Author's Note: The italics here are from Psalm 3 from The Bible. I don't own that, nor did I write it! The song used later is "I Will Lift My Eyes" by Bebo Norman, which I also don't own and didn't write! :O)

It was dawn, and Arwen had smelled the fumes of a campfire just moments before Aragorn had seen the last smoke of one over the treetops. They had been galloping for hours, the horses giving everything they had for the last few miles. Something drove the four of them; they had covered a day's ride in less than half the time, and were shocked when they realized they had actually caught their quarry. Dismounting and readying their weapons, they never even tethered the boys; they were a little more than a mile off, so they could call Brego and Asfaloth when necessary, and there they would be safe from the battle. It was not very easy to sneak towards a camp in secret when you were riding. The couple was making their way through the trees silently when they began to hear the screaming.

At first, it was unintelligible; there were words, but none could be understood. Who was screaming? What were they yelling about? There were no words spoken between them, but both of their hearts began to race. Aragorn did not even need to look at her to communicate; their pace quickened, and their silent stalk became a light jog through the undergrowth. The crunching was too loud, Aragorn knew, but they were too worried, their hearts flooded with fear.

Ilúvatar, please…Ilúvatar, be with us…Ilúvatar, be our sword and our shield…Ilúvatar...

Their prayers flooded their hearts and they were continuous; as one they prayed, their minds and hearts connected in the special bond they shared. The yelling grew louder, and within a few seconds it became clear who was yelling…and it was not yelling, exactly. It was wailing; a voice flooded with pain, with grief. The voice made the hair on the back of their necks' stand up and gave them chills. It was Legolas's; they had never heard his voice raised in such a way and filled with such anguish. The elf had a quiet voice, and to hear this was so unnatural, so frightening. They could hear him sobbing aloud in the silence of the woods, even a mile from the camp:

O Lord! How many are my foes! How many rise up against me!

But you are a shield around me, O Lord! You bestow glory on me and lift up my head!

To the Lord I cry aloud and he answers me from his holy hill!

I lie down and sleep, I wake again because the Lord sustains me

I will not fear the tens of thousands drawn up against me on every side!

Their jog became a bit louder along the forest floor and then a scream of pain fell on their ears; a woman's voice, clear as daylight—and both of them knew that cry far too well to misunderstand who it was. They had heard it brokenly crying on their doorstep in the early morning hours or from their divan as Arwen held her or Aragorn brewed her tea. It was not only a cry of pain, but of deep suffering, as though someone could not wake her from the nightmare. No, this time, it was far too obvious that the nightmare was real. Enguina!

Aragorn did not have time to blink before Arwen bolted into the trees ahead of him. He broke into a dead run as well, but she was lighter on her feet and was several lengths ahead of him in no time. Enguina! Enguina! It was their single thought; they knew…they did not even need to be present in the camp to see what was happening. Aragorn controlled his grief, using it to fuel his body into a weapon and charge through the undergrowth as though it was not even there. They were crashing through the woods now, scaring all the wildlife away within a hundred feet; limbs and thorns and shrubs ignored even as they were tearing at their clothes and skin.

Nononononononono! The mantra was continuous in Arwen's head; disbelieving, praying that it was not possible, that there was no chance Gimli and Enguina could have found Bragolaur before them. There were several more anguished cries, close together, strange sounding, and she pushed herself beyond her limits. Flat out, faster than she ever had run in her life for any reason. She was blindly running now, her heart bursting with terror; she had to reach Enguina. There was no choice; nothing else mattered. Pain speared through her, tearing up her chest as she raced and she forgot tiredness, pain, any ailments before this moment. If he had touched her…one hair…he would be put to death—she would see to it. She was coming…she was coming and she would kill him. Enguina! Enguina!

Moments remained before they would arrive, Arwen at least fifty feet before Aragorn. Ahead, they could hear Legolas's voice even louder:

Arise, O Lord! Deliver me, O my God!

Strike all my enemies on the jaw; break the teeth of the wicked!

Answer me when I call to you, O my righteous God!

Give me relief from my distress, be merciful to me and hear my prayer!

And Arwen heard it before Aragorn for she was closer: pain-filled whimpering, gasping, little squeaks of air trapped in a throat and she knew what she would find when she burst through the bushes—she would not even slow down. Arwen never thought she could run so fast that the trees whipping past her would make her sick to her stomach; she never thought that she could feel such a burning hatred for another living creature; she had never felt a furious fire consuming her as she did in this moment; and she never thought that she would ever be in this situation again.

Her heart broke.

She was too late again.

Legolas was numb with pain. He did not know what he was feeling; was it his pain? Was it Enguina's? It was all his now as he sprang against the ropes, his last efforts to be free…or die trying.

It was all so clear; how could he tear his eyes away from her trembling form, bruised, broken, bleeding? Bragolaur had abused her in so many more ways than just this. She was naked, yet he was almost completely clothed. One hand cruelly held her mouth to smother her screams, the other was holding her hip still on the ground, one of his knees pressing firmly on one of hers, the knife scraping against her belly as his hips began to move against her, his mouth somewhere in the region of her breasts. There was no fight left in her; she was barely conscious in the throes of his passion. She was sobbing in exhaustion, suffering, anguish…there were no words to describe the state she was in. Enguina had been writhing beneath him, but no more. She could not escape; she could not be free; she was dying with each move he made. He had her, just as he said he would.

His mouth moved to her ear and though Legolas could not hear what he was saying, he knew Bragolaur was whispering something to her. Her chest heaving beneath him, she could only lay, and made no attempt to respond. He slapped her hard across the face and gripped her chin as she gasped, her pants whines of pain. He muttered something else, and she blinked, her chest now heaving with her sobs as she responded in terror to whatever he had said.

And then Bragolaur shoved brutally against her; Enguina screamed against his hand, her upper body bucking in an attempt to refuse him—but he was simply too strong. Holding her hip down firmly to the ground, there was a smile on his face and an expression of pleasure that made Legolas choke on the soup that Vilyath had fed him. Wrenching and heaving against his bonds, ignoring the pain and the blood pouring from his ruined arms and back, the bark shredding his skin and tearing him apart, screaming psalms of deliverance to the One, he fought. He twisted, ignoring everything else except his single-minded focus; he had pledged to his beloved that he alone would defend her from the consuming darkness…that he would reach out, with Ilúvatar's strength, scoop her into his arms, hold her, and protect her with his love everlasting.

But nothing that Bragolaur had done before compared to the harshly whispered words that came from his mouth as he leaned in close to the tear-stained, bruised and bloody mess that used to be her face.

"Take it all, you little-"

SNAP! RIP!

With those words, Legolas lunged to his knees, roaring like a lion; his arms broke free and they swung forward of their own accord as he closed the distance, reaching for Bragolaur's throat. There were shouts of concern from his men, shock that Legolas had freed himself made even greater by his rapidly deteriorating condition. He nearly fell over his own feet, but made it far enough to wrap an arm around the elf's neck and yank backwards with every last bit of strength he had left in his body.

Bragolaur shouted and Legolas continued to roar, trying to twist and yank to break the neck he held with arms that did not want to do his will. The passion-crazed elf snatched Enguina's arm with the hand that had been gripping her mouth just before Legolas could pull him completely free of her, and her wail of pain from the increased pressure on her bleeding hands was just enough to make Legolas hesitate; it was all the elf needed. Bragolaur reached up to slash him with the knife and Legolas's knocked it from his hand with a swift hit from his left. Without the knife, Bragolaur reached for the elf's broken ribs with one hand and pressed as hard as he could; the other flat-palmed Legolas in the chest.

Legolas's arms loosened; he could not breathe and he fell immediately into a fit of choking. Bragolaur leaned forward and rammed his elbows into the elf, shoving him off-balance. He stumbled back a step and fell, uncoordinated, to the ground. Bragolaur laughed at his attempt and immediately moved back to Enguina's pelvis and she cried out as she felt him fall against her again.

Legolas could have been on his last breath and he would have used it trying to stop him. Dragging himself to his knees, he lunged forward and, even as Hrigow and Stetlan lunged forward themselves to stop him, snatched Bragolaur's knife from the ground. Launching himself forward, he plunged the dagger down through the right side of Bragolaur's shoulder, forcing it in nearly to the hilt. Mifer and Stetlan were upon him a second later, knocking him off to the side and crushing him against the ground, but the dagger was in and Bragolaur himself was yelling aloud in pain.

And then all hell broke loose.

There was exactly five seconds when Bragolaur's men knew that something was about to happen. In those five seconds, they could have brought their weapons to bear, they might have turned towards the sound they heard, or they might have warned one another. Instead, they simply stood speechless over what was transpiring in the camp, over what had already transpired, and therefore were caught completely unaware of the carnage that was about to befall them.

Arwen came bursting out of the underbrush at nearly twenty miles an hour, swinging Hadhafang as though it was an extension of her arm. She was completely silent, tearing through the first three men as though they were parchment; an arm here, a head there, gore everywhere. There was no time for clean kills; there was no time for thought; there was only time for action. The others, who had been completely unprepared for an attack, fled at the sight of her; she looked positively wild, vicious even—one could say that they never would have known her—and her eyes took in every bit of the camp as her momentum carried her across it. Aragorn arrived moments later at roughly her speed, and their hearts shattered at exactly the same moment, so connected were they through their bond.

They would forever be unable to describe how they felt in that moment; their minds sharing their thoughts of horror, agony, and anguish: Unspeakable grief. They had been too late. Their worst fears were realized. Gimli, tied to a tree surrounded by two large men. Legolas's condition, beyond words. Enguina, naked on the ground. Enguina, naked on the ground with serious wounds. Enguina, naked on the ground with Bragolaur atop her…his hands in places they should never be… God, he was pushing against her and she was sobbing and wailing and—nononono—

Arwen's mind went white within his and Aragorn saw her whirl and hew a man's head from his shoulders as she began to cut a path towards her right, direct to Enguina. Aragorn went left, dispatching two men who were just about to bring their weapons to bear on his wife from behind, and he was roaring with the fire of battle, with the heat of it, with the desire to save his loved ones from this utter darkness. Slaying as he went, he heard Gimli shouting and turned in that direction. It only took him a moment to slice the one guard to bits, and then he went for Gimli, slicing through his bonds and releasing the dwarf from the tree. The nearby guard, Hrigow, urgently made a break for his sword. Aragorn started for him, but Gimli's voice caught his attention.

"Get 'em, Aragorn!" Gimli spat, snatching his axe with his left hand and balancing it with his right palm. "This one is mine!" He snarled a dwarvish curse and launched himself at the man, slicing and hewing as he went. Aragorn turned aside, determined the dwarf could handle himself, and began cutting a path toward his wife, who was desperately going to need his help in a few moments.

Arwen had nearly reached Bragolaur when Mifer caught her sword on his, trying to shove her back. By sheer will, she overpowered him, knocking his sword aside before stabbing him straight through the heart, withdrawing Hadhafang and spinning just as Stetlan lunged to his feet. He shoved her back away from Legolas and Bragolaur and Enguina, and she desperately fought him. She could not match his strength; he was huge, and he kept pushing her back. Her eyes were drawn away from him in her despair: Legolas lay motionless on the ground where he had been and she was not getting to Enguina quickly…and that terrified her. For a fleeting moment, her eyes met Bragolaur's as he turned to see what was going on in the camp and the fury of knowing it was her launched him to his feet.

Taking advantage of her serious distraction, Stetlan hammered against her blade and her injured wrist fired pain down her arm. Omarom fired an arrow at her, though it did not hit where he had intended. He had meant for it to kill her, but she was moving too quickly and it lodged into the front of her left shoulder. Stetlan grinned, thinking that this was the end for her, but Arwen surprised him. Rolling with the blow, she spun away and then reengaged, this time, bringing Hadhafang to bear with all the strength she could muster. There was no finesse in these few moves; she needed him down so she could get to Bragolaur. Raining blows and hammering his sword back towards him, she just kept coming and Omarom could not get a clear shot—and then his own death came from Andúril. Arwen lunged forward one last time, brought the sword down in a two-handed blow, and bashed Stetlan's sword into his own face, blinding him and slicing open his head. She was leaping over his body in a moment, crossing paths with Aragorn a few steps before he was at Legolas's side. He let her race past him as Bragolaur began to stumble away, clearly rushing for a weapon.

Arwen was on his heels; she could not stop. She could not make sure Enguina was all right. That had been her mistake the first time, why he had escaped, and she had to finish the job this time, had to trust that Aragorn would see to Enguina. The situation was so similar it made her physically ill. She had not even known she was crying until she felt the sob catch in her throat. Struggling to breathe, she gained on him, hearing the sounds of Gimli's axe somewhere behind her.

Aragorn was the Healer, and at this moment, she was the Killer. Adrenaline and grief fueling her into an inconsolable rage, she lunged for Bragolaur and slashed him across the back. He threw himself to the ground and came up with his sword, catching hers as she struck down for a killing blow. Even with an injured shoulder, he was very strong, and he punched forward into her gut, knocking her back. As she stumbled from the unexpected shove, she slashed at his throat, Hadhafang reaching for the sting of his flesh. She caught him across the chest with it instead, spraying his face with blood. Bragolaur launched to his feet and she was there again. Their blades crossed. It was him…and her. No one else existed.

"You!" Bragolaur hissed in her face. "Here again, too late, you little Ranger's whore!"

"Die," she forced out and her eyes were so full of flame. "Die, you filthy bastard!"

She struck him with her foot, knocking him backwards from the crossed blades and followed him, slashing a long stripe down his thigh—clearly, she had been aiming for something far more precious. Furious now, they exchanged several blows before he knocked aside her blade. He struck the shaft of the arrow that still remained lodged in her shoulder with his fist, seeking to do as much damage as possible. He grabbed the fletching in his hand and dragged it to the right, expecting her to reach for him and prevent the crippling pain he knew it would cause. Instead of recoiling, Arwen yanked in the other direction and the shaft snapped an inch from her shoulder. Now, shortened, he could not use it against her as he shoved her and she stumbled back half-a-meter.

Holding the broken shaft and his sword, he snapped at her, "You think you can best me?"

"I will kill you for laying a hand on her," she said, her voice a snarl of rage. Raising Hadhafang, she charged him again, ignoring the roaring pain and slashing him twice before he could really protect himself. Fear was what he felt as his eyes flashed to hers, and for a moment his life moved before his eyes. Arwen was going to kill him; she would kill him if he did not escape or kill her first.

He tried killing her first. After a few more exchanged blows and with a dagger deep in his right shoulder, he was tiring. She seemed like a whirlwind, ready to push herself and give everything to take him down. Knocking her blade again, he struck at her with the shaft, directly towards her face but she flung up an arm. Though the shaft pierced her forearm, it was a sacrifice she was willing to make; he found himself suddenly way too close to her. Gasping, he felt her sword slash him across the mid-section and as he stumbled back, pierce him through the hip—again, far too close to what she must have been aiming for.

"You little bitch!" he groaned and he yanked back, pulling himself off her blade. He had to run from her, there was no way he could win—these injuries were too much. He kicked her knee, knocking it to the side at an odd angle and yanking his foot back before she could swing at it. Bragolaur took for the trees.

There was no way, even with a twisted knee, she could not catch him. This time, her lunge was true and she caught him across the lower back with her blade. The solid hit tore through his flesh, his muscle, and his spine; he suddenly felt nothing from his waist down and his body gave out. Stumbling forward, a scream on his lips, Bragolaur fell and rolled over onto his back, raising his sword a final time to head her off, hoping to impale her as her momentum carried her forward.

Arwen was too smart for his desperate hope. Spinning the sword sideways, her lips pulled back over her teeth like a feral snarl, she slashed both of his hands off at the wrists. They flew away along with his sword and he screamed aloud, staring at the stumps of his arms. There was no more time to pass as he stared up at her for a fraction of a second. That was all the time he had before she raised Hadhafang and stabbed the blade directly down into his skull, plunging it as deeply as she could. Nearly half the length of the blade went into him and the earth before she yanked it out and then separated his head from his shoulders.

That part of the nightmare was over.

When Arwen had passed Aragorn going for Bragolaur's throat and he had allowed her, there was nothing the man was going to do to him in her place. This was closure, and though he wanted to destroy Bragolaur himself, the suffering of the two elves laying on the ground required his immediate attention. Legolas was in grave condition, and Aragorn needed to see to him almost immediately, hearing his labored breathing. The trouble was that he could not allow Enguina to stay there one moment longer. He reached down and tore Stetlan's cloak from his neck. Not wasting any time, he threw it over Enguina's quaking form, covering her and trying to keep her from going into shock. He drew his knife and knelt down beside her, barely touching her skin as he sliced through the rope on her ankles and then reached for her hands. She was nearly incoherent at the moment; suffering reigned in her world. He sliced her wrists free and then wrapped a hand around the dagger that held hers, yanking it up and out of the earth. She cried out with the sudden pain, but her hands came free.

Murmuring her name as she sobbed, he had to act quickly to prevent her from hemorrhaging; her hands were severely bleeding now. He had nothing to use to stem the bleeding, and she needed the cloak that was draped over her, so he tore the sleeves from his own tunic, wrapped them around each hand and tied them tightly. He finally looked down into her face then, and saw what Bragolaur had done to her. Nearly physically sick at the bruises and the bite-marks and the blood from the wounds on her head, he laid his fingertips against her cheek. Her skin was clammy and cold.

Enguina tried to turn away but she could barely move; she had no strength left. Just the brush of fingers on her face caused her stomach to revolt and she began vomiting, her whole body in tremors of terror. He was back; he was there; he was going to enter her again, bite her, kiss her, force himself on her. The horror was too great.

Aragorn grabbed her shoulder and turned her on her side, allowing her to breathe, even though she clearly had other serious injuries. He laid a hand in her hair, but she could barely feel it, such was her suffering. She needed arms around her, holding her, but they could not be his, they could not be a man; that would destroy her right now. He looked up and saw Arwen splattered with blood, Hadhafang falling, over and over, piercing Bragolaur's body as he lay in pieces on the ground at her feet. Taking Enguina's shoulder in his hands, he gently rolled her onto her back and towards her other side, into him. Before he could roll her all the way over, she began gasping for breath; her terror was overtaking her heart, her lungs and she could not get enough. Struggling to breathe, her heartbeat began to grow more rapid.

"Enguina…" he called gently, "Enguina, listen to my voice. Try to take deep breaths. Calm down; easy…easy, breathe…listen…shhh…" He lifted his head, hearing the sounds of Gimli's harsh cry and the final swish of an axe through the air, and fixed his eyes on his wife. She plunged the sword down through him and her knees gave out, her hand still on the hilt; her face stained with tears. "Arwen!" he called her, but whether she could not hear him or simply did not, he was unsure.

Wrapping the cloak more tightly around Enguina to keep her warm, he left her side, cursing himself; he could not be in every place at once, and he was moving too slowly. Hurrying to the place where Bragolaur was now in pieces, he reached out and grabbed Arwen's hand, tugging it free from the hilt. She seemed to come back to herself at his touch, staring up at him. Releasing her, he took her face between his hands.

"Arwen," he said gently, "Enguina needs you desperately, and Legolas needs me. I cannot be in two places at once. I need you." He released her face, but reached down and took her bloodied sword-hand, pulling her along with him, leaving the sword jutting out of the elf. Arwen stumbled to her feet to follow him, ignoring her pains. Seeing Enguina lying on the ground on her side forced her to a limping run, the knee injury clearly paining her. Aragorn was torn; he had no time to see to her.

"Arwen, you are hurt—"

"Leave it," she cried and he obeyed, truly having no other choice. He went to Legolas and whistled high and long into the woods.

"Enguina! Enguina!"Arwen fell to her knees, and then nearly fell on her side as her injured knee took the pressure. Forcing herself to ignore the agony, she laid her hands on Enguina's face, stroking her cheek and her hair. Then she was crying again, in pain for her friend, the way she had been hurt, what had been done, how she had been abused. "Oh, Enguina…Enguina, forgive me! Forgive me!" she cried, and she wrapped her arms around her and gently pulled her into her body, clutching her closely. Enguina was half-sitting up in her arms as Arwen pressed her battered face to her chest. Enguina's wounds needed to be cared for, but there was no way possible Arwen could do that first. Comfort was necessary for the pain she was in; the grief just poured off of her.

Enguina barely heard her, but she felt her and knew it was Arwen. She could barely breathe and she was freezing, but she lost herself in the arms and comfort of her friend. Her tears came harder, and her fingers clutched at Arwen's tunic, her face buried in Arwen's breast and she sobbed, losing herself completely to the despair she felt. Legolas…Legolas…The man she loved would love her no more; it was impossible…and she could not live without him. His touch, his words, his smile had become as drugs to her; she needed him to survive, to breathe, to live at all. In that moment, Enguina resigned herself to heartbreak, to death, and such was her pain that she wept terribly, burying herself in the arms of her friend.

Aragorn lowered himself to Legolas's side and immediately began removing the elf's tattered tunic remains so he could see the most serious wounds. A hand impossibly clutched Aragorn's wrist, and he looked down into Legolas's face; the elf's eyes were cracked open, his body in a complete state of disarray and illness.

"Guin…" he whispered, his head half-falling to the side. Aragorn touched his face and felt the burning fever raging against the infection in the elf's body.

"Arwen is with her," he replied, and his breath caught and he chewed on his lower lip. His voice became harsh with sorrow. "I am so sorry, Legolas…we were not here…we did not—"

"Do not," he said. "You came; Ilúvatar brought you here." His eyes rolled up into his head and Aragorn thought he had passed out. "You and Arwen…like two of the Valar of Heaven…come to bring us home."

Aragorn knew part of him was serious, and the other part of him was delirious with fever. "I can hear the river, and I need to get you there. Forgive me, friend; you are in great need."

"It will not matter," he murmured, shaking his head. "I may not be with you much longer; I am already fading…"

"Do not say such things." Aragorn slipped his arms underneath him and bore him up, feeling the tears in Legolas's skin. "You are a fool," Aragorn said softly to him, staring at the wounds up and down his arms and knowing that what would greet him when he turned the elf over would not be pleasant.

"Would you have done any different?" the elf choked out, the pain he was in clear on his face.

"No," Aragorn said, his voice filled with grief. "I would be dead," he agreed, "before I could watch such a thing." He knew what Legolas had done; the ropes near the tree and the blood all over it were enough of a telling. It was clear what path he had taken, and that he had gotten to Bragolaur even in his condition.

"Can you hear her?" Legolas gasped. "Her pain cuts through my heart like a knife. It stabs me in the chest; she is crying for me, even if she does not know it." He began to cough and choke, his face a mask of pain.

"Shh," Aragorn said softly. "You need to conserve your strength; think about breathing."

Legolas could have laughed at the man's words had he the will. There was nothing in his head except Enguina, and there would not be until he could hold her in his arms again. "I…I ache to hold her."

"You cannot," he said gently. "I am afraid, Legolas, that touching her now would only make things worse by a hundred-fold."

"Aragorn—"

"We will talk about it when you are healing," he replied. Legolas needed to rest, and he was, of course, so stressed he could not possibly do that when his worry for Enguina consumed him. "Legolas, Brego will be here in moments with the herbs I need. I am going to make you sleep," he told him.

"But, Enguina—"

"There is nothing you can do for her right now," he told him. "You need to rest and recover. When you are healing, she might be in a state enough to talk to you. She cannot now; you need to understand this. No matter what you want, Legolas, she cannot…Arwen must take care of her in our stead. Rest now."

As soon as Aragorn's words ended, Legolas could hear him muttering soft Elvish and then felt himself drifting away. His last thoughts were a prayer for Enguina; he did not worry for himself, he could not. His only thoughts were of her and of the man who had hurt her. He heard the soft sounds of a trotting horse and then he was gone.

Asfaloth stood near the edge of the trees, nibbling on branches there; Brego had long ago taken the path to the river and Aragorn. On the far northern edge of the camp appeared Lómë and Firgenwine; the two of them had also heard Aragorn's whistle and had come jogging up as well, knowing his call, as he spent so much time in the stables with all of them. Gimli, who was in the process of disposing of the bodies of the dead, was the first to see them as Firgenwine nickered at him.

"Ah, lass! You made it!" Gimli went to the pony and stroked her face, his hand now wrapped to protect his broken fingers. He then turned to Lómë. "I need your saddle bags, boy."

He took his time; being forced to use one hand was not an easy task, but he managed. Once he had taken out everything he needed, he walked slowly toward the place where Enguina and Arwen sat together. He had heard everything, and seen most of what had transpired with Bragolaur, what he had done to her. There were no words of comfort that a dwarf could offer at a time like this. He could be useful…that was what was needed at the moment. He set down the fresh set of Enguina's clothes that he had removed from her saddle bag near them; but he did not get close enough to touch her himself. He did not want to; it would only hurt her now.

Gimli had taken out the last five of Bragolaur's men. There was no one in the camp left alive, and the body count was stacked high, burning like a bonfire in the center of camp. He was a filthy, blood-soaked mess, but he had never felt as much relief as he felt right now, watching the bodies burning. As he turned back to tending the fire, his eye caught on Arwen slowly rubbing Enguina's back through the cloak, trying to hold it tighter against her and warm her up. Seeing the dried blood on the back of Enguina's hair, it struck him that she was also seriously wounded, and some warm water and a towel might be something that would very much help. Anything he could do, he would do. He walked forward with more purpose.

Arwen still rested her head upon Enguina's, holding her tightly against her. The sobs had died down now, though tears still fell on Enguina's face; Arwen's tunic was already soaked. She thought that Enguina must be exhausted, that she should rest, close her eyes for a few hours if she could. The older elf also had wounds that seriously needed to be cleaned and cared for, and she was bleeding from several different places, not to mention the damage to her hands. The hands, at least, Aragorn had been able to wrap tightly, but they would need medicine and healing…neither of which Arwen had at the moment. She could take care of Enguina's face and the more minor injuries she bore.

There was a clank off to her right, and she lifted her head to see Gimli setting down water and clean cloth. He shuffled back and forth, appearing a bit embarrassed when she saw him. "There's a set of clean clothes here," he mumbled, "and I'm going to get wraps from Asfaloth's saddle bags—I know you always have some. There's warm water, and I put some herbs in it. It's not much, I know, but—"

"It will help, Gimli," Arwen said softly, in that voice of hers that could soothe and comfort anyone. "Thank you for your kindness."

"It's the least I can do," he muttered, and then he went to Asfaloth.

Arwen tightened her arms around Enguina in a gentle hug. "Sweet one," she said gently, her hand cupping the back of her head against her breast, "you need to rest, and you have wounds that need attention. You are still trembling; are you cold?"

Enguina did not know if she could answer; her throat was raw from screaming and crying. Every facial expression brought her pain and she ached everywhere…she tried not to think of it at the moment, tried to press away the overwhelming agony she had experienced, tried to collect herself. "Freezing," she whispered, her voice hoarse, her lips bruised and split.

Arwen wrapped the cloak even more tightly around her, bundling her inside it, and then taking her shoulders in her hand gently began to lean her back from her chest. "Let me wash your face first, and then we can take care of these others so we can get you dressed," she said, her voice still soothing. Tears were still spilling from Enguina's eyes, and she kept them tightly closed, even though it must have been painful. Arwen swallowed the lump in her own throat, and shoved her grief aside. "You do not need to open them if you cannot."

It was difficult for Enguina to be away from Arwen's chest; Arwen was security, her heartbeat lending Enguina focus, strength; Arwen was warmth, and the moment her face was not pressed to her, she was shuddering again. A whimper escaped her lips as Arwen leaned away to draw the water and towel closer. Fear, despair had taken her heart; she could not fight it back.

"I am here," Arwen told her, pressing her hands to Enguina's face. "You are not alone; I am with you. I will not leave your side, sweet one." Enguina drew a ragged breath, and Arwen turned, soaking the cloth in warm water.

Enguina's mind, undistracted by anything else, had to acknowledge the worst pain she felt; her abdomen filling with agony. She could barely sit still, could not straighten her back, and she rocked backwards, trying to alleviate the pressure on her body from what he had done to her. Hot tears spilled down her face as she felt the imaginary him pressing into her, shoving, forcing his way into her body. Her head spun, and she gagged, but there was nothing left in her stomach to heave.

Arwen leaned back toward her, catching her hand on Enguina's shoulder just as she rocked backward, pain etched into her face. "Enguina?" she asked, and she watched as the older elf's body contracted, but she did not retch. "Enguina?"

"Arwen, it hurts!" she choked out, fresh tears spilling down her face, and Arwen suddenly realized how much pain Enguina was really in. Swallowing hard and forcing herself to remain collected, Arwen turned her head and called out to Gimli; there were other areas, other wounds that needed to be treated first, and Enguina's face was not one of them. The dwarf hurried over but stopped before he got too close to Enguina.

"I need the extra blankets from the horses," she told him softly, "and any other clean cloths you can bring me." She lifted her eyes from Enguina's face. "And then I need some time."

The dwarf was no fool; he knew what she was asking from him immediately, and then he was off, getting what she asked for, placing it down, and making himself as scarce as possible. He took Firgenwine, Lómë, and Asfaloth and led them further into the woods to find more grazing area and to untack the poor beasts who had been riding hard for days.

"Lie down, love," Arwen whispered to Enguina, and she carefully helped her lay back on a blanket, pillowing her head with another. She slipped her hand beneath the cloak and took Enguina's hand gently in her own, drawing it up to her lips and pressing them against Enguina's fingers. "I know this is going to be hard for you…but you have to let me see…you have to let me help you…you cannot do this alone."

Lying there, trembling, Enguina knew very well that she could do none of this alone, but she did not want Arwen doing it either. It should not have been necessary; it should not have been real. Her body hurt; he had hurt her…and once again she contemplated death. Her shame showed clearly on her face, but she still could not look into Arwen's eyes.

"Do not be ashamed, love. Let me help you," she whispered, stroking her forehead with her hand. "You do not need to be afraid. No one is going to hurt you; they are gone…all gone, dead. Please…"

Pain pulsed through Enguina, making her hand tighten on Arwen's as a grimace crossed her face. She found it difficult to breathe for a moment, and then remembered her damaged ribs. "Make it stop," she whimpered, her eyes tightly squeezed shut.

"I will; I swear I will make it stop. I promise."

With those words, Arwen began taking care of Enguina's many wounds. She was in pain, bleeding from his roughness; she had more marks on her abdomen and ribs from the knife he held to her skin than Arwen cared to count, though she was very grateful most were not deep; the bites and the bruising and bites made Arwen sick to her stomach, trailing across her breasts and onto her shoulder up her neck all the way to her ear. Arwen took her time with each wound, wrapping with bandages where necessary, especially her broken ribs and the cuts from Girith. Wherever she was not working, she kept covered; Enguina was cold, and she was still trembling. She stayed focused, tried not to look at the wounds and think about their cause; she could not afford to break down now, not when Enguina needed her. She kept muttering that she was almost finished, nearly done.

She helped her drink a bit of heated water, the herbs within it for pain. When all the wounds on her body were clean and dressed, Arwen carefully helped her dress in the undergarments, and then the loose-fitting tunic and leggings. She tossed aside the cloak and bundled her with blankets. Reaching up, she gently turned Enguina's face toward her.

"Now," she said gently, "let me see your face." The warm water began to clean her wounds, taking care on them and cleaning the dried blood from her skin. The bruising was wicked; purple colored her skin from her chin back to her ear and beneath her eye on both sides of her face, and she had several cuts that had been bleeding. Once cleaned, Enguina's face returned, though her eyes were still closed. She had not expected Enguina to say much, if anything; she stroked her cheek and then moved on. She carefully unwrapped her hands then, cleaning the puncture wounds with great care. Water, and then wrapping the wounds again with herbs was the best remedy at the moment, at least until Aragorn returned to care for them. It was the first time that Arwen thought of Legolas; she said a silent prayer for him.

Arwen moved closer to Enguina's head, gently lifting it and sweeping her hair out from beneath her. Without a word, she began pouring what was left of the water on her hair. It was the first thing that felt good; the warm water against her scalp was soothing, and some of the trembling began to stop. As Arwen washed her hair and worked her fingers gently into Enguina's scalp, Enguina could hear her singing softly. It was a prayer for them both, a prayer to the One for strength, for peace when there was none to be had. The words were quiet, the song beautiful, and it had been many years since Arwen had sung over her. It lulled her; it was a peaceful song.

Ilúvatar, I cry out, your beloved needs you now

Please be near calm my fear and take my doubt

Your kindness is what lifts me up

Your love is all that draws me in

Ilúvatar, let mercy sing her melody over me

God right here all I bring is all of me

Your kindness is what lifts me up

Your love is all that draws me in

I will lift my eyes to the Maker of the mountains I cannot climb

I will lift my eyes to the Calmer of the oceans raging wild

I will lift my eyes to the Healer of the hurt I hold inside

I will lift my eyes, lift my eyes to you.

Arwen's song was not meant to fill her with hope or bring her heart out of the darkness. It was to remind her to seek the One for help, to reach out for his kindness and love and remember that he was with her. It was so difficult to remember when all around her seemed to be falling apart. A few tears fell then, but she tried not to lose her mind to the anguish of what had happened again. Trying to keep herself together was difficult…exhausting, even. She felt so tired at the moment that she thought she would just go to sleep and never wake—perhaps that would make life so much easier.

When Enguina's hair was washed and rinsed, Arwen leaned over towards her and gently cupped her face in her hands. "There now," she told her softly. "Now, you can take some rest. Is the pain still terrible?"

"Manageable," she whispered. Arwen stroked her fingers over her eyes.

"You need to rest now," she added. There was a moment of silence, and Enguina, though she could not even see Arwen, knew exactly what she was going to ask. "Can you…will you look at me?"

"I would," she replied, her voice still hoarse, "I want to, but I…I am so ashamed. I cannot, Arwen…please…I cannot sleep." Her voice caught and broke. "If I sleep, he will be there. He will come!"

"No, no," Arwen disagreed. "He is dead…dead; he can hurt you no more. And I will be just beside you. I will hold you, and I will not let go. I promise."

Enguina did look into Arwen's face then, her eyes wet and red from crying. Arwen looked down upon her, sending her love, compassion, as she touched her friend's face. "You will be here? Until I wake?" she whispered, clearly distraught.

"Every moment," she pledged, and with those words she lifted Enguina gently and curled her body against her, laying her body within her lap and bringing her head to rest in the crook of her arm. She ignored the roaring in her shoulder, her leg, her wrist, her head; everything she had been forcing for the past several days she put aside. Enguina was so much more important.

Enguina was on the verge of unconsciousness, but she needed to ask a few more questions before she could rest. Her lips trembled when she spoke. "Legolas?"

Arwen nodded. "He will be all right. He is with Aragorn. Soon, he will be back to look at your hands." Enguina's body tensed against her. "Shh…you know he would never hurt you, and I will be right here…right here with you the entire time."

Enguina could not talk about it now, about what had happened, what Legolas had seen, how ill he was, so she tried to move on. "Gimli?"

"He is feeding the horses," she said with a smile. "Safe and sound." There was silence for a moment and Arwen thought she had fallen asleep. But then she spoke.

"I do not deserve you…I do not deserve your friendship."

She bent her head and pressed her lips very softly to Enguina's forehead while holding her close. "I love you, sweet one," she whispered, giving everything she had in her small gift to help Enguina sleep. "Sleep now…and find rest and peace in Ilúvatar. You will be safe in my arms."