Author's Note: Thank you so much for those who are reviewing and enjoying this story! I am really glad you like it and you're sticking with it! :O)
Aragorn carried Legolas back into the camp, exhausted and strained with Brego trailing behind him. The elf was nowhere healed as well as he would like, but there was nothing more he could do at the moment. The illness was going to hang over him for a few days, possibly the fever as well. The wounds were still awful, though at least they were clean. It was almost midday, and the fire Gimli had begun had nearly completely burned out, the bodies burned to ash. The dwarf, who was seated near the horses, rose to meet him.
"I wondered where you'd gone!" he said, clearly looking worried. "I mean, I knew it'd make sense when you got back, but—"
"Legolas was burning up, Gimli, and his wounds were many," Aragorn replied. "I am sorry I was gone for so long, but it was necessary. Where are—"
He nodded in their direction. "Over there; Arwen took care of Enguina's wounds as best she could. She's asleep at the moment, I think." He shook his head. "I didn't want to get too close and…well, frighten Enguina." He paled as Aragorn moved to lay Legolas down near the fire. "I was there in Henneth Annûn when she had a nightmare, and…well…I didn't want to frighten her."
"It is all right, Gimli." Aragorn made Legolas comfortable with another blanket and then stood back up. "You should take some rest yourself. How are your fingers?"
"Set," he grunted. "I took care of it already, and wrapped them up. She needs you more than me, and you look like you're about to collapse, boy."
Aragorn smiled at Gimli's use of the word 'boy.' "I will, but I have things to do first. I need to make sure Enguina is all right, and Arwen."
"She's injured pretty bad, cuts from the warg we fought," Gimli stated. "Arwen's not too good herself from what I can see. She might be asleep now; I don't know, but I'll keep an eye on the elf if you like while you're seeing to them." He looked back to Legolas. "How is he, Aragorn? He looked just terrible when we arrived, but we just couldn't get him out. I wish we had…none of this with Enguina would've ever happened."
"Some of his wounds were infected; it has made him very ill. He does need to be watched closely if you want something to do instead of sleeping." He gave the dwarf a smile. "We will need to take a few days before we can travel anywhere; everyone's condition is unwell in one way or another."
"Have you got enough herbs?"
"I believe so," he replied. "I need to brew some tea for pain; I think Enguina will need it, as will Legolas. Even you, Master Dwarf, might wish to take some."
"Maybe," he snorted. "I'll see to it."
"Thank you," he replied. "Would you terribly mind seeing to Brego? He could use his tack removed, if you would be so kind."
"I would," the dwarf added and turned to catch the bay's reins. "C'mon, Brego."
As Gimli turned away, Aragorn slowly made his way toward Arwen and Enguina. Enguina was still lying in Arwen's arms, held close by her. He was, to put it mildly, exhausted, and he needed to lie down and rest. He had done as much for Legolas as he could at the moment, and he now needed to see the ladies…especially Enguina. He could only hope that Arwen had been able to do enough for her that she was not in any pain. He hoped that she was sleeping well; he prayed she would not dream.
Stepping over to them, he called Arwen's name gently before he got too close. Aragorn did not want to rudely awake Enguina; she was already anxious enough, and she was bound to go mad if a man were to shake her awake, even if she knew in her heart he meant her no harm. Arwen raised her head at the sound of his voice, and it was slow; she had clearly been in that position for quite some time. She appeared just as exhausted as him; her eyes and face as red as Enguina's. Clearly, they had both been crying. He took a knee beside them.
"Should we wake her?" he asked softly, and Arwen shook her head.
"She only just fell asleep," she whispered. "Not yet…let her sleep."
"How was she? Her wounds—"
"Are cared for," she replied, nodding. "They will hold for now, until you are rested enough to see them." Her eyes flooded with tears, but she blinked them away. "I cannot…" She shook her head. "I cannot speak of it. We cannot speak of it."
"It is all right," he said gently, and he reached out to touch her face.
"Legolas?"
"He is not well, but he is stable at the moment. He very nearly has pneumonia; many of his wounds are infected, but he is already healing. His arms, his back, they are the worst. He set himself free from the tree to get to her; they had him tied there."
"God…so he could watch—" Her breath cut off and she looked away, down into Enguina's face, seeing the bruising, the cuts. She shook her head. "I cannot…" She looked up at the sky through the treetops and was surprised. "Perhaps you should wake her; I think we have been here longer than I knew," she admitted sheepishly.
"Perhaps I should take a look at—"
"It will keep," she insisted softly. "Enguina is more important." He would not argue with her; he knew that tone well enough. "I was worried about her hands, but the bleeding had stopped before I dressed them, thanks to you. She has two broken ribs, cuts and scars, bruises…she is bleeding a little."
"Gimli is brewing—"
"It's here," the dwarf muttered, setting two cups down, "along with another tunic for both of you. You look like bloody hell and could seriously use some rest yourselves." He waved them off as both of them opened their mouths. "I know; when everyone else is taken care of! Yeah, yeah." Turning away, he headed back to tend the fire and make sure Legolas was warm enough. Aragorn strengthened the tea with more herbs for the pain, and Arwen touched Enguina's cheek.
"Enguina, love, you need to wake up, just for a moment." Groggily, Enguina blinked her eyes, but only barely. Then she made to roll but got caught on Arwen's hands and lap, and she winced and gasped in pain. Arwen rubbed her arm gently. "It is only something quick to drink, then you can go right back to sleep. It will help with the pain."
Arwen went to move her arm and found it was either so asleep or so weak that she could barely support Enguina's weight anymore to help her sit up a bit. She fought the urge to let it give out and supported her anyway. The older elf leaned against her heavily, still mostly asleep as Arwen's arms wrapped carefully around her. Aragorn leaned a hand toward her, extending the cup. He was sitting closer than she probably would have liked, but she was not unclean, and he did not want to give her any idea that he felt that way. Enguina eyed his hands as she noticed him kneeling there and immediately tensed in Arwen's arms.
"Enguina, Aragorn is here with tea for you," Arwen whispered in her ear.
"I do not—no…" she said softly, turning her head into Arwen's chest.
"I am right here, sweet one," she told her, tightening her own arms around her.
"I would never hurt you, aiwë," he said, and extended the cup. "It is all right; you are safe now. I know this is difficult, and you hurt, but everything is going to be all right." She lifted her head a little bit, and blinked slowly, looking down at first and then raising her eyes to the cup again only. She could not look at him. "It will help with the pain; it will begin to heal you."
Enguina looked at his hands as they held the cup for her; strong hands, soothing hands. She knew them, had been in the company of them before. He was right, of course, she had nothing to fear from any of them; but she was weak and sore, and that did not help matters. He was on one knee near her feet; he was strong…he could just reach out and… Her brain rebuked the image. This was Aragorn…neither he nor Gimli nor Legolas would ever do such a thing to her.
"Let me help you drink," he said softly, and he leaned forward with the cup, shuffling forward nearer to Arwen. She did not flinch away when he drew near to her mouth with the cup, and she took a drink. Slowly, she drank the mug of tea, but she kept her eyes low. None of them spoke.
"Thank you," she said softly, the tea even soothing her throat. He set the cup down.
"Would it be all right if I took a look at your hands?" he asked softly. She shuddered once and laid her head back against Arwen's breast and he could see her fingers trembling. "Let me see, and I can make it better."
She looked at him then, and tears flooded her eyes at his words. "Nothing…nothing can make this better." Her breath caught and then she began breathing heavily, hurt evident in her every feature. "He won…he won and he hurt me and abused me…in front of Legolas. My body aches in agony with the thought of his touch, his mouth, the bruises, I can feel each one as burning coals! How can I forget, put it aside? The way he held my hips," she sobbed, "held me down so he could…so he could…god! And Legolas there; Legolas…the one who loves me. The one who told me that no matter what he would still love me, but how could he? How could he when every time he looks at me that is what he will see? Me, lying on the ground beneath him, with him thrusting into me like some animal?! How could he love that? How could he want to marry that? He cannot! He cannot!"
She wailed, and Arwen tightened her arms around her, filled with pain at Enguina's words. Aragorn reached forward then, laying his hand on the side of her head. She flinched, but he kept going. "None of that is true," he told her gently. "Legolas is not going to see that; you only think he will because that is what you see, all you are feeling. Of course it is, aiwë, it is too soon. You are deeply hurt by what he did, by how he used you; we all are." He whispered the last words. "Legolas most of all."
"Legolas—" she gasped out, and he interrupted her.
"Do you know what he did? Enguina, he nearly killed himself trying to get to you, to free you, to save you. He tore free from the tree he was tied to by the grace of Ilúvatar; he could think of nothing but getting to you. He could think of nothing but you when I carried him to the river to wash his wounds. You were all he thought of, how hurt you were, and how much he wanted to hold you. He gave no thought to his own condition. He loves you, Enguina…he loves you. Put aside that fear and doubt and accept it for the gift it is."
"He cannot!" she cried out. "It is not possible! I am impure! Used! Broken! I am not worthy of his love!"
"Yes, you are," Arwen whispered, bending down to press her lips to Enguina's hair. "He loved you before he knew about Bragolaur and he will love you still. No matter what has happened, he will be here for you. We are here…we will not leave you."
"You are not impure," Aragorn added. "What happened with Bragolaur was awful and terrible, and it was a crime that he committed against you. He was an animal, Enguina. But you do not deserve to suffer for what he did; to lose everything good in your life because you think yourself unworthy. Everyone here loves you and cares for you. You are family, and we will not leave you."
"Why…why did Ilúvatar do this to me?" Enguina whimpered.
Arwen felt the words pierce her heart. She had asked herself the same question so many times about what had been done to Enguina…and she had posed the question about a hundred times to Ilúvatar herself since their child was taken from them. She heard Aragorn sigh softly, and he covered Arwen's hand with his own, squeezing it tight.
"Enguina, we will never know, nor understand, the purposes of Ilúvatar. We can try, and we can ask him, but he may choose not to answer us. He may choose to keep us in the dark for a time; even though that hurts…he is still with us, still with you. He is trying to carry you right now; let him."
"I have begged him for so long to take the pain away," she cried, "to make me forget…and now I shall never forget! Now I shall live with it forever; there is no hope…none at all. I am naked in the dark with him—"
"Shh," Arwen said, rocking her back and forth, "no, no…that is not true. It is not true, Enguina, you are here with us and he is dead…very dead. He can hurt you no more."
"But he is doing it right now," she moaned.
"When Legolas and you are more healed," Aragorn told her gently, "you will speak to him, and he will hold you, and remind you personally of his love for you. There is no escaping it, Enguina; how many times has he told you his love shall not change?"
"A thousand since he declared it," she said, thinking of Aragorn's words. "But it is different now…so different. It is one thing to hear the story, as terrible as it would have been to tell, but…it is another thing entirely to see it take place. Eru in Heaven, what he must have felt." Tears spilled down her face again. "I begged him not to watch, not to see…I know he did not listen…how could he?"
"He loves you," Arwen said as Aragorn stroked her hair. "It would have been difficult for him to turn away from you when he was so agitated, so full of fear for you."
"I could hear him screaming," she whispered.
"We could as well," Aragorn said. "We raced here as fast as we could when we heard you both." Enguina opened her eyes and looked at Aragorn, without moving her head from Arwen's breast.
"He told Legolas it was his wedding present to him…a broken woman, an obedient woman, a bitch who would do his bidding." Enguina choked on the words. "That was what he called me, his bitch." She could feel wetness in her hair; she knew Arwen was crying again. "He told me he owned me; that no one could do to me what he could with one touch…ugh, it makes me sick thinking about it. He told me that he was going to take me, and that he would…that he was going to finish inside me."
The knuckles on Aragorn's left hand, the one that was not touching Enguina's hair, cracked. "He was the most despicable creature alive; I am glad…glad, glad, glad that he is dead."
"How do you know for sure he is dead?" she whispered.
"Because I stabbed Hadhafang through his brain," Arwen said in a completely detached voice. "I know he is dead."
"You—?" Enguina said, lifting her head to look into Arwen's face. "You killed him? I never wanted his blood on your hands!"
Arwen tilted her chin downward, her jaw set. "I did. Let it go, Enguina. He is dead, and that is enough. He will never ever hurt you again."
"It is your dreams, your own mind, that you must fight now," Aragorn told her gently. "Bragolaur will haunt you as long as you allow him. Look at what you have, Enguina. Focus on that."
She turned her head away from Arwen. She wanted, with all her heart, to believe in Aragorn's words, to remember that Legolas still loved her. But she still could not wrap her mind around why. She had never done anything worthy of his love; in fact, she had never even thought she should have it, or that he should give it to her. Arwen would say that was why he did, but Enguina was never so unsure of anything in her life. And Aragorn said she would speak to him? Wherever would she find the words?
"How…how is Legolas?" she asked him, looking up into his eyes.
"Unwell," he replied honestly, "but you need not worry for him. When you are feeling up to it, I know he would like to feel you are near. He needs much healing, just as you do." He gave her a little smile and held out his hand. "May I see those hands of yours now?"
She nodded slowly and laid one of hers in his. He slowly undid the bandage and examined Arwen's handiwork, nodding. "This will heal well," he told her. "Arwen did good work on this. When we change the wraps tomorrow, we will put fresh herbs on them, and I will heal what I can." He eyed her for a moment as he rewrapped the wound. "You need to lie down, Enguina…and you need to breathe more easily. Lying on your back will help your ribs; sitting is doing nothing for you."
She cringed; how did he know just by looking at her that she was still in pain? "You are…wise beyond your years, Master Healer," she whispered.
He chuckled suddenly, and it did not even feel out of place for the moment. "A bit more tea, and then sleep," he said, lifting the other mug he had brought over. He helped her drink it and she shuddered.
"Ugh…that does not taste very good at all," she complained, and Arwen smiled.
"No, but it is wonderful," Arwen said honestly. "You will feel better in no time at all."
"Let me help you lie down and take some rest," Aragorn said, and he reached behind Enguina to take her carefully from Arwen's now trembling arm. Enguina had not even noticed, and that was good; the last thing she needed was to be worrying about someone else as she slept. Aragorn must have known somehow, and Arwen left her hand limply in her lap at the moment; it was too weak to lift.
"Please," Enguina whispered to them, "will you stay near."
"I will not leave your side," Arwen replied, reaching over to squeeze her hand.
"Thank you…both of you. Without all of you, I…I do not know where I would be right now," Enguina said softly. Killing myself in despair, honestly.
"Sleep well, aiwë," Aragorn said, touching the tips of his fingers to Enguina's bruised forehead before he stood. "Arwen will help you to sleep. We will wake you if you begin to dream."
"You need to rest as well," Arwen told him.
"Yes," Aragorn said raising an eyebrow at her, "after I make myself easy about Legolas one last time." He then reached out and brushed his fingers against Arwen's chin before he let her go and went to Legolas one last time.
By the time Aragorn drew back to Arwen's side after instructing Gimli to wake him if there was any sort of change in Legolas, Enguina was asleep, wrapped tightly in blankets and Arwen had her eyes closed and her face covered with one hand, her head leaned away from her wounded shoulder. Aragorn set down an extra mug of tea, and took a seat on the ground beside her.
"Now you," he said, his tone full of worry. He did not have to see her face to know there were tears upon it. She was silently sobbing, clearly trying not to wake Enguina; her sorrow continued to wash over him in waves.
"I…am so full of grief," she whispered, and she did not lift her head. "What he said to her, what he did…to say he would f-f-finish inside her." The horror in her voice hurt him. "The bastard…the bastard…" she moaned.
"He was," Aragorn whispered, reaching out to lay a hand in her hair. "You killed him and Gimli burned the pieces. There is nothing left of him but ash and dust, and even that is more than he deserves." His eyes fell upon Enguina's face again and he felt the great sorrow cover his heart for what had been done to her, to Legolas. Arwen was right; Bragolaur was the most despicable creature that Aragorn had ever met, and that was saying a lot. Then he lifted his eyes and caught sight of Arwen's bloodied tunic, a hole in the shoulder where he could see the shaft poking through.
"He deserved to die," she repeated, her voice a bit clearer as she tried to control herself and the tears. "I was so…so angry. I could feel nothing but hate for him, for what he had done. I just wanted him to suffer, to die…"
"I know," he replied. "I did, too." He could not help but be fixated now on her wound. "You are hurt, Arwen…wounded." He suddenly noticed the fletching protruding from her forearm and he took her arm in his hand, drawing it away from her face. "This is deep."
"What?" she asked softly. She knew the wounds he meant, but with her mind so fixed on Enguina at the moment she could hardly remember them aside from the pain. Realizing it just as he spoke, blood was running down the inside of her arm. She turned her head and looked at the wooden shaft, trying to remember why it was broken, and then suddenly remembered that Bragolaur had grabbed it and tried to cripple her. "I can hardly move it," she told him.
"Do you think Enguina will be all right if we are this close to her? I do not want my presence to induce a night terror," Aragorn said, and he took her sleeve and tore it open to her wrist so he could see the wound in her forearm.
"The nightmares were horrible after Lórien," she said, anxiety in her voice. "Nothing will stop them. She will not be able to sleep long, and if she does, she will wake in terror."
"We will wake her first," he said, carefully tugging out the piece of wood in her arm. She found that it did not hurt more than it had to be in her arm in the first place as he wiped the blood away from the puncture so he could see feel if there were any shards left inside it. He cleaned it carefully, placing ointment into the hole, and bound it up with cloth. He lifted his eyes to hers. "She is going to be safe with us; we are going to make certain of it."
"Legolas is asleep?" she asked, closing her eyes as he unbuttoned the first two buttons on her tunic and slid the fabric over her shoulder so he could see the wound. If he had thought the wound in her arm was deep, this was much worse; it had also been pulled of course by her own doing.
"Yes, at the moment," he said, studying the wound with his fingers, knowing she was barely allowing him to touch it, on the verge of recoiling from him in agony. "Gimli is with him."
"Every one of us is exhausted," she said, her voice tight and she glanced down at what he was doing. "Are you going to pull that out now?"
"This is very deep; did Bragolaur break the arrow?"
"He was trying to cripple my arm," she replied, "so I jerked the other way and broke the shaft so he could not continue to use it to hurt me."
"You are wounded by it enough," he said and she glanced at his eyes. "It is going to hurt." He studied the angle more carefully before he set his hand against her chest to hold her still as he would need to yank forward and took the inch-long end of the shaft in the other. Her breathing quickened and her pained muscles tensed beneath his hand as he eyed her.
"Just do it," she whispered, closing her eyes and turning her head away.
He pulled, and then had to pull again when his bloodied fingers slipped from the shortened shaft, but at least on the second yank the arrow came free. Blood poured immediately from the wound as he knew it would; he was ready for it. She wanted to scream in pain, but she did not, too conscious of waking Enguina. She even tried to control her ragged breathing and make it easier on Aragorn. She glanced at him, and she could see him biting the inside of his lip, his brow furrowed.
"Sorry," she gasped, knowing she had been screaming inside his head.
"I would prefer to hear you than not," he replied. "I hate it when you hurt." He carefully tended the wound, and when he was finished her whole shoulder ached. "It is very deep. We will have to keep an eye on it and make sure it heals from the inside out. I packed it tonight."
"We were lucky," she said softly. "There were so many more of them than there were of us. It was so foolish for me to go running into the camp like that. I heard your caution, but I…could not stop myself. I had to…I had to get to her."
"I would not blame you. I did the same as you. Even though I had urged you," he said, "I ignored it myself. Rescuing them was the most important thought in either of our minds. Thank Ilúvatar we arrived."
"Not soon enough," she whispered. "Not soon enough to save her, to stop this nightmare from happening all over again." There were tears in her eyes again and her words echoed in his head. I was too late…again, Estel. I was too late.
"He said that to you, did he not?" Aragorn said, laying his hands against her face as she lowered her head. "Do not let him hurt you; he has done enough."
"He was right."
"They are safe, Arwen. No matter what we feel, that is what matters. Ilúvatar got us here in time. Bragolaur did not succeed; he did not do what he said." Aragorn could not repeat the words again that Arwen had repeated in a horrified whisper before. "And he did not ransom Legolas as he wanted. We got here in time; we did." He could tell she wanted to believe him with all of her heart, but her eyes settled Enguina's battered face again.
"How is Gimli?" she asked, changing the subject.
"A few broken fingers," he replied, "but they were not from the battle. He will live."
"And you?" She looked him over, seeing his bloody tunic.
"Right as rain. This is from Legolas," he said, gesturing at his torso. "I am well, therefore, I am trying to ensure the well-being of everyone else so we can all take some rest."
She tilted her head at him. "Are you really going to do that?"
He chuckled at her. "As a matter of fact, yes, and I intend to lie down right here beside you so you can stay beside Enguina. Is that all right?" She nodded. "Let me help you change your tunic into something clean; Gimli is already resting." He helped her take off her tunic and handed her the mug. "Drink this while I clean all this blood off of you. Why ruin another shirt?"
A little smile appeared on her face, and he was glad to see it. "Usually, I say that to you."
"Well, you are the injured one this time." He began sponging off her arm and side. "How is your head?"
"Before, I thought it was going to explode off my shoulders," she said honestly. "But it has fallen to a dull roar now. It was from the stress and…probably crying. I am as exhausted as you look."
He smiled. "As you said before, we are all exhausted in some way." When he finished, he helped her slip on her other tunic, and he could tell the pain in her shoulder was quite strong. They needed to rest, and he removed his own bloodied tunic so that he could put on the replacement Gimli had been kind enough to supply from their saddlebags. As he pulled it over his head, he heard her gasp in pain, and he looked at her immediately, clutching her knee with her right hand.
"Oh, Ilúvatar that hurts," she groaned. She had completely forgotten about the injury to her knee because she had not moved in so long. When she had moved to straighten her leg out from holding Enguina in her arms, in her lap, agony fired through her thigh to her hip.
"I saw you limping before," he said, and he reached out to feel the area around her knee. It was swollen, and he frowned. "What happened?"
"He kicked my knee and twisted it," she explained. "I think it is paining because I have been sitting here with Enguina for several hours, just as you were down at the river with Legolas."
He stood and went to his saddle, withdrawing some ointment he had made some time ago—it was possible that it would help. Upon returning to her side, he rolled up her legging and rubbed her knee with it, filling the air with the scent of peppermint. When he finished, he helped her stretch her knee a few times through the pain and then rubbed it once more. She stared at his hands when he set down her leg. "It is a sin," she whispered, "that your hands should feel that good."
He had to laugh. "Let us lay down so we can get some rest before one of these two wakes and needs something." She lay down facing Enguina, her hand on her arm, and Aragorn lay behind her. Before he could even lift his arm to encircle her body, they were asleep.
It was dark when Enguina woke for the first time on her own. Arwen, then Aragorn, had woken her at two different times during the day, but she had only been awake for moments, and she did not remember the dreams she had been having, though they both said she had been dreaming. She had slept the day away and at the moment, she felt calm, even peaceful; she wished she could extend that feeling forever. There was also no pain, not even the phantom memory of it for once and she relished that as well. Carefully, she sat up and studied her surroundings for the first time.
Arwen still lay beside her, at this moment, sleeping as if she were dead; Enguina had sat up with Arwen's arm on her and she had not even stirred. Enguina stroked her hair. The younger elf might just be more exhausted than she was. Aragorn slept on his side not feet from her side. Even in his sleep, his fingers were just touching the edges of her hair. Concern…caring for her…Enguina could not help but yearn for Legolas's touch…and then shy away from it. She should not feel that way; though she had flinched at Aragorn's touch, it had felt good. It was bound to be all the more wonderful if it was Legolas who was doing the touching.
This drew her slowly to her feet as she tested her different muscles; she was sore, but nothing was so horrible she could not stand. She had an unquenchable desire to be held by him. In fact, she had never felt more desperate about anything when she was not in danger. To smell him, to breathe him in, would bring her peace. Gimli lay near the fire that he had been tending, resting as well and snoring, and the horses stood in the trees in a row; Lómë nickered to her, but she could not acknowledge him just now…she needed something else. She found Legolas, eyes open though glazed, on the ground on the other side of the fire. Closing the distance between them faster than she thought, she found her feet grinding to a halt less than a meter from his side.
An irrational fear came over her. As much as she wanted to feel his fingers on her face, his comfort, see his beautiful eyes…what if he did not want her? No matter what Aragorn and Arwen had said, no matter that they had tried to convince her that Legolas still loved her, thought of nothing but her…how could she be sure? Without speaking to him herself, how could she know that he still wanted her, that he still wanted her to be his wife, someone with this huge of a stain? Her breath caught in her throat; on second thought, perhaps she should not touch him at all. She was not ready for the confrontation, for the words to come out of his mouth that he could no longer love her. No, she was not ready, and she turned away.
And again, came to a halt not even two steps later, her side now paining her as her breathing had quickened. Even if she did not know what he felt, even if he no longer wanted her, no longer loved her, no longer needed her at his side…how could she not go to him? As ill as he was, as wounded as he had been, how could she not sit with him, just to touch his face, to ensure that he was all right? She could always run, she was so good at running, if he did not want her…and she would keep running. Either to death or the Undying Lands…whichever came first.
She turned back and gingerly sat down beside him, her broken ribs stabbing at her. She was still wounded, and she needed to listen to Aragorn and take it easy. But she ignored that for the moment; she was looking down on the man she loved. His face was not anywhere near as pale as she had expected or as it had been when she had arrived in the early morning hours. It was clean, and it did not appear as bruised as it had been either. His arms were wrapped, and she could see that beneath his tunic he also had bandages. It was clear that Aragorn had been at work again as she remembered him saying earlier that Legolas was still feverish and he did not seem to be now. She wondered if his chest was clear or if he still sounded deathly ill. Enguina thought fondly of Aragorn for a moment; the man would wear himself out before he watched someone else suffer.
If she did not touch Legolas now, she would never have the courage to do it. Leaning forward carefully, she stroked soft fingertips across his face from temple to cheek to chin, reveling in the touch of his skin. Her breath caught in her throat as she thought about how much she loved him, how close to death he had come. She thought of the many days and nights of traveling, how she had feared for him and prayed she would find him alive. He was going to be all right; that was what Aragorn had said. She traced her fingertips along his face again in the same pattern, and then realized his eyes were no longer glassy and she was staring into them. She could not look away from them; she never could! No matter how terrified she had been to think of looking in them at all, she was in the moment now. They were the bluest blue, exactly as she remembered, and so full of…so full of love.
"Guin," he said softly, his voice tight from lack of use, and he coughed twice before he continued, "my love…my wife…how I have missed you, how I have worried for you so." Slowly, whether from exhaustion or pain or desire to not frighten her, he raised a hand and laid it on her cheek. She took her hand from his face and covered his; she never even flinched, but she did stare at him, her eyes full of tears. She reached forward and placed a hand in the center of his chest and he covered it, taking it in his own.
"Wife?" she whispered, and a flash of confusion crossed his face. She could see in his eyes how quickly he was thinking.
"You are not my wife yet?" he asked, his voice a bit bewildered. She continued to stare at him, her eyes widening as she shook her head and he sighed. "What the hell have I been waiting for?" he muttered and she could not help but gasp out a laugh, the tears spilling over her cheeks and their hands.
"Me," she said, crying. "You were waiting for me."
"That was some dream I must have been having," he said, rubbing his thumb against her cheek, wiping the tears away. "Do not cry," he told her soothingly as he lowered his voice, "do not even think about it now. I do not want to think…or talk…not just now. We will," he told her, "there will be time, but not now…I just want to hold you. Please, can I hold you?"
"Can you?" she asked, her voice broken, and he smiled, tears filling his own.
"Moina quén, let me worry about that. Come down…and rest your head upon my heart."
A spike of fear should have coursed through her—she waited for it—but it never came. Instead, she found herself curling up near his side, laying her head on his chest where there were no wounds, avoiding her ribs, his ribs, and his shoulders, his hip. His arm wrapped over her, and they lay still like that for a moment, no words; his other hand finally found her face, his fingers stroking over her eyes, her nose, her mouth, her chin, but not pressing, ignoring the bruises. Ilúvatar…it felt so right!
"Oh my love, my love…" he whispered and her heart filled with an unfathomable joy at his words. He loved her…he loved her!
She laid her hand upon his stomach, and fingered the buttons on his tunic. He was so warm, so full of life…and she had been so worried for him, so afraid of his injuries, of him being tied to a tree. She breathed in the scent of him. Even the smell of him calmed her, just as she had hoped it would, and she felt him continuing to caress her face.
"What are you doing?" she asked him, her voice still quiet. He had said he did not want to talk; she barely wanted to break the silence.
"Rememorizing your precious face," he told her. "Wiping everything else away and focusing on what matters…you…me…our love…" There was silence between them for long moments and Enguina could feel herself drifting away in the peacefulness of his presence, the touch of his skin against hers. She was amazed how she wanted it; she had been so afraid she would not. "I never thanked you," he said, and surprise filled her at his sudden words.
"For what?"
"For coming to save me, you and Gimli. I am so glad you are here…I am so glad I have you to hold. When I was a captive, I prayed that I would just be able to see your eyes again. That if I could just see you for a moment, know you were all right…" She felt his chest tighten beneath her hand and he coughed several times.
"Shhh…" she whispered, worried. It was unnatural to see him ill. "Rest, Legolas…please, save your strength."
"No, I…I love you. Ilúvatar has granted me the desire of my heart. I must praise Him, thank Him aloud. With all my heart I am filled with joy, with praise and I…I must thank him."
She felt an overwhelming desire flood her to kiss him, and she leaned up onto her elbow, unable to deny the urge. When he saw her face nearly above him, she felt the hand on her back drag up underneath her hair and wrap gently around her neck. Leaning down, she pressed her lips against his, softly, and then she leaned her forehead upon his brow, their eyes closed.
"I love you," she whispered, and she felt him smile.
"I love you more."
"No," she refused him, tears springing to her eyes, "I do."
"I do, too," he told her, and then his voice lowered to a whisper. "Let us get married; right now." She laughed, kissing him again even through her tears. "Aragorn is a King…can he not wed us?"
"How I have missed your joy," she said and he coughed several more times, his chest tight beneath her fingers. She rubbed her hand gently along his sternum. "You need to rest; your chest is tight, and your head is warmer than it should be."
"My whole being is warm," he said, "now that you are here beside me." She shook her head, but was inwardly moved by his words, and she kissed him once more before laying her head back down upon his chest. There were a few more moments of silence, and then she felt his hand begin tracing her face again. "I was serious…"
"Rest, Legolas."
He sighed very softly. "Sleep well, my Guin," he said gently.
She smiled, but made no reply, and closed her eyes.
Across the camp, Arwen slowly laid back down, a small smile on her face. She had been worried about Enguina initially, but then had seen her with Legolas. She knew that it was only a matter of time before Enguina's first nightmare, before there would be talk between them, before they would discuss the wedding and how hurt she had been…how that would affect both of them. She knew it would be hard, that this was only the calm before the storm, but it comforted her to see it, to know that Enguina knew that Legolas still loved her and had heard it from his own lips.
Slowly rolling over onto her other side, she rolled directly into Aragorn's arms, smirking a bit to herself. Lifting the hand that had been in her hair, she dropped it over her back and pulled herself into him as close as she could, trying not to injure her shoulder further. But his embrace was something she was craving at the moment, and she ignored both the knee and the shoulder for it. His arms tightened around her, and she smiled, thinking that he would hold her even in sleep.
"I am waking up to a beautiful brunette," he murmured into the top of her head, his nose in her hair. "I may have a confession to make to my wife…"
"Mmmm," she replied, rolling her eyes. "I thought you were asleep."
"I was…but even a sleeping man does not lose track of his wife."
"So…is this the last clean traveling tunic you have?" she asked softly, raising her eyebrows, even though he could not see them. "I seem to recall you being covered in blood in the last one. Unlikely it will ever be clean. What will you wear?"
He sighed softly. "Well…we shall have to see what the market holds, I am afraid. Or you will have to get to work," he teased, and she snorted.
"I mend your tunics, Aragorn, not make them. I am not that good with a needle and thread."
"You are," he said. "Even Enguina said so when you were making the clothes for the baby."
She shoved the hurt away and sighed. "She did say that, did she not?"
"Where is she, by the by?"
Arwen smiled. "With Legolas."
"Good."
"Who looks, might I add, as though someone worked awfully hard to heal him today when he was supposed to be resting."
"Everyone else but Gimli was asleep…and I could not simply let him lie there when I knew he needed more healing. He is better, but still ill, his wounds are still rather severe. Enguina's hands are looking a bit better, and her pain is less though the wounds of Girith have not healed as well as I would have liked yet." So, he had clearly been at work on Enguina as well. "We will not be able to travel anywhere at present; Enguina is not ready to be in the saddle either, though the wedding draws ever closer."
Arwen frowned against his chest. "You were exhausted before, now you seriously need rest. What were you thinking?"
"That I had to give while I could," he said pointedly. "If I breathe, I must give. I know someone else who sat and held their dear friend for several hours with a shoulder wound that should not have gone unattended…give and give, Arwen. It is who we are. And I am not the one who woke me up."
"Ha!" she scoffed. "Do not blame me for this! I am not the one making comments about brunettes. You can hardly move—"
He rolled her onto her back and pressed her down into the grass, his chest against hers as he leaned his arms on either side of her, his face very near hers. He held himself off her shoulder. "You were saying, beloved?"
"Aragorn…" she whispered, "for propriety's sake, you fool, get off."
He chuckled, and she had to admit silently that it was nice to hear it. "Come now, the dwarf is snoring, and Enguina has returned to Legolas's arms; there is no one to be proper for, my Lady. The horses have no desire to notice us. And beside all of that, you like me right where I am."
She raised her eyebrows at him. "Do I?" she asked a bit playfully, though she could see even in his eyes at that very moment he could have closed his eyes and fallen into exhausted sleep. But she played along with him because she did enjoy it, and it would only last moments before he truly was exhausted. "And how do you know that?"
"You are smiling," he stated. "A little."
She rolled her eyes. "You can do better."
"You have not yet thrown me aside."
"That is better…but not quite there yet."
He lifted his head and tilted it, quite serious now as he pressed a kiss to the edge of her chin, which was about all he could reach. He leaned onto his left elbow and she felt his right hand touch her stomach and he whispered, "The butterflies…I can feel them."
"The—butterflies?"
He smiled. "I can feel them inside you, and it has been some time since I made them flutter." He kissed her chin again, but she tilted her head up and kissed him then. "And," he continued softly, "your heart beats in rhythm with mine."
"I love you," she told him tenderly, moved by his words. She felt him sigh and kiss her again. "You need to rest."
"I am fatigued."
"You mean 'half-alive' when you say that, do you not?" she said softly, rolling him off her onto his side. She curled back up against him and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she tucked her head beneath his chin. "It must have been very uncomfortable, and I have no idea how you found the strength to banter with me."
He chuckled tiredly. "It is amazing what you can accomplish out of desire, beloved."
"Sleep," she told him, and the two of them relaxed and rested, a bit more at peace.