It was pitch black outside, and though Legolas was still shivering he had been plotting, not sleeping, these last few hours away. He could hear the rain tumbling down from the cave's face and hear it splattering in the trees and on the ground. All of them, including the guard at the door, were asleep; he wondered how much longer he would have to exact this plan. The ropes remained digging into his hands and feet; this was the only part of his plan that he had not worked out as of yet, but he figured it was the one that he could work around. The best case scenario was that somewhere out in that rain there was a very sharp limb or rock where he could cut his ropes.

Time to move, Legolas. Time to find Enguina and Gimli and get them out of the trouble they are continually in. No one else can do this…no one else but you. A grim smile came across his face, and he yanked himself up into a sitting position. The blanket slipped from his shoulders, and he could have screamed in pain. Lying in stillness, he had completely forgotten that he was badly injured. He held back the scream and a cough, and instead, sat trying to catch his breath, his every feature contorted in pain. When he thought it might have been all right to move, he shifted to his knees, his breath catching, his head spinning, but he forced himself to begin walking across the floor on them.

His wounds stabbed with pain at every movement, but he continued on his knees to the front of the cave, avoiding the guard altogether. He almost smiled at his luck; every single one of them was completely asleep and they suspected nothing. Vilyath will be so angry with you all when she realizes you slept through my escape. Carefully, he crawled past the man and moved out into the pouring rain. As soon as the rain began pelting him, he realized he was shivering, moving clumsily.

Teeth chattering, he mumbled to himself, "N-n-now to f-find a r-r-rock." Turning left and right about himself, he finally noticed the sort of sharp-edged rock he was looking for and made his way towards it slowly. Leaning backwards, he trapped it in his hands, slicing his fingers as he tore through the ropes. Coughing and shivering profusely in the soaking rain, Legolas sliced the ropes with surprising quickness for one so weak and ill. After a few moments, the rope snapped free and his arms dropped to his sides, yanking on all of his wounds. The muscles in his chest ached with the pain of the let-down, but he had more important things to worry about than his muscles complaining. He swallowed hard and rammed the pain back. He was nearly free…he had to escape.

Turning forward again and sitting on the ground, he tried to untie his feet from their bounds, but his fingers were shaking so badly that he could not undo them. He lifted his feet and began dragging the cords over the sharp rock, his ribs and muscles shouting with pain. Continuing anyway and fighting the darkness at the edges of his vision, he finally snapped the ropes, collapsing back upon the ground. Exhausted, he had to lie there for a few minutes before he had no choice but to force himself back to his knees and shuffle forward.

Choosing a horse was his only option; escaping on foot was completely out of the question as he could barely walk. He was filthy, muddy and bloody. Tottering to his feet, he slowly made his way to where the horses were tied under a nearby grove of trees. Not a moment passed as he made his way forward that he did not wish for Brethil's face to appear, a friend in all this chaos. The horses were quiet as he drew near, stumbling along in the mud amid stones he could not see. He knew he was in terrible condition, and he struggled to figure how he would mount. A bay nickered at him and a chestnut snorted. They seemed to understand as he touched them that he was in dire need of assistance.

Legolas stroked the chestnut's face. "You are a g-g-gentle b-beast. I n-need to s-s-save my friends. Will you help me?" he said quickly. The chestnut did not move, but stood steady, and Legolas took that as an indication of 'yes.' Thankfully, the horse he had chosen was short which would make it much easier for him to mount up, especially in his condition. After untying the sorrel, he gathered the strength to tug himself up onto the horse's back but just as he placed his foot in the stirrup, something big brushed against him—hard. Legolas stumbled, and with a hiss of pain nearly dropped into the mud his boots were practically stuck in. He heard the stamping of feet and opened his eyes quickly enough to see a huge grey above him, ready to pummel him in the chest. Falling back against the sorrel, he had just enough presence of mind to throw himself out of the way. The horses spoke with each other angrily, and it made his anxiety increase a hundred-fold. If they woke the men and elves, they would catch him, and he had to escape.

Adrenaline giving him strength, with renewed vigor he threw himself away from the horse and yanked himself to his feet. His wounds roared with agony, and he nearly doubled over from the pain in his ribs, but he ignored it as best he could. Slipping in the mud, he turned back to go after a different horse on the outside of the group, but he suddenly found himself face to face with the grey who had tried to trample him.

He did the only thing he could; he tried to calm the beast. "Easy," he whispered, holding his hands out and facing them palms downward, but the horse reared up and struck out at him. He back-pedaled quickly away from the reach of the hooves, desperate not to be struck…and then he was tumbling.

His heel had struck a rock hidden in the mud and he had fallen backwards. Trying to catch his balance served him in no way, and he dropped over the side of the hill. The mud carried him swiftly down, down, depositing him at the bottom with a smack and a splatter. The pain seared through him, cutting off his breath; his head was spinning, he could also hear raised voices from above, and he knew his feeble escape attempt was ended. But he had to save Gimli and Enguina; he just had to…because if he did not, who else could do it? Who else would tell them some creature was making its way toward them? He tried, he reached, his fingers scrabbling against the rocks near him as he tried to rise, but to no end. As exhaustion began to overtake him, the voices grew louder, and there was one thought that resonated through his head and sliced through him like a knife before darkness took him.

You are so worried about saving them, Legolas…but who is going to save you?

Aragorn prodded the fire gently with a stick, trying to tempt it into giving more warmth and light, but it was a futile gesture. The drenching rain was certainly putting a damper on any efforts to find Legolas, or even Enguina and Gimli for that matter. He and Arwen were behind, and they were falling further behind as they sat beneath the tree. The fire went against everything he had ever taught himself, and normally, the rain would not have bothered him, as he would have pulled up his hood and carried on.

But there were numerous problems with this scenario. The two of them had traveled an extra two hours into the downpour, and nearing their stopping point, they had to get down and lead the horses as the path they were following and become nigh impassable. And with one look at Arwen, Aragorn knew that they needed to stop. There was nothing that needed to be said—she was as stubborn as him; she would never tell him it was necessary to stop. He knew that she was not only exhausted, but her injuries were also taking their toll, her head especially sore. Aragorn had called the halt, and everyone had been grateful, especially the horses, who also needed the rest.

And although he, too, was very grateful for the rest, as he and Arwen had been in the saddle for hours, he was worried. He was worried about Legolas, captured and severely wounded. They had seen the place of the attack, and the more Aragorn had 'seen,' the more anxious he had become. The elf needed to be found soon…and he was not the only one. Enguina and Gimli were out here somewhere, and Aragorn could tell that at the moment, they were still on the correct trail. This, at least, was some relief. And on top of these two worries was his worry for Arwen and her well-being. Should he have left her in Henneth Annûn? At least when they had left there, Faramir had been healing and Éowyn in better condition…

"I can see that look in your eye." He heard her voice come from behind him as she leaned near his shoulder, nearly startling him. "I know that it means you are thinking too much."

"You are right, of course," he replied, slipping his arm around her as she took a place beside him on the great tree's roots. She was soaked, and her skin was cold…but he could not ask her if she was because she would only tell him that she was fine. Stubborn elves…

"Of course," she agreed softly, and laid her head on his soggy shoulder. He stroked his fingers through her hair.

"How are you feeling?" he asked solicitously. "Are you well?" He knew her response, even when he had seen her pain as she was riding today.

"I will be fine."

"I did not ask how you would be." She raised her head and he met her eyes, raising an eyebrow at her. He continued, his voice quite serious, "I asked how you are."

"I am f—"

"Be honest with me."

Arwen tilted her head. "I need to be fine, Aragorn. The least of our worries right now is a cut."

"Believe me," he replied, "if the wounds you had were simple cuts, I would not even ask you about them. How is your head? Do you feel light-headed, faint?"

She hesitated, and that told him everything he needed to know as he reached over to hand her a waterskin. Accepting it gratefully, she took it from him and had something to drink. "I am glad we stopped," she said lightly, giving him a smile. "Asfaloth has been none too pleased with me. For the last hour, he has been glaring at me, and I think he is wetter and dirtier than I am…if that is even possible."

He grinned at her. "Brego has been shoving me in the back with his nose to show his displeasure."

She gave a soft laugh. "Really?"

"Indeed, he was not very happy. In fact, exceedingly grumpy would be better."

"Would you not be grumpy? Brego has much cause; surely, we mistreat them."

Aragorn snorted, laughing as he glanced at Brego, who at the moment was munching grass. "Oh yes, we treat them abominably ill. Look at how unhappy they are."

She laughed again, and then sighed, and before she spoke, he knew what she was about to say. "Oh, I wish this rain would stop. I know we were gaining on them. Perhaps as soon as it begins to slow, we should journey out and—"

"Arwen," he interrupted softly, "we need to rest."

"When you say 'we'—"

"I mean we," he told her, hearing the bitter tone of her voice. "We all need to rest. You were injured, and yes, I am worried about you, but everyone needs to rest, no matter how much we need…we feel we need to hurry." You let that one slip, Aragorn. He moved on. "But we need to rest first and take time, otherwise we will not find them when we cannot watch the trail through our exhaustion."

"I thought I told you to stop bringing that up," she said, but Aragorn could hear the suspicion in her voice. "I know it is because you care, but I am going to be fine. In fact, I would return to the saddle in a few moments if this rain was ended."

"And your head would not protest?" She grimaced, and he frowned. "Forgive me…it is only because I care that I have cause to ask."

She looked up at him, and her eyes became suddenly honest. "I…before you let me sleep, I was unsure I would be able to sit upright. But…I am fine now. I thought that I would fall asleep and you were going to leave me behind."

It was his turn to grimace. "I will admit I did think about it, but Brego forbid it."

She tugged her head away from his stroking fingers and narrowed her eyes at him. "You were going to leave me behind," she accused him, and he heard no question in her voice. "How could you."

"Arwen, you were barely conscious," he said softly, trying fruitlessly to defend himself. "I was afraid you would collapse or fall from Asfaloth's back or…be unable to sit upright, as you just pointed out yourself."

"It is different for me to say it and for you to be thinking it," she told him flatly.

He sighed, and tried not to roll his eyes. Women…elves… "Do not be angry, Arwen. I was worried for your safety and your health," he explained, exasperated. "I do not need anything else to happen to you to remind me of your mortality, and hitting your head earns you more than a little rest in my thoughts. And we do not need any more injuries: Faramir is wounded; Éowyn is more than exhausted and bearing a child; Legolas is captured and possibly severely wounded, and we have no idea at all the state of Gimli and Enguina." He frowned at her, shaking his head. "You will have to forgive me if I tried to avoid adding you to the long list of family that is in desperate need of aid."

She laid a hand on his face. "I am fine, Aragorn."

"We have been through this before," he replied stubbornly. "I know very well that your fine is just as 'fine' as my fine…which means it is not very fine at all." She narrowed her eyes at him and he groaned again. "Do not look at me that way. I know you are angry, but…" he hesitated and shook his head. "I am not in control here, Arwen; there is too much to chance. I am trying to trust Ilúvatar, but by Heaven, I do not know what His aim is here. You could not see you…and you have no idea what I felt when I heard you had been injured and no one had been there to protect you."

Her fingers tightened on his cheek, and she felt her other wrist twinge when she shifted her weight onto it. "But between the horses and you, everything was all right."

"I know I should not blame myself for what happened at Henneth Annûn," he said softly, his voice burdened with bitterness, "but I cannot help it. I left you alone—"

"You cannot be with me every moment," she told him, but she saw in his eyes and felt the stabbing pain in her chest of his last absence—when their world had fallen apart. "Aragorn, do not do this to yourself. Stop thinking so much."

"I am your protector," he continued. "Their protector. It is my duty to defend you and the others; it is my life." He laughed suddenly, looking down. "It is written in who I am. There is nothing I can do about it; it is a responsibility I cannot shake." He felt a sudden bout of desperate worry for Enguina…he had to protect her. He had to find them, all of them, and stop him.

"No one expects that of you," she replied honestly, but she saw a bit of hidden desperation in Aragorn's eye, and just as quickly it was gone. She tilted her head. "What is it?"

The rain picked up around them, and he took that perfect interruption to lean forward and prod the fire into giving more heat. His arm tightened around her shoulders in another moment, and he shook his head. "Are you warm enough?"

Oh, yes, he was very clever, was he not, asking her if she was well to cast her off the scent of his anxiety. But no…she would not be dissuaded. "Aragorn, what is the matter?"

He shook his head, tilting it. "I do not know—"

She covered his lips suddenly with her fingers. "After nearly fifty years of knowing one another and seven years of marriage, you cannot possibly hide anything from me. I know when something is amiss. You have no secrets, Aragorn; your thoughts are not your own." She rested her hand on the center of his chest and he covered her hand with his. "I can feel your worry."

It was killing him to keep such a secret from her, but he knew…he knew it was dangerous to tell her. He was worried about her health as it was. If he told her… "I do not think this is a very good time," he replied honestly. "I am not sure it is a good idea to tell you at all."

"Tell me the truth, Aragorn. What is the matter?"

He was distressed by his thoughts; the words of Soronar haunted his steps. She could see right through him; she always could. Why he ever thought he could hide something like this from her, he would never know, and he had no idea how it had taken her this long to figure him out.

"Arwen…" he said softly. "I am worried about Enguina."

"Enguina?" She had not been expecting that at all. Legolas, yes, but Enguina? She was with Gimli; they would keep each other safe. Why in the world would he be worried about her? "Aragorn, why are you worried about Enguina?"

"It was something Soronar said," he told her. He had spoken with her at length about the elf's words, though they had not had time for her to visit with him before they left. There was nothing in the conversation that Aragorn had told her that would have given him even more cause to worry.

"Enguina will be fine," she soothed him, tightening her fingers on his chest and wrapping them around his hand. "She is with Gimli, and they are hunting for Legolas. We will be upon them soon enough."

He shook his head. "It is not that they are alone…I worry that…I am worried that she will come upon the captors before we reach them. And I am worried what will happen when they do. There is one among them, as Soronar has said, that she needs to be…" She watched as the lightning reflected upon his face and his lips tightened. His eyes held a fire she seldom saw, unless it was kindled with anger or indignation. "We need to get to Legolas first," he finished simply.

Anxiety overcame her every other thought. "Aragorn, who is among them?" But as soon as she spoke the question, her heart knew the answer. She would not believe it; she would not…not until she heard the name from his lips. There was no way…it was impossible! Ilúvatar was too good; Ilúvatar would never…

"Bragolaur." The word came out as a disgusted whisper through clenched teeth, but there was no way that she could have misheard him.

To describe what she felt in that moment would have been nearly impossible. Horror, the hair on the back of her neck and arms rose as she thought of Enguina suddenly encountering the elf for any reason; terror, that Enguina would freeze and fall victim again to his dementia; loathing, that the elf lived still and no one had killed him yet, that he would be living among other people who did not know what he had done to her; and fury, that Aragorn, who knew what he was, knew what had happened, had concealed from her this truth.

She flung herself back from him, shoving herself off his chest with the hand that had held his moments before. "Get your horse; we ride now." Her voice was cold and brisk, full of the command that she had inherited from her father; it almost appeared that he stood before Aragorn, and not her. He obeyed without a thought, rising to his feet as she had turned her back on him…and then he came to. She moved to dampen the fire, but he reached out to take her arm.

She yanked back fiercely, holding up a hand to him, warding him off. "No," she snarled, glaring at him, and he came to a halt instantly. He had never heard her use that tone with him; he had never seen her so angry before. "Do not try to stop me; do not try to draw me in!" She stared daggers at him, her accusing eyes tight as she focused on him, her face reddening, her blood throbbing through her veins, her head beginning to pound. "She is in danger! Terrible danger and you did not tell me! How could you not tell me? You, who knew what he was, what he is, what he did to her!"

The angry tears came, and she was even angrier that she was crying. "What if he has her already? What if he is…god, right now, Aragorn!" Her voice broke as she turned from him, and he reached out to take her hand. Just as he touched her fingers, she jerked away, catching her nails on the tips of his fingers and snapping back her injured wrist. She hissed in pain, clasping her wrist with her other hand and holding tightly.

"Let me—"

"You knew!" she bit out, interrupting him, now lashing out in pain as well as anger. "You knew it was him and if he finds her she will fall apart, and no one will rescue her, and Legolas is terribly wounded, how will he protect her? And Gimli does not know!" The pounding in her head worsened, and she felt suddenly ill, picturing Enguina on the ground beneath him again. "God," she whispered, her eyes closing, trying to hold the images, the feelings, the pounding at bay, "I can hear her whimpering…"

He closed the distance between them, noticing her knees beginning to shake. No matter how angry she was with him, she needed to sit down—now. He drew her towards him and back out of the rain, where she shoved back against his chest, away from his comfort, but she stumbled, her vision blurring. Her head and neck ached fiercely, and he tugged her back down to the roots of the tree. She could not fight him, and the tears came hot and heavily down her face.

"I hate that you are so strong," she gasped, trying to pull back from him again, but he would not let her. "I hate that I am trapped here. I hate that I…I feel so weak right now, and that part of me wants you to hold me…"

He could have smiled at that last part, but he refrained. "I am sorry that I did not tell you. I am sorry that I was worried for your safety as well as theirs. You need to calm down…breathe, Arwen, and take it easy."

"We do not have time for this," she groaned, trying to pull back from him again, even with her head and wrist aching as they were. "We must find him…we must stop him. You did not see her, but you have heard her crying out in her nightmares, after what he did to her! We have to go—"

"You are more stubborn than I am," he interrupted her gently. "As much as I, too, want to go after her, and stop him, you must rest. You are exhausted, and in pain, and were we to ride out now, you would collapse from Asfaloth's back and then where would we be? This cannot be overlooked, Arwen."

"No, you are more stubborn…otherwise we would be on the road already."

"Arwen, I swear we will find them. We will catch them, and we will save Legolas and stop him. The man will pay for his crimes…with his life if necessary."

"I swear," she spoke bitterly into his chest, her voice ringing out even broken by tears, "I swear I will kill him myself if he touches one hair…if he so much as looks at her!"

He nodded, his chin rubbing against the top of her head. "He will pay for what he has done, Arwen. We will find him. Do not despair."

"Damn this rain," she growled, her fingers tightening on his tunic, and he suddenly found her clinging to him instead of trying to push herself away. She felt his hand stroke through her hair.

"We need to rest," he said softly. "The rain will stop in another hour or so, and we need to be ready to travel."

"How can I rest when—" she bit back the angry words and then he felt her breath come out in a huff. "This is hard, Aragorn. Hard."

"I know," he replied. He was silent for a moment, praying for Ilúvatar to help them be strong, so that they could find them, help them, rescue them all. He was afraid for them all, and he needed to be untroubled by the fear so that he might remain focused. "Can you forgive me…for not telling you? I am sorry that I did not tell you; I am sorry that I upset you; and I am sorry that we are not racing toward Enguina at this very moment."

He felt her shoulders tighten beneath his arms, and he knew she was holding back the sobs threatening to rip through her again. "I forgive you," she whispered into his chest. "This is not your fault." He could feel the warmth of her tears, and he lowered his head to hers.

"We must trust Ilúvatar to protect them," he said softly, "when we cannot." He could bear no more losses in his family. For what he had done, for what he was planning to do, for what was not quite a thought yet but probably would be the moment he laid eyes on Enguina, Bragolaur would be stopped…even if he had to kill the elf himself.