Aragorn felt as if a burning coal had struck him in the chest. His head came upright and he looked on ahead. The leading rope cut into his sides; he had tied himself to the saddle and was holding the end tight, keeping himself upright even in his exhaustion. He had once more been dwelling on what might happen when he returned home, and Brego had been trotting for miles and hours. It was deep evening now, close to midnight, but in the far distance he could see light…the lights of the Tower of the Guard. They could reach it before dawn; if they hurried.
"We are nearly there, Brego…we are nearly there," he stated, patting the bay's sweaty neck, and the stallion snorted and broke to a fast lope, bounding to cover the ground. Aragorn knew it would not be long before he was galloping again; he never had to ask. Brego pushed himself as hard as he may and his hoof beats thundered beneath Aragorn with all the speed he could force out of his tired body.
But something…something was causing Aragorn's chest to ache, and he reached up and touched his heart. Shaking his head, he pulled his cloak more tightly around his neck as the night wind cut through him. But then suddenly, Aragorn's mind burst once again; the same burning coal had struck him, but this time it was a word…and it was loud and clear.
Estel! He felt it within his very soul. She was calling for him, reaching for him…and he was not there. His heart was flooded with intense grief, and he choked back sobs, pain filling him up. Oh, Ilúvatar was that what she was feeling? If ever he had known what it was like to die, to lose himself in another person's agony and drown in it, this was it. His wife, his wife! He had tears on his face that he could barely feel through the freezing chill; there was nothing he could do except ride to her.
The bay's pounding hooves were the only sound in the night, save the voice that called his heart.
Enguina lay in Legolas' arms fast asleep as he looked down into her face. He sat with his back against a tree now and she was against his chest, her head lying upon his shoulder. She had been asleep since lunch, sleeping through dinner and even Gimli's snoring; the few hours they had traveled had taken such a toll on her. He should have heeded Aragorn's warning, but he had listened to Enguina instead. Foolish; he knew she had been in a hurry to return to Arwen. Now she was paying the price: exhausted, in pain, even running a bit of a fever. He was so worried for her.
Even worse, Enguina had cried herself to sleep earlier, terrified for Arwen, and feeling absolutely wretched that she was holding them back. No matter what he or Gimli had said to her, she was still terribly upset. He understood how she was feeling; he felt just as anxious, just as wretched. But there was no way Enguina was going to travel in this condition…they had to wait it until at least tomorrow. Perhaps in the morning, she would be better…perhaps…
He rested his cheek against her forehead. When her breathing became strange beneath his arms, it surprised him so suddenly that he thought it might be the way he held her.
"Enguina?" he asked softly, but it had no effect on her condition. He began to loosen his grip across her when she suddenly grew violent. Her nails dug into his skin as she tried to be free of his arms, but her lips mouthed his name. At first, there was no sound except her breathing grew harsh against his ears. But then, as she squirmed harder in his arms and as he grew afraid that he might make her injury much worse, he could hear her muttering his name between gasped breaths. His grip tightened as he held her to his chest, her voice ringing in his head. It was too much, this close to her, and he shook her, saying her name loudly in her ear. Between his words and forcing her to remain immobile, she blinked, awake.
"Legolas!" she cried out loud, tossing her head and hitting it against his chin. She looked down at his arms surrounding her and tried to calm her racing heart.
"I am here, moina quen," he said gently. She did not say anything more for a few moments, but her breathing slowed; only then did he gradually loosen his embrace. "You worry me so, Guin," he said very seriously, and she slowly turned her face into his neck, her hands still gripping his. He felt the wetness of her cheek when her face brushed against his skin. "Guin…" he began anxiously, raising a hand to wipe her face.
"I am all right," she whispered, but he knew better.
"If that is the same 'all right' as a few hours ago, I know better than to believe you," he told her gently, tucking her hair back behind her ear. "What is it that you are dreaming about? What is plaguing you, terrorizing you? You can tell me." He rested his cheek on her head. "All of your secrets are safe with me. Do not hold back."
How could she tell him of anything, of her dreams? How could she put into words the way they made her feel: trapped, frightened, on display, inadequate for him? How could she tell him of that day on Cerin Amroth where her world fell apart? And then tell him that Dagnirhir and his hands had sent her straight back to that personal hell? That she could not stop thinking of that look in his eye, that terrifying look that burned a fire so terrible within her that she could think of nothing else but what he had wanted to take from her? She had not dreamed of Bragolaur tonight…only of Dagnirhir. She prayed she would not dream of Bragolaur out here; not where he could see her.
"Legolas," she whispered, "how can I…all of the events of the last few days replay themselves in my mind...but they are worse, worse than they ever were. I dreamed—" Her voice cut off and his embrace surrounded her tightly. "How can I tell you?" she murmured, and his neck felt wet with her tears. She waited, sure he would answer, sure he would find a way to convince her to tell him…yet he remained silent. He would not force her, no matter how badly he wished to know the truth.
"Your dreams are so dark, love," he said to her tenderly. "Look at the sky. Tell me, what do you see?" She did not wish to lift her head, open her eyes, but she did.
"Darkness…it is as I ever see it…the night is full of darkness," she whispered, and she shuddered.
"That is not what I see," he whispered back. "I see a cloudless night full of starlight and moonlight, shining down on us. Every star lights your eyes, fills my heart.
"You have a chance for a life without that darkness that you always see," he told her, and she turned her head and looked into his eyes. "I can help you find the stars in your night, Guin; I can help you see them again, give you that life: glorious, beautiful, full of starlight. I can." His voice had dropped to a whisper. "Trust me…trust me, moina quen."
Her lips trembled and tears spilled from her face. "Speak those words again," she murmured, her heart aching from the truth in his eyes. He told her, reaching up to stroke her face with one hand. "Oh, Legolas…" She leaned forward and so did he as she rested her forehead against his, her eyes closed. "I…my dreams were haunted by that foul creature." Her voice was full of horror, memories of the dream swirling back into her mind. "He had hit me, threatened me…called me names. He had…his hands were on me. He told me that he wanted to hear me scream." She choked back a sob, but her words were pouring now, and she was unable to stop them. "That I would learn my lesson; that he could take me any way he wanted because we were alone…" Her head fell to his shoulder as she began crying, her shoulders shaking with sobs, and she whispered the words as if she never thought she would ever speak them aloud, "He told me I was his bitch…"
"No," Legolas said immediately, his hand in her hair, holding her face to his chest, holding her tight. Hearing that word from her mouth made him sick to his stomach. "No, no, no…you are not his…you are not his anything." His hands were trembling with the force of his horror at what this man had done to her, said to her. He rested his temple against hers. "No, no. He will never touch you again; he is dead…dead."
"He could have done anything he wanted to me," she whispered. "He told me he would. He was going to…he was going to hurt me…beat me. He had his belt in his hand…he had hit me before, for trying to escape." Her words horrified him, rendered him speechless as she said, "If Belegore had not come then, he…would have done whatever he wanted. I was less than an animal to him; he said women should be used by men—"
"No, Guin," he said to her, his heart breaking, "no, he was wrong! You were made to be cherished…you were made to be loved more than you know. Oh god, for him to say those things to you…" his voice choked off, almost holding her too tight, "he will rot in a thousand pits. You are safe, you are safe, he cannot hurt you anymore; his words mean nothing."
"I was so afraid!" she cried. "I was so afraid that he would…that he was going to…" No, she could not say the words; they were too close to the truth. "Then…everything would be ruined, and everything would change."
"Change? Change how?" She did not want to say, she could not force the words out, could not speak the truth. "Nothing will change; nothing could change my love." He kept stroking her hair, his breath coming harder now. "How could you think such a thing? You are safe, safe…he can hurt you no more. Trust in me, I will not ever leave you…not for anything."
"Not for anything?" he heard her repeat, her voice breaking.
"Never. I am yours; my heart is yours; it beats only for you now," he replied. "Trust my heart."
"I do," she whispered, looking up into his face, her eyes full of pain, "and I love you, Legolas. From that day we sat on the hillside and stared out across the Pelennor, I believe that I have loved you; even further back than that, when we rode along the wall and we raced across the fields together through the snow…even then, did my heart feel your touch. But I have lost so much time…so many years…to fear and terror." Her voice caught and her eyes closed at the memory of a pain he knew nothing about. She continued then, her voice so much softer than it had been before; even with his head alongside hers, he could barely hear her. "I do not know how strong my heart is. I do not know how much it can withstand…or how long my heart will fight a shadow that no longer exists. There was a moment, when I was with them, that I feared death…but there are worse things than death, Legolas."
Her words were so heavy they broke his heart. Full of pain, full of grief, she was…and he had nothing to offer her; he was no Healer. He could only comfort; he could only promise her that he would not let the darkness own her, let the shadow she feared flood over her heart and sweep her away.
"Let me…let me help you fight this evil in your dreams," he whispered back. "I have made an oath to you, in the quiet of my heart: I swear I will not let this shadow come between us, destroy us…destroy our love."
"I do not want to lose you, Legolas," she mumbled as they continued to look into each other's eyes. "I cannot lose you." If she lost him, she would lose herself. She had given him her heart now; she would be finished if he left her.
"You cannot lose me," he whispered. "We…we all carry burdens of some kind from our pasts that haunt us when we do not expect. Our grief, our trials, make us human…make us alive. But even when the night is dark and we seem to have lost our way, perhaps even ourselves, hope is everlasting. I swear to you that I will be the light in your darkness, that I will help you find those stars, Guin. I choose to be with you for as long as my days shall last. Nothing shall tear us asunder…not dreams, or burdens, or trials, or evil memories. My devotion to you will be true; my heart is fixed on the desires of your heart. I will be your anchor…and you shall be mine."
She stared into his beautiful, love-filled eyes, and even with tears on her face, said, "I will be your anchor, Legolas, and my devotion will be true."
It was a pledge; in everything but spoken word, the two of them would someday be one. It was a proposal and an acceptance. He held her close, and lifted her chin with his fingers ever-so-gently.
"We were made for each other," he whispered to her. "Ilúvatar made me for you."
"I truly believe He did," she replied, and her eyes fluttered closed.
"May I—?"
"Please," she begged, and he pressed his lips to hers. Yes, Legolas—his arms, his words, his love—could heal her heart.
The guards on Rammas Echor were stiff. The cold weather had come far too early for them, and they simply wanted to be at home with their families in front of the fire. They knew that things in Minas Tirith were unwell, though they had high hopes before they had come to their posts last evening that things would be well by morning. Now, their hopes had failed them; the King was not coming. The dawn was an hour or so off, and they knew that the Queen had been failing so badly. All hope was lost.
Not more than a mile from the wall, the guards could make out a lone rider on a horse, moving very fast against the cold wind. One of the guards called to the gate man, and he moved out to receive the rider, for they had to be very suspicious of travelers since the recent trouble.
"Halt!" the guard called. The rider either did not hear, or did not heed the call.
As he drew near, the horse did not begin to slow, and the guard grew more urgent.
"Halt!" called the guard, and he held his spear in forward guard, prepared to stop the rider with all means necessary. "You may not pass until I have your name, and your purpose, Sir!"
"Hallamegil, you fool!" the rider shouted, pulling the stallion to a sliding stop in front of the guard. "It is I! Let me pass!" Hallamegil gasped and put down his spear, as the wind took the hood of the cloak and swept it back from the rider's face. The guard looked up into the face of the King. The panting bay reared and stomped his feet with great impatience, lather coating his chest and neck and shoulders.
"My Lord, I did not recognize you! Ride…ride on!" he said, hurrying out of the way. He turned to his men. "Open the gates! Open the gates; The King has returned! Blow loud the trumpets!"
The gates were flung wide in a moment's time, and Aragorn gave Brego his head. "You shall be commended for your speed!" he cried. "Noro lim, Brego! Noro lim an Arwen!"
The bay horse sped through the gates with such dust as the men had never seen, and they would swear from that day forward they had never seen any man ride with such haste. As Aragorn made his long way across the fields of the Pelennor, he could hear the loud rejoicing of silver trumpets, whose very sound seemed to awaken the City before him. His heart pounded within his chest as fast as the thudding of Brego's hooves. He had not heard Arwen's cry for several hours.
The King had returned…but had he returned too late?
Faramir watched Arwen's feverish face, wondering what in the world he would do. He did not believe she was going to last more than another hour, for her body was no longer able to fight for her own survival. Her hands were as cold as ice, her face was pale, and she had ceased to sweat. She no longer shivered; her breathing was labored, quick and shallow, as if soon she would not have the strength to draw another. He knew that Aragorn would not come…it was too late.
Noldore had left hours ago, and Faramir was now beside Arwen on one side with Éowyn on the other. He watched her chest fall…and it did not rise again. His heart in his throat he lunged forward, gripping her shoulders as Éowyn looked on with red-rimmed eyes.
"Arwen!" Faramir cried, shaking her shoulders. She breathed…and his heart was stolen away from him. His chest felt empty as he tried to fill his own lungs with air. Éowyn reached over and laid a hand on his arm as he sat back from her a little bit.
"She has lost the battle, Éowyn," he said, his voice no more than a drawn whisper. "She can no longer fight on her own. I thought…I thought…" He shook his head, unable to finish that painful sentence, but she nodded. She had thought Arwen was not going to breathe again either. She had tried to prepare herself for the moment when her friend would pass away, but she knew that she would never be ready. Her heart could not take it. She held onto his arm for dear life.
"There are but moments left, Faramir…" she whispered, and then hesitated. Was it possible? She spoke despite the disbelief in her own heart, in her face. "Aragorn…he may still come."
He shook his head, looking into her desperate eyes. "Oh love, there is just not enough time…simply not enough—"
Faramir raised his head…he could swear he had heard…
His heart rose into his throat and he nearly leapt for joy such was his elation at the clear ringing of silver trumpets! The King! The King had returned! His shining eyes met Éowyn's and tears spilled down their faces.
"He has come…" she whispered, and she kissed Faramir with overflowing joy. He grasped her face in his hands as he laughed with uncontrollable relief and rejoicing. "Praise the Valar! Praise the One! May the glory ever be His! Go, Faramir! Go to meet him!" she cried.
"Stay with her," he told her, throwing on his cloak and hurrying out of the King's House. He knew that Aragorn would come here first, and he tried to ready himself for his friend's arrival. What could he say? What must he tell the King before he was to go inside to see her? He would have to tell him everything that had happened in the briefest way he could and still explain. He had been praying so long for Aragorn to return that he had never thought of what he would say when he arrived.
He could hear the people all through the City, shouting in their joy that the King had returned—even from the lowest levels they could hear them. The trumpets grew louder, and as Faramir stood there, Captain Mennev, came to his side with tears on his face.
"The Queen will live! The King has returned! Do you hear them calling, my Lord?" he cried, clasping Faramir's shoulder, and Faramir clasped his in return.
"Mennev, I hear them, thank Ilúvatar! I bid you to do something for me, for the King."
"Anything, my Lord!" he cried.
"Go and make a way for the King to reach the House as quickly as you may. Make certain the guards contain the people on the lower circles so that the King will get here as quickly as possible."
"I will, my Lord!" he replied, and hurried off to carry out his orders.
And so Faramir waited. It was not long before he heard the pounding of Brego's hooves on the cobblestones of Minas Tirith's streets, even over the loud cries of the people. He paced, waiting, praying that the Three Hunters and Enguina had returned in time. Could the hands of Aragorn truly save her?
Up past the White Tower flew Brego, his hooves causing sparks on the stones beneath him, and his mane was flying like a flag from the Tower. White, lathered sweat covered his body and foam came from his mouth as he thundered towards Faramir. But it was Aragorn's face that reduced Faramir to tears once again. The face of the man he had failed so badly, the face of one who would do anything to ensure the safety of his friends, the face of one who had ridden into danger and returned unscathed, the face of man who would be shaken at the terror of a fading wife and a lost child.
As Brego came to a sliding stop in front of him, Faramir hit his knees, his head bowed as he wept. "Aragorn! Aragorn, you have returned!"
Aragorn dropped from Brego's back and all but collapsed, his legs numb from three days of sleepless riding. He dropped to his knees in front of Faramir, hitting the cobblestone and took the man's shoulders in his hands. "Speak…speak to me Faramir," he said, nearly breathless. "What has happened?"
Faramir could not look into the eyes of the King. "The Queen was attacked in the night not three days ago, two days after you had gone seeking Enguina. I did not know it then, but she had been poisoned by a foul elf." He gasped for air, but still he could not look upon his friend. "I have failed you my Lord! For one day this dawn, the poison took Arwen completely, and she has lain in fever since then. The babe…the babe!"
Faramir stumbled over the words as he tried to get them out but he could not without his breath catching in his throat. Aragorn stared into his face, his own heart in his throat, his chest heaving with his own fear. Ilúvatar, please…Ilúvatar, no…god, you are bigger than this. Do not let him speak the words…she is not dead! They are not dead! Please, please, Ilúvatar, my shield! Please, no—
"The baby is dead!" he sobbed, his head bowed in uncontrollable grief. "He is dead! He is dead and she miscarried him, and now she is in great peril. She is dying, dying…and I have failed! I have failed to keep your honor, to protect your family."
No, no, it is not true! Ilúvatar! Ilúvatar! I cry out to you from this place, reach for you! Make me blink and let this be gone; let this not be real! Not my son! Not my wife! Not Arwen!
His chest roared with pain, his heart breaking, but he battled the wail that rose inside of him, the desire to scream in anguish, his knuckles white with pain as he gripped Faramir's shoulders. Instead, he wrapped his great arms around the poor man as he wailed. Aragorn knew that if he allowed the tears to fall that threatened him, they would not stop. He needed, in desperation, to go to Arwen, but he had to comfort Faramir first; the man before him was in pieces.
"You have not failed me, Faramir," he whispered in the man's ear. "You have done all that I would have done. You have given your all in order to protect your family and mine…I trusted you, and you did not fail me." With trembling hands, Aragorn lifted his friend's chin and held his face in his hands. "One man alone cannot battle every force of evil at work in this world, Faramir, yet you have always sought to do so. You have worked all of your life to live to the expectations of others, but I tell you, my friend, not all things are within your power. You have done always what you have believed to be right. Do not grieve, Faramir! You have not failed me! I expect naught of you but to be my friend…my brother…in this you have never failed." He took Faramir's shoulders in his hands and carefully pulled him to his feet, as he rose himself. He looked gently into the man's eyes. "I will go to Arwen…but you must do this for me."
"Anything, Aragorn…what can I do?" he whispered in reply, tears slipping from his eyes.
"You must take care of Brego…make certain that he is well tended to. Though I know you wish to be at my side, Brego's care is of the utmost importance to me. There is naught you can do for her now, but much you can do for me. I trust you with his life."
"I will take care of him."
Aragorn turned to the great stallion, who lifted his head slowly to meet the eyes of his master, lathered chest heaving with exhaustion. Aragorn laid his hands on his face. "Henio hi, mellon nîn: mae carnen. Lerhiale Arweno coi…a chole nin orhbë ú-istannen ana hi abbarh. Mae losto! [Know this, my friend: well done. You have saved Arwen's life…and have carried me with speed unknown to this world. Rest well!]" Brego was too weary to reply, but he nudged Aragorn. Though the horse did not speak, Aragorn heard his words clearly: Go…
Aragorn hugged Faramir once more and then turned to the steps of the House, the guards watching from nearby, even Hildanir had been returned to his post. Faramir laid a shaking hand on Brego's neck, wiping his own face with a hand. "You have indeed done well, my friend. If we can, we shall add to your name and you shall be esteemed and honored for the deeds you have done. Great horse, come and take rest!"
Aragorn opened the door of his own home and felt as though he were a stranger; he had returned to utter chaos, the people thronging the streets, women crying, men calling out to him, urging him forward. All of Minas Tirith had known that Arwen was unwell, and they had come to see the arrival of the only one who could heal her. Dinner was scattered across the table; no breakfast had been taken, and he could see Annî lying on the—no, he could not see a child, not just now. He would fall apart right here; feeling his breath catch, he turned away, feeling the heat on his back from the fireplace that had been burning all evening. Looking toward the bedroom, his eyes fell upon Éowyn as she came to the threshold. Her face was just as red and tear-streaked as her husband's, but she came forward to him and slipped her arms around his waist. He hugged her hard, almost getting lost in it; he could not remember to breathe, such was his pain.
"Aragorn, I am so sorry…" she said softly, though she knew no words could bring him comfort; not now…not so soon. It took him a moment before he could find his voice.
"I thank you, Éowyn, for the care you and Faramir have given to Arwen." He held her back from him and looked into her eyes, seeing the toll of many sleepless days and nights. Her gaze was as haunted as Faramir's; perhaps even more so. "You are exhausted; you must take rest. If I can heal her, it will take hours…go, and return later; there is no need to keep watch any longer." She met his eyes, and she knew he was weak from fatigue. She tenderly laid a hand on his shoulder. How long has this poor man suffered? So many sleepless nights of riding and thinking…
"I will take Annî so you can heal in peace," she replied, and then she held his shoulder a moment longer. "Did Legolas, Gimli, and Enguina return with you?"
He shook his head. "I had to hasten, and Enguina was injured. Legolas and Gimli stayed behind to protect her…but we have not time. All will be told later."
"Go to her, Aragorn," she said softly. Nodding, she released him and slipped by…and that was the last Aragorn noticed her after his eyes fell upon the bed. It was only Arwen now…it was only her…
Every blanket in their bedroom lay on the bed covering his dear wife. She was so pale, her skin was nearly translucent, like the glow of moon upon snow. She did not move, the blankets only lifted very shallowly; she was barely breathing and it was a laboring, heavy sound, the only one in the room aside from his beating heart. Her eyes were closed, a sign of her weakness; her breath caught, and he crossed to the bed immediately, taking his place beside her.
Her face was thin and weak, and her hand was the same as he lifted it into his own. The shock of the coldness of her hand was like dropping into a frozen river. Her strong form had failed her, and she was now frail, trying to battle the poison raging within her body. He had been unprepared for this; he had been unprepared for all of it. There were tears on his face that he did not know had begun falling; she had suffered…she had suffered so much and he had not been here to comfort her.
Reaching forward, he took her burning face in his hands. Her hair was soaking wet, but her face was dry, a sure sign that she was nearing the end. Arwen! Arwen! He called to her, his brow pressed to hers. Arwen, pelo ana nin, melda! He knew there could be no response; she was too far away from him, her mind blank and dark. He tugged the blankets down away from her body, and was almost physically sick at the sight of her. The poison had literally eaten her away for the past two days; her strength was gone.
"Oh god," he whispered, his voice catching, but he yanked the pieces of himself together. Later! Later, he could go to pieces, but she needed him now, desperately. There was no way to ever reveal to his heart how much his beloved had suffered. "Arwen!" he cried aloud, and he saw her lips move, but there was no sound. She was not present with him; in her delirium, she was mouthing his name; even barely breathing, she was calling for him. And he could not think of the child now…no, no, he would lose his mind.
He kissed her forehead and hurried from the room into the kitchen where he filled a bowl with boiling water. Setting it upon the table for a brief moment, he crushed fresh athelas sprigs into it, filling the entire House with the scent of hope. As exhausted as he was, he barely remembered that he had not slept in nearly three days, such was his urgency. The athelas gave him renewed strength and he returned quickly to the bedroom. Setting the bowl on their bedside stand, he placed a weather-beaten, rein-scarred hand on her forehead, and softly took one of her hands into his other scarred one. He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and reached into her, beginning her healing. "Lasto beth nîn, Arwen; tolo da na ngalad…tolo ana nin." The battle with the poison would be long and difficult, but he would have to beat it back, cure her of whatever it was they had given her.
Ilúvatar, give me strength. You must help her…you must bring her back to me. I cannot lose them both; I cannot! There is a reason you brought me back now, now, when all my hope seems to shrink at the sight of her weakened form. Ilúvatar! Help me! Help me heal her!
"Thinking, Gimli?"
Legolas's voice broke through the gloom of Gimli's thoughts as he sat alongside their little fire. They had been up for several hours and Enguina had been feeling much better since the start of the morning; upon having a bit more tea inside her and some more food, she said her wound was also a bit more healed as she had looked at it again before their meal. But it had been Gimli who was distracted from their conversation during this late morning. They were nearly ready to be on the road again. He sighed as he looked up at the elf.
"I don't mean to bring this up again," he replied, "for I know it's in your minds already, but…I cannot help thinking about Arwen and whether she is well or not. Did Aragorn make it? Was he able to save her and the child? I can't…sitting here, staring into this fire…I can't get it out of my head: the evil grin that Calendur had, the way he laughed at our pain. He was so proud of himself," he added gruffly, shaking his head.
"I cannot stop thinking of her," whispered Enguina. "I know there is nothing that will hurry us along other than my getting better, but I wish we were home now. At least…at least then we would know…either way…we would know."
"There will not be an 'either way,'" Legolas said firmly. "Both of you need to stop being so grim. We must focus on the good; Aragorn is riding to her or has already arrived as we speak. We must believe that she is well; I refuse to think anything other than that." He looked back and forth between them both. "Let us…let us try and think of other things."
There was silence for a moment among them. Enguina looked over at him, her eyes grave. "I do not know if I can. I am so worried—"
"I know!" shouted Gimli so loudly that it interrupted her thought and Legolas startled. "Let's have ourselves a game before we finish packing to get on the road again for a little while."
"A game?" Enguina asked incredulously.
Gimli nodded. "Perhaps an "I See" game."
Legolas groaned. "Gimli, I am certain this is not going to be much fun."
"What is there to see?" asked Gimli. "I see something green!"
"Green?" asked Legolas dryly, and Enguina began looking around for something green to guess. "It is a pine tree."
Gimli glared at him. "Let the Lady guess!" Legolas rolled his eyes again as Enguina gave him a little smile. "What is there to see? I see something brown!"
Once again, Enguina began to look about, searching for something Gimli might choose while Legolas mumbled, "A log." The dwarf glared at him as Enguina laughed.
"What is there to see?" asked Gimli again, his eyes more cautious this time. "I see…something white—"
"Snow."
"Blue then, you—"
"Enguina's tunic."
"Miserable Elf! Black—"
"Lómë."
"Legolas!" cried Enguina, reaching over to smack him in the arm as Gimli growled, staring arrows at the elf. "You are not being very nice…and you are not letting me guess."
Legolas sighed. "You will have to forgive me—"
"I won't!" Gimli snarled, crossing his arms, and Enguina held out a hand to calm him.
"Here, let me try, Gimli," she said trying to make peace. "What is there to see? I see something…with wings."
"With wings?" Gimli scanned the entire area. "Well, it can't be a butterfly or a bug, there aren't any at this time of year, so it must be a bird. But…" He searched and searched as Legolas grinned to himself. "I don't see any birds." He appeared stumped.
"I know what it is," Legolas said, and Gimli growled.
"Of course you do, miserable elf!"
"Shh!" she said to them both, and then to the elf she said, "There will be no cheating, Legolas."
"He is never going to guess it," Legolas replied honestly, and after a few minutes, Gimli had to admit defeat.
"I…I honestly haven't an idea."
Enguina pointed, and he looked to where she aimed. "There is a hawk circling right over there."
"Where?" he asked, shading his eyes so he could see, yet he still could not possibly see it.
Legolas rolled his eyes again, shaking his head. "That is much too far for mortal eyes, Guin."
"Elves!" groaned Gimli. "Why did I ever suggest a game?"
"I am sorry!" Enguina said, and she did feel rather bad about choosing something that he could not possibly guess. Legolas just grinned.
"I told you this game was not such a good choice, Gimli," Legolas repeated. "You need to choose a game that does not require us to see anything…or hear for that matter. In that respect, we are too different."
He narrowed his eyes at Legolas. "I knew there was a reason I still didn't like pointy-ears."
"You do not like me?" asked Enguina, pouting at Gimli.
"It's nothing personal! Your race and mine weren't meant to mix, lass…we are too different."
"Hush, Gimli," Legolas said with a laugh. "You and I have made the most of our friendship these past years, though it took us some time."
He sighed. "Well, let's get ourselves into the saddle and ride for a few hours before the sun sets if we can. Perhaps I'll think of a different one on the way."
"Please…let us try to make some progress," Enguina added, and they rose to their feet.
It did not take more than a few moments for them to set out again on the road home and the horses were eager to be on their way. After they had ridden for a short time, Gimli called out, "I've thought of one!"
Legolas, who had his arms around Enguina again, shook his head. "What now?"
Gimli laughed, tugging the horses along with him. "I went on a journey and along the way…"
"Oh no," Legolas groaned.
Enguina laughed. "Oh let him have his fun! Are there no games that you enjoy, Legolas?"
He rested his chin on her shoulder. "Mmm…thinking…thinking…no, probably not. I am not much for games. Perhaps if I ever have children I shall have to be."
"Enguina," Gimli called back behind him, "you should begin!"
"I brought Aragorn," she said easily.
"What?" asked Legolas, laughing.
"Are you even allowed to bring people in this game?" questioned Gimli.
"It is our game," insisted Enguina. "And beside, if I were going on a journey, I would not wish to be lost, and Aragorn is clearly better with directions than I." She laughed. "So I am bringing Aragorn."
"All right," sighed Legolas. "I shall play with you both. I went on a journey and with me I brought Aragorn and…Brethil."
Gimli chuckled. "I went on a journey and with me I brought Aragorn, Brethil, and a very large custard pie that was covered with icing."
"Gimli, you just made me hungry," Enguina laughed. "I drank a huge tankard of ale…"
Gimli began chortling as Legolas whispered in her ear, "I did not take you for someone who consumes much alcohol. I drank a huge tankard of ale and then everyone laughed at me—"
"—for falling from my horse!"
"Getting back on," continued Enguina, "after Aragorn helped me, of course…"
"I happily continued on until, reaching a half-witted troll," added Legolas.
"I irritated him so much he took a swing at me!"
"I jumped out of the way—"
"And Aragorn knocked the troll onto his backside!"
"Leaping away from the troll," Gimli hollered from in front, "we launched ourselves into a lake and—"
Grinning, Enguina continued for him, "Made our way to the other side where we met—"
"A nasty dragon."
"Who was offended—"
"By Prince Legolas," Enguina said, turning her head to raise her eyebrows at him, "who happened to be with us as well."
"But he quit us as soon as he realized that…"
"We had razor-sharp rocks to throw at 'im!" laughed Gimli.
"So…" added Enguina, "swimming our way back across the lake…"
"We tossed ourselves down to rest."
"Utterly exhausted," Gimli tossed in.
"Violently, we were woken up!"
"Winds of such force as we had never seen came up so suddenly!"
"And exactly at that time, the Lady Galadriel appeared out of nowhere and calmed the storm!"
Enguina burst out laughing; just hearing Gimli speak of the Lady was hilarious to her. "Where, you, Gimli, honored her with a kiss!" The dwarf blushed furiously.
"And we suddenly realized we had covered zero miles and had to begin the journey all over again," finished Legolas, kissing Enguina's temple as they all began to laugh.
"Oh by Heaven," Enguina giggled, "that was so amusing!"
"That was the best round game I think we have ever played," Legolas agreed.
"See?" she said, leaning back and brushing her lips against his chin. "You can enjoy a game now and again."
As he looked down into her eyes, he was glad to see them sparkling with actual joy for the first time since they had been in Minas Tirith together. He was happy that, for even a few moments, they were able to forget the trouble at home and just live. Smiling at her, he knew that he had Gimli to thank for that small miracle. Ilúvatar bless the dwarf.
The sun was setting over the King's House in Minas Tirith. Everything was quiet outside; no guards were about, under strict orders by Faramir to stay away and give the family some peace. After their learning that the Queen was out of danger, the people rejoiced and brought holly, during this winter season, to decorate the porch and about the House. Though she had not yet woken when there had been word, she was recovering from the poison. It had taken the King many hours to draw her back from the very edge of death…but he had succeeded. He was thankful to his people, though he had not seen them or thanked them personally; not yet. No…Aragorn was hiding from them all; he had no desire to speak to anyone about what had happened at the moment. Anyone but Arwen, that is. Now, he remained at her side, and for the first time in many hours had taken some rest.
She came to so slowly, Arwen thought she might already be dead. Her head did not ache with fever, but her brain seemed hazy as though nothing she had experienced was real. Every part of her felt as limp as a boned fish and every muscle felt as though it had been strained and pulled taut for hours. She felt too weak to open her eyes, but she felt her own lips move…and mouth his name. The thought of him brought back a flood of pain and memories of her last waking moments…the moments she remembered only too well. Pain pierced her through the heart and physical pain smothered her as well, her empty womb like deadweight within her. She choked back a sob with a cry in her throat, the tears already flooding her, agony was all she could feel. Desperately, she tried to shove the pain back; if she did not think of it, she might survive…if she did not think of it she might pull herself together…
Impossible. She did not even know who she was…she could not even find herself in the walls that closed around her heart. Aragorn! Her heart cried out to him even before she reached for him. She did not wish to fully wake, but even in her body's clear exhaustion, she did not want to sleep again. Her dark dreams were all too real. Trying to move any part of her body was exhausting to her; she forced herself to curl her fingers, and they touched hair…beard…a very familiar one.
Forcing her eyes to open, and blinking a half-dozen times, she looked down upon her beloved's face. His cheek rested on her fingertips. His right hand gently lay on her wrist. His beard tickled her fingers with each breath. His hair was softly curled around his face, and the small shred of light that came through the darkened window carefully lit his was here…he had come home. There was nothing to stop the tears now, pain sweeping through her lower body, an ever present reminder about what they had lost. Her shoulders shook; she could not raise her head. With an effort that sapped any strength she had left, she lifted her other hand and laid it on his head, fingering his hair. Unable to hold her hand there, it slipped from his face and she closed her eyes, drowning in her own pain. Oh, agony…Aragorn…Aragorn, please…help me…
She felt a hand close around hers, felt his head lift from her other, felt his weight on the bed beside her, his hand against her face. He was looking at her; she could feel his eyes on her…how could she bear it? She could hardly breathe.
"You are alive," he whispered, and his face was so close his breath caressed her cheek. "Your hands are warm and you are alive. Arwen…beloved, Arwen…"
At the sound of her name on his lips, she opened her eyes, unable to lie there any longer without seeing his eyes. She saw them, so familiar…so full of love and compassion, full of the pain of loss and fear for her, full of the joy of having her in his arms, of knowing she was alive, and yet, so full of tears. Her eyes closed again when she felt his hands on her face; she could say nothing. There were no words for what she was feeling. She tried to force her hands to wrap around him, but they would be forced no further than his sides, her fingers wrapping into and gripping the grey tunic he wore, the soft fabric catching in her failing hands, her knuckles white. He was there…he was there!
"I am here," he whispered, his voice so soft and tender. "Oh, my love, I am here now." He did not tell her things would be all right; they were not. He did not tell her that he knew what had happened; he did not. He did not tell her that she was well again; she was not. But those words were enough to open the floodgates of her pain; she felt him reaching for her, and she let him into her heart, abandoning every wall she had built in her feverish state. A torrential rain of agony poured into him, and her wail caught him off guard. As weak as she was, her grief was stronger than her will, and she needed him…as desperately as he needed her.
Gently, he slipped his arms beneath her upper body and brought her up to his chest. Her head fell against his breast, tears pouring down her face and his; her hands clutched his tunic as his strong arms held her to him. Her nails dug into him as she grasped his sides, wailing into his chest, unable to control the trembling, the pain tearing through her again and again. He rocked her tenderly in his arms, feeling his heart tighten with each cry, with each tear, until he thought he would burst from her pain.
He held her to him until she stopped wailing, the weakness and the agony she was in taking revenge on her again. She fell into an exhausted sleep against his chest, but he did not lay her back down. He simply could not do it; her pain was his own. There would come a time, shortly, when she woke again, when he would need to learn of her condition and decide what way best to heal her. Right now…he simply could not move past how tiny she was in his arms, and the sound of her wailing would haunt his every waking moment until he heard her voice in speech instead of tears. Oh…she had suffered ceaselessly!
But he, Aragorn, he would spend every waking moment before she opened her eyes again praying. Praying for strength, praying for deliverance, for guidance, for words…Arwen needed him now, and he needed to comfort her. There was no escape from this pain…no escape.
