet I am still tested. Will I fall away now? Will I lose my trust in you? No! How could I falter now? Then, when the road was so dark and the shadows followed me, she had such hope in me. She told me I would conquer the evil, defeat it. Can I not be her hope now? Can I not encourage her that will we face this darkness, this shadow…and eventually overcome it? Can you not make me to her now, what she was to me then? I can stand now…with you at my side. I will stand now…and I will not be afraid. You are the shield at my right hand; I cannot be shaken.

He sighed, pressed his lips to her fingers, and then reached a hand up to check her temperature again. When he did, his eyes met hers; they were full of exhaustion, even pain, but she was conscious. He stood and took the place of their hands on the bed beside her, leaving her hand and his in his lap. The other he laid on her face, wiping the sweat from her brow and her temples. He did not speak at first and just held her hand, taking his thumb beneath her eyes as she closed them at his touch. Father…give me the strength to have this talk with her. Give me the words to speak. Help me heal our wounds once and for all; they have festered for far too long. Let me be your hope for her; let me be your peace for her…Sovereign in all things.

"Hello there," he said softly, and her eyes opened. His thumb brushed the corner of her eye; already there was a tear forming there. Her eyes were wet. He raised the same hand to her forehead and turned the cloth over so it would be cool again; she was still warm. "You gave me quite a fright."

She could see the seriousness, the concern in his eyes, even though his words were light. "God…forgive me…" Her voice was rough from the swelling of her throat, from her breath burning in it. It hurt, but not as much as her back at the moment.

"You are still feverish," he said gently. "Talf did not think you would wake for several hours. Are you thirsty?"

She shook her head, unable to take her eyes from his. "I…my back," she whispered. "I need to lie on my side."

She was still in pain then; his heart hurt. Carefully, he helped her turn onto her side; each time her breath caught from the pain it scared the life out of him. He soaked the cloth again and set it on her forehead, tucking her hair back behind her ear in a move so familiar that her lips trembled.

Beloved…talk to me.

I…am…afraid. A huge lump formed in her throat and she could hardly breathe. She had brought this on herself. How could she be honest about everything that had happened, everything she was feeling? Would she have to be honest in order for them to survive this? She had never felt so alone; she was frightened of what might happen, what he would think of her—she should have never acted without him. He was her husband; if she had submitted to him in the beginning, to what she had known he would have said, she would not be in this place, feeling so…so…broken. And perhaps that was the point. Perhaps all of this had been to break her; to bring her to the moment where there was nothing else to rely on than Ilúvatar himself, a place where there was nothing that could be hidden and she was completely exposed. Ilúvatar had let her fail in every way; she had nothing left but him. Even though she felt alone and afraid…for the first time she realized that she was not.

I am not angry with you. He could feel her turmoil; grief, agony, fear, shame; all at war for first place in her head and heart. But they needed to talk, more than anything. His physical caress made her flinch; she was so afraid. "How do you feel?" he asked her gently. He had meant physically, but whatever her answer, he would take it and try to move forward.

She hesitated; she wanted to tell him, needed to tell him, desperately. "I feel…" she began, her voice hoarse from the pressure behind it. "I feel awful." It was whispered as her eyes closed, and it carried every pound of her pain with it. Ilúvatar, save me! Oh, help me Father! Forgive me!

Clearly, she was exhausted and in pain, but he was not about to call for Cladien to bring her tea for relief and let her sleep when they needed to reconcile first. His desire for them to speak the truth to one another could not wait; there was such tension between them that he thought they might explode. The trouble was that he did not know what to say next. It did not make much difference.

Her eyes flooded with tears as she met his gaze, and she felt his thumb brush beneath her eye again, wiping them away before they began to fall. "I feel as though there is a terrible weight on my chest," she said, and as she swallowed hard his hand tightened in hers. "I cannot continue to conceal everything I have from you. If I wait any longer…I will drown in the agony of it."

"I know about the herb," he said gently, thinking that at the moment, it was the only place to begin. "I know what you meant for it to do."

She had been on the edge of tears since she had looked into his face; at those words, she lost the rest of her composure completely. Crying openly, he felt her despair pour through him and he reached for her, gathering her up into his arms carefully and bringing her into his chest where she buried her face into his neck. Her fever, her physical pain, gave way to the comfort he was providing; he could not let her lie there and sob, her chest heaving. He waited, holding her tight until she could find the will to speak. He knew she would if he could be patient; she had to now.

"I wanted to bear you a son!" she gasped brokenly, tears rushing down into his tunic, and he felt her heart stutter for a few beats as her carefully built walls came crashing down, shattering what was left of the protection for her heart. Her whole body shook against him and he staggered beneath the weight of her burden. "I wanted to give you what you deserve; I wanted to give you the child that the people expect from me, that they want for you. I wanted to bear you a son!

"I could see their eyes! The people look upon me and they have been wondering, and then they saw Enguina, and that she was with child…" Her voice stuttered to a stop, but finally, unable to control that pain anymore and able to share it openly with him when he already knew the depth of what she had been feeling, she staggered into the rest of it, chest heaving as she sobbed. "They expected it to be me, us. I had no idea that what I was feeling was jealousy! I could hardly look at her without thinking what they were thinking, without wishing, without praying in desperation, without asking Ilúvatar whywhywhy and I pleaded and begged him and waited for an answer and there was nothing!"

She broke down again, unable to continue, and the depth of what had been happening in her heart struck him. Why had he never made the connection with the increased words of the people and Enguina's pregnancy? Why had he been so foolish as to not make the connection between Arwen's increased nightmares, her pain, her agony, and that Enguina was with child? Oh, he had intensely failed her!

"Ilúvatar had to break me," she choked out. "I have been trying to do this alone when I should have gone to him, come to you and been faithful. I should have waited for his time and been honest but I have been so afraid—"

"Not only you," he whispered, his heart breaking with hers. "I have not been honest with you either. I have been hiding things as you have, words…deeds…I did not want them to hurt you. Oh, what a fool I have been. Forgive me for not seeing you as I should have. Forgive me for not being honest with you from the start!"

"I should have told you!" she wept and felt his arms tighten around her. "I should have prayed with you, but I was afraid of what you would think of me! I hurt…I have been hurting for so long. I thought I could do it; I went to the library, I read things that might help…I tried them and hurt us both!" Guilt and shame poured through their bond as her pain swept over him. "God, I want more than anything to bear you a son! I want you to know the pleasure of being a father; you will be such a good father! You deserve a child, and you deserve a woman who can give you one…who can give you what you have been longing—"

Unable to continue, her words broke off; her trembling worsened and her hands tried to hold onto his arms but they could barely grab between pain and weariness.

"Slow down," he said, taken back by her sudden words. "Arwen, beloved, I have only ever desired you. For the last five and seventy years, there has been a single desire of my heart: to love you as my wife and to share my life with you. I have waited to do this, desired you solely as no man has desired anyone. You are my life, lover of my heart…my very soul." He whispered the words, "The only longing I have is to be with you until the end of my days."

"You cannot say that!" she cried, anguish escaping through her as she tried suddenly to pull back from him. He would not let her, his arms holding fast. "You want a child! I have seen you, prayed with you!"

"I…yes, of course I want children with you," he whispered, his voice as broken as hers. "Beloved, that is true, but children are not the desire of my heart…you are. I need you, and I cannot live without you…and I almost lost you tonight. If we must wait—"

"Have we not waited long enough?" she groaned, sorrow consuming her as she sobbed into his neck. "Have we not suffered enough? Legolas and Enguina—" She hated herself for mentioning them. "—they are having a child…and we…and we…"

"Sometimes…" he pressed his lips into her hair, "Ilúvatar asks us to wait…to wait on his time…"

"It is too hard…with their eyes and their words pressing down on me!" Arwen cried. "It comes at me from all sides; the weight of our loss, the looks, the words of so many, their pity, their accusations, my barrenness—"

"No," he said, struggling as he tried to regain control, "you are not barren. It was nearly five hundred years before Erumar conceived—"

"You do not have five hundred years," she moaned, the burden of their mortality dragging down her heart. She lifted her head and looked into his grey eyes that held unshed tears and tried to be strong for her, the eyes she knew better than her own. "All we have is now…these moments…we are not immortal; we will not live forever." She could hardly get the words out, her own agony and the weight in her chest so heavy she could barely breathe. "We do not have any idea how much time we have left, and you need to have a son."

"What I need is you," he said, pressing his brow against hers.

"Gondor needs you to have an heir," she said, "and you know it. This terrible weight—"

"It is one you are letting them cast upon you," he said firmly. "I have never asked it of you. Damn all of it, Arwen…hang Gondor! If I die with no heir, then I will die with no heir."

"You…" She stuttered over the words, her face a grimace of pain. She could not bear those words, but she could bear the ones coming out of her mouth even less. "You should take someone who can give you—"

"Now, who spoke those words into your mouth?" he said, his voice quiet but not angry. "They are not your own! I would die before I would take someone other than you into my arms. When we pledged ourselves to one another, we swore that we would never share our bodies, our love, with anyone else. Ever."

She swallowed; she could not look into his face. "You are…you are the King…"

"Why should the law be different for a King?" he begged her. "How could I pledge myself to you and take another into my bed, for something that I have trusted to Ilúvatar? It is not you that brings the child, beloved, it is Ilúvatar! We must trust Ilúvatar; we must ask him for this blessing, over and over and over if we must, but we cannot lose faith, we cannot lose trust, we cannot think that trusting to our own strength or the things of this world will bring us the gift, only the Giver! If we cannot trust in Ilúvatar's will in our lives, the one who brought us together, the one that has carried us in every situation, what can we trust? What else is true? Who will be our strength when we have none? No, we are broken to remain steadfast, to be reminded that we have nothing else but his grace and his time. We are here, in this moment, to support one another…we will run no more.

"How quickly you forget my love for you," he whispered brokenly. "I have spoken so many times that I love you more than life, more than anything that could have any power over me…more than the council, my Kingship—"

"Aragorn!" she gasped, crying.

"—Gondor. I would give all of it away…for you, for your love." He tugged one of her hands to his chest. "Listen to my heart, feel it. It beats only for you…ever for you, and you alone. I need you to believe me when I say these words: the only thing that I will ever need in this life is the constancy of your love. Without it, nothing matters…nothing. I am because of you; I live because you breathe. I have trusted him, before we ever made our pledge, with your protection and safety; we trusted him with our hearts when we pledged ourselves to one another in his presence in the moonlight on Cerin Amroth, when we prayed, and then once again on our wedding day and nearly every day thereafter. You and I were joined by Ilúvatar…nothing is going to separate us. Do not forget my love for you."

"I forget because this is insurmountable," she told him, pain still coming from her in waves. "I want you to be a father so terribly. I am worried and frightened—"

"Do not be afraid," he said. "You will never be alone, not in this, not ever."

"I want to remember to trust him," she said, her voice breaking as she felt the constancy of his heartbeat beneath her fingers. "I want to believe your words. I want to believe the words that you spoke to me years ago, that you do not need the child, that you can be…that you can be happy without him…" Tears poured down her face again; she could not stop them. "I want to say that and mean it myself, but I…I want you to be a father! I want it so much!"

"Oh my love, I do, too. I love you…I want you, beloved, more than anything else in the world. You are enough," he said. "Tonight, I almost lost you again. Your desire to give me a child has taken every decision you have made and overthrown it so brutally…your heart is so full of agony, it has been difficult for you to see the truth. You have not thought of what you have been doing to yourself these past two weeks. In my desire to protect you, I have been a most untruthful husband, and I have broken trust with you. I have heard the words and been badgered as you have been these past days. It has been a difficult time of stress for us both." He released her back and held her face, rubbing his thumbs gently along her cheeks to wipe her hot tears away. "We must trust one another again and forgive one another, right our wrongs…and to do this…we must make each other three promises. We must begin somewhere…for the healing to start we must begin again. Three promises."

She swallowed hard, trying to speak through her tears. "Three?" She nodded. Go on.

"First," he said gently, his brow pressed to hers again, "we must pledge to honor one another in love, but also in truth. We must not conceal secrets like these from one another…ever again. We must speak and share about the troubles we feel, and we must rely on one another's strength to heal, even if it hurts to speak of it, even when it is difficult, even when we think it protects another, even when we think we must do it alone. We must conceal nothing from one another; nothing can come between us."

"I swear it," she choked out. I have never felt more grief than when I have not shared a burden with you. I will never do it again.

Nor will I. I will never seek to hide something from you that I think will protect you, and I will never be ignorant of your pain. I will never shut you out of my mind…never shut me out of yours.

I promise.

"There will be no love-making for any reason other than our desire to love one another," he said, and she trembled in her shame, her face hot beneath his hands. He poured compassion and his own guilt into their bond, caressing her face. "I will never, ever hurt you as I did that night, for any reason. We did not make love that night…we had intercourse…"

"I am so sorry," she cried softly.

"I am sorry, too…and I will never simply have intercourse with you again. Ever. You are the lover of my heart; I will not give myself to you for any other reason, nor you to me. We give ourselves to each other physically because we love one another, because we desire one another…not to bring a child into the world, nor to heed someone else's words about how and when and what we should be doing…but because we love one another. Beloved, I pledge to make love with you, every time. You and you alone."

She cried in her shame, but she nodded. God…forgive me. I promise I will make love with you because I love you…for no other reason.

"Finally, we must rely on Ilúvatar to guide us and give us the strength and peace to follow this difficult path he has laid for us. We must rely on one another for strength and guidance; if we begin to fall, we must help one another up. We must remind each other that it is Ilúvatar who we hope in, who we trust always. We cannot be shaken; he is at our right hand. We will let him lead and guide us; we will not take matters into our own hands, but trust him to work his will in his time—even if it is the most difficult and awful path we have to walk, even when it may seem hopeless. We will trust him, always and forever. We will build one another up in love and truth. Coming from brokenness, we can be made whole in him."

I trust him. I trust you. In your hope, Aragorn…I will hope.

"I love you," she gasped. "Forgive me."

"I do," he whispered. "And I love you, more than you can comprehend. Please…never frighten me like that again." He thought of her, sprawled on the floor of the House, unable to breathe. "I beg you, Arwen." He had been more terrified than he cared to admit.

"I will never do anything so foolish again." He kissed her forehead even as her tears still fell.

"You have been in such pain, such grief. Let me take some of it," he whispered. "Please tell me you will never go to Rath Dínen alone again." She shook her head, unable to respond, knowing that he had felt her grief. "Good; I could hardly bear it." He ran his hand down to her lower back and felt the tightness. "You have been in pain all this time. You need heat and tea, and your fever needs lowering." He wiped more sweat from her face along with tears, and she slowly lowered her head to his shoulder again, leaning into him with relief from the warmth of his healing hand.

"My Lady is awake?" came Cladien's soft voice from the doorway. Aragorn turned his head and looked over to her.

"Yes, Cladien, but she needs to rest. Can you prepare some tea for her fever and pain?"

"Her hands, my Lord?"

"She injured her back a day or so ago."

"Of course, my Lord." She was gone, and Aragorn laid his head against hers.

"Forgive me," he said gently, "for hurting you as I did the other night. It was wrong."

"I begged you," she replied. "None of that was you; all of the fault was mine."

"And yet, I should not have listened," he refuted. "I knew you were in pain."

"You tried to stop," she said, and he could hear the exhaustion plain in her voice. "I made you continue, to my…everlasting shame. Ilúvatar meant for me to pay for it; I will never do anything like that again."

"You mean beg?" he asked softly, a lilt in his voice. She had no idea how, after their conversation tonight, the tears, the struggle they had been through for the last several weeks, he could be teasing her. But it felt right, and she gave a little smile and blushed.

"No, sometimes you give me no choice but to beg," she whispered, and her eyes closed, feeling the heat from his hand on her lower back. She sighed softly. "Aragorn—"

"You are exhausted and sore, even ill," he whispered. "You have been through enough tonight. You need to rest and heal."

She did not speak again, but he heard her words in his head.

The comfort of your arms…that is what I need. I need you. As long as I have you… She struggled to say the words, even in his head, even though she did mean them. As long as we have each other, I can survive this…that is the limit of my broken heart.

He knew what she meant. She could face the trials of life if he and Ilúvatar were her rock. When she did not have him, her broken heart would fail. Without him, she would not make it. He tilted his head and pressed his lips to her temple, her hair, and just held her until Cladien's return. It would be through Ilúvatar's time that they would be all right.