When the morning came in all its brilliance, Enguina was amazed to find that once again she had woken with no terror; she knew it would come eventually, but Ilúvatar was giving her a few more hours of grace. She was extremely grateful, and she made sure to thank him for it. Filling her nose was the scent of Legolas, and that scent made her remember that she was lying against him, still tucked beneath his arm. She blinked a few times and then sat up, careful not to push off his chest when she did.

"Good morning, beautiful," came Legolas's voice, and she looked down at his face. "How was your sleep?"

"Perfect," she said honestly, a blush on her face. "It was…wonderfully unexpected."

He smiled at her. "It was because of me, was it not?"

She tilted her head, staring at him. "You cannot possibly be this chirpy in the morning as soon as you wake. It is not possible. Are you still half-asleep? Are you confused?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "No, I know now that you are not my wife, even though you should be. I remember discussing that with you last evening."

"You are ridiculous," she replied, blushing even more deeply.

"And I am generally this chirpy, as you put it, in the morning," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I can tone it down if you desire; I know that you tend not to enjoy the mornings." He smiled at her, and raised a hand to stroke her face from cheek to chin. "But you will come around."

Her eyes were full of him. "I will come around?" she asked, quoting him.

"Spend a few mornings waking up to me and you will," he said, grinning now.

His simple goal, make Enguina blush, was very easily achieved. "You are incorrigible," she said softly, and the blush deepened when she realized Aragorn was seated, smiling, on the other side of Legolas, unraveling the bandage on his right arm. "I…forgive us, Aragorn. I did not know you were there."

"Forgive who?" said Legolas, and he glanced at Aragorn with a grin. "I have no intention of being forgiven for something I am not in the least bit sorry for. I was talking to my future wife—" He broke off into a fit of coughing, and Enguina's worry overcame every other thought. Aragorn covered her hand, which was in the center of his chest, and she felt its heat pouring over her skin. It soothed Legolas and he finally caught his breath and breathed more easily. "That is the most wonderful gift," he mumbled.

Aragorn removed his hand and turned a bit, reaching toward the fire that was still burning. "Here, Enguina, put this on his chest, but do not keep your hand on it long." The steaming cloth was placed on Legolas's chest and he sighed, low and long, the heat penetrating through his illness.

"That is almost as good as her hand," he murmured. "Almost."

"Legolas—" she began, but he ignored her chiding.

"Guin, I cannot help it if Aragorn happened to still be here, by the by. The fault is his own, not mine."

"It is fine," Aragorn interrupted them, trying to ease Enguina's discomfort and staunch Legolas's chirpiness, as Enguina had called it. "I was trying to take a look on Legolas's wounds, or at least a few of them." He eyed her. "And how are you feeling this morning?"

"Yes," Legolas murmured, "how is my betrothed?"

She looked back and forth between them both, her thoughts now on the fact that Legolas had mentioned her being his wife three times this morning. "I…feel…a little better."

"And how are your ribs?"

"They are—oh Ilúvatar!" she exclaimed when the bandage fell away. Her hand went to her mouth as she stared, unable to pull her eyes away. "Legolas, your arm! What in the name of Heaven?"

"This looks much better today," Aragorn said softly, but Legolas stared at Enguina's face.

"I had to get to you," he said softly. "It was the only chance to free myself, to break the rope by dragging it against the tree." He grimaced as Aragorn spread a special salve he had made on it. "It seemed like a good idea at the time, dear one. Well," he laughed, "it was the only idea. It could not be helped." He frowned. "Though it did not help much."

"You stabbed him in the back with his own knife," Aragorn said dryly. "I think that counts for something."

"I wish I had done more," he said softly. "But enough of that, you are awake and here and whole, and I am awake and here and whole and that is all that matters. Yes?" He reached over, took her hand, brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. She blushed again and he smiled. "I am insatiable when it comes to making you blush."

"I do not think I noticed," she mocked him. Aragorn had finished wrapping Legolas's arm again, and moved over to sit beside Enguina.

"If both of you will excuse me, I need to borrow this arm."

Enguina looked at him, appearing a bit frustrated. "Legolas will not let go of my hand," she complained, and Aragorn, looking at the very obvious grin on Legolas's face, chuckled.

"You can have his hand; I need only his arm," he said, unraveling the bandage.

"See?" Legolas said to her. "Aragorn can be flexible."

"Only because you seem to demand it," she commented. "You are awfully demanding, Legolas."

He looked at her, studying the fingers that remained close to his face. "And what, my love, do I demand too much of? I will give you that I demand more of you." He laughed. "I cannot help myself."

"Yes, you seem quite unable to do that." She lifted her head and looked about the camp. "Where are Gimli and Arwen? I do not see them."

"Hunting," said Aragorn with a smile. "It was time for some real food."

"What, lembas and cram not good enough for them, hmmm?" said Legolas with a wink.

"Please," Enguina scoffed at him, rolling her eyes, "when was the last time you had lembas?"

Legolas stared at her a moment. "That…is an excellent point."

"Legolas, when was the last time you had food at all?" asked Aragorn, shaking his head. "You look as though you have not eaten in a week." Enguina looked as though she did not want to hear the answer, but Legolas was truth-bound.

"Not the first few days," he replied. "Towards the end, Vilyath, the elf of Rivendell, felt sorry for me." He frowned, thinking of her death at Bragolaur's hand. "No matter what she was, she did not deserve to die. He slit her throat as she tried to defend Enguina."

"I did not know her," Enguina said softly, and Legolas looked at her.

"You would not have seen her," he said softly as Aragorn finished rewrapping his arm. "She spoke out for you when that beast had you in his claws. She deserved better; she was not as harsh and cruel as she appeared. Vilyath was a broken woman…what she needed was a person to show her the way to a kinder life." Aragorn rose and stepped around him to stoke the fire, leaving them alone to talk.

Enguina gave him a sad little smile. "Such as someone like you…who enjoys fixing broken things?" After the words left her mouth, her throat tightened and she had to close her eyes. Perhaps she had meant it exactly the way it sounded; she felt broken…she had always felt that way.

Legolas released her hand and lifted his own to touch her face, stroking her cheek. "You are not broken," he stressed lovingly. She covered his hand with hers and then turned her face into his palm, pressing her lips to it. Unable to speak, she kept her eyes closed and reminded herself to breathe. "Enguina—"

"Lunch is served!" roared Gimli, startling the horses as he burst through the underbrush, carrying a stick loaded down with squirrels. "And I will never, ever jest again that the Queen cannot fire a bow!" Enguina lowered Legolas's hand on her face and simply held it in hers, but she still did not look at him. "Well, bless me! The elf's awake!" shouted Gimli and he handed the squirrels off to Aragorn and turned towards Legolas.

Clearly, Enguina wanted to let go their nearly non-existent conversation, so he acquiesced, smiling at the dwarf. "Well, good morning to you, friend Gimli."

"How's the invalid?" he laughed.

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Gimli, we talked, even if it was briefly, yesterday afternoon."

"Yes, when I woke Aragorn because I thought you were going to have a fit or something."

"It was good that you did," Aragorn replied, looking up as Arwen limped into the camp along the same path Gimli had made. He smiled at her and then finished toward Legolas, "At least I was able to quell it and help your back a bit more so you could lie there comfortably. Some more tea might be in order soon." Legolas grimaced, but did not disagree.

"Have I ever mentioned how loud dwarves are?" Arwen asked, walking towards them and Enguina spun her head around to grin at her.

"I know! It is quite terrible!" She spotted her limping, and her brow furrowed. "Why are you limping?"

"I injured my knee," she replied. "It is less stiff when I move it. It will be fine, Enguina; it is nothing."

Gimli laughed, shaking his head. "You were fine with me there, and I didn't scare anything away!" He stepped up to Legolas's side. "Doin' any sitting up yet?"

"I have not," Legolas said a bit sheepishly, "but I would like to. Care to—"

"No," urged Enguina, knocking their hands apart as Gimli reached to grab Legolas. "You need to rest. You have been ill and you were feverish last night."

Aragorn's head came up. "Feverish?"

Legolas rolled his eyes. "I was fine. Do not be such a worry-wart, Aragorn. It does not suit you."

"I think it suits him just fine," Enguina pointed out. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"That is only because it is not you he is worrying about." He sighed at the look on her face. "Please, let me sit up. I promise that if I do not feel well I will immediately lie back down."

She eyed him. "You promise me?"

"Across my heart." Gimli helped him carefully sit up, and though wincing because of his ribs, he breathed a sigh of relief. "It is good to sit up." Arwen leaned over him, holding a bow, and kissed him on the top of the head. He smiled at her and Enguina gently supported him, knowing that he was still weak.

"I am happy to see you awake and feeling well, Legolas," Arwen told him. In the meantime, Gimli rolled a long over behind the elf so that he could lean himself against it. It was difficult to support himself on his own.

"I want to thank you," he said, "all of you, for coming here…for running to my rescue. It would not have been a bit of joy at all to enter Eryn Lasgalen for the first time in years coming in chains, so to speak. And to have my father placed in such a position where he would have to sacrifice my life for others…he would not forgive himself."

"Lad, what were we gonna do?" asked Gimli. "Just let them carry you off? Ya were supposed to be lookin' for a home! Instead, you nearly got yerself killed."

"Yes," Legolas said with a short smile, "do I know it, the last part much worse than the first. Tell me how you came to be here. I need to know of Faramir. Was he found? Is he well?"

"Faramir is recovering," Aragorn said, as both he and Arwen began skinning their lunch with knives. "He was found where you were attacked, and Éowyn is with him. I was able to arrive in time to save his life, by the grace of Ilúvatar, and I am sure he is well on his way to recovery."

"Gimli and I left the night we discovered you were gone," Enguina said softly. "Éowyn took Faramir back to Henneth Annûn, and we followed the trail. We got a bit lost along the way," she added with embarrassment, "but we ended up being chased by a pack of wargs and one huge one—"

"Girith did find you then," Legolas interrupted worriedly. "I was terrified for you both. I knew you were on your way, but then Vilyath said that Girith had gone after you. I tried to escape that night but…I failed miserably."

"That awful creature had a name?" Gimli sputtered. "It was hideously ugly and three times the size of any normal warg. We received quite a few scars and scratches from it, as you well know. It took all of our strength just to bring it down, and then we had to fight it hand to hand on the ground."

"We had completely lost the trail at that point, but it turned out that when we followed the warg, it led us right back to you." Enguina smiled. "We made a gamble, but we were very lucky to find you at all."

Legolas nodded. Was it so lucky, my Guin? "And what of you two?" he asked the couple skinning squirrels. "What is your story?"

"Our story?" laughed Arwen. "It is fairly short. The messenger from Ithilien arrived within a day or so of the assault so we immediately gathered ourselves and Annî and rode to Ithilien—"

"Annî as well?" asked Enguina, shocked. "She is so young!"

"We had no choice," said Aragorn, "and we could not very well leave her in Minas Tirith. When we arrived we found things just as awful as we assumed they would be, Faramir on the edge of death, Legolas taken, you and Gimli missing…it was a typical mess."

"While Aragorn was healing Faramir, I was attacked in the stables by a man who had been stationed within the Rangers to throw others off the trail. We finally left on the trail ourselves and rode with all haste to you, where we found Londeglai—"

"Miserable place," said Aragorn softly and Legolas nodded.

"—and then raced to the camp where…everyone knows what happened once we arrived." Arwen sighed. "As Aragorn said, one of the typical messes that surround us and our family." She lifted her chin and looked at Legolas. "What of your story, Legolas?"

"Honestly, there is not much to tell. I was unconscious at first, and when I woke I made my first escape attempt." He chuckled. "They were very angry about that one; I killed several of their men, escaping on horseback a few miles into the woods before I simply could not ride anymore. Scaling a tree, they found me easily, as the horse would not go away. Then there was the rain, which was good for slowing them down—"

"It slowed us as well," Enguina said sadly.

"And us," added Aragorn, "though we moved as quickly as we could."

"And then we arrived at Londeglai where I was introduced to Bragolaur and his plotting." He looked to Aragorn. "How close are we to Eryn Lasgalen? Were we close? I have lost track of any distance these last few days, as ill and weak as I have been."

He shook his head. "You have at least another week's ride if you are not at a grueling pace trying to catch a group of snatchers."

Legolas sighed. "I am so grateful that we never made it that far." He gave a little smirk. "Would that not be an interesting stop on this journey? 'Hello, Father, we happened to be in the neighborhood, even though my wedding is in another four weeks.'" He coughed a few times and Enguina made sure the cloth was still hot against his chest.

"Almost five," chided Enguina, looking pale. "Please, do not rush it as we are not nearly well enough to go home."

"Rush it?" laughed Legolas suddenly, kissing her fingers again. "I was talking Aragorn into it this morning before you woke."

Enguina looked at him, and Aragorn shook his head. "I said no, obviously."

"Legolas, there's no way possible that your father's there now," said Gimli. "He's most certainly already on his way as he'd go through Rohan, not this way past the Black Land. If we were to go there now, we'd miss him for sure…and the wedding you're trying to rush!"

Enguina smiled carefully. "We could not have that, Gimli."

"No, we couldn't!"

But it was after Enguina's words that Legolas found himself watching her carefully. It was true that, even though she appeared to be in better condition and in better spirits, on the inside there was a serious amount of pain…and there was no balm for it. He worried for her; how was she coping? Could he even speak to her about it? Would she speak? Was it possible that she might really be all right? He knew that the nightmares would come; he was expecting them. But might it be possible that he could just soothe her…remind her of his love and his protection and…keep her at his side? He hoped that were true.

His hands on her hips, his fingers dug deeply into her flesh, bruising with purpose. His hot breath fell upon her left breast as he left his mark on her, his teeth puncturing her skin. His knees pressed hers into the dirt as she lay prone beneath him, unable to move, unable to dislodge his body as she felt him press his hips toward hers. A whimper escaped her throat, and she pleaded with him. He was tugging against her hips and it was yanking her body down on her hands, tearing the holes in them even wider, cutting through her from the knife.

He would not be gentle; he had said he was going to take her, and take her he would. She felt the pressure increase on her left hip and his lips brush against her chin. She choked on her own sobs, struggling and trying to pull away; she could make no movement.

Her body trembling even more harshly as she was unable to prevent the whimpering coming from her own throat, he whispered, his voice full of desire, "Now, fair love…I take you." He clamped his hand down hard over her mouth, bruising her skin and yanking on her already sore jaw. He then thrust forward, and shoved his hips down against her.

Pain seared through her like someone had rammed a poker through her body. Screaming into his hand was not enough and she writhed upon the ground, unable to get away or move on her own accord. This was it; this was what he had been waiting for as he pulled back from her and shoved forward again…harder…mercilessly. With every move, she was screaming; with every push, she was writhing, and then he grunted those words in her ear:

'Take it all, my little bitch!'

Pain fired between her legs and through her abdomen as Enguina woke out of a restless sleep and rolled to her side, dizziness roaring through her and an inability to breathe. She could not even cry out from the dream, so ill was she; instead, she dragged herself to her feet and stumbled towards the woods, finding solace a few feet out of their little clearing. Falling forward to her knees, jarring her ribs, she began retching, her stomach expelling every last bit of whatever she had eaten that day. Her head spun, her vision swam, and she struggled with controlling herself before she bent forward, retching again as she caught herself on one arm.

Three days…three days they had been healing here in this place and she had no dreams. Now…

Her skin was crawling with Bragolaur's touch, her mind still tangled within the terrible dream she had been having. Disgust and agony swept through her, and she felt his hands gripping her hips and forcing her to remain still, groping her breasts, stroking her ribs as she lay prone beneath him. Her breath caught in her throat as she turned her head from the vomit and touched against a nearby branch. A leaf brushed her neck and she reacted violently, twisting her head away, jarring her neck and upper body. She threw herself to her feet, stumbling through the woods and racing forward; anything to escape! Trees and branches tore at her clothes from every side, still she ran. She was not supposed to be running, she was still weak, her ribs painfully seizing; still she ran. She ran from that pain, from his hands, his touch, his kisses, his words, the very breath of him on her skin…

And she ran so hard that she was in the river before she even realized that she had ended up there, water splashing out from around her on all sides, flying up in great waves. Never realizing that she had been doing it already, her nails were tearing along her arms, scratching without her knowledge, peeling back the skin and tearing bloody gashes in them; the pain never even registered. She felt hands on her breasts, and she tore at the skin there, too, her fingers catching in the buttons of her tunic and popping them, the front coming undone and washed from her left arm by the river. Caught on it, she began gasping for breath, yanking at it, tearing at it until the rest of it came free from her right sleeve. Pain jolted through her ribs as most of the tunic washed away downriver.

Lips at her throat, fingers digging into her hips…she felt these phantom memories and began washing, scrubbing, tearing at them in earnest. She could not feel the pain, but she could feel him, them, the men who had dropped her in the river, tossing her back and forth between them, naked, laid bare before them and him…pushing himself into her. She was sobbing now, pain stabbing through her chest. It was all she knew, all she could feel, and her legs began to tremble with the weight of her agony. Barely supporting her, she began to fall in the stream, stumbling; her left leg caught her once, and then it gave out, dropping her to her knees, head going under as she frantically tried to catch herself. She got a foot underneath her again and thrust herself to her feet, gasping and sputtering as she continued to scrub herself desperately with the sleeve of her tunic that remained. She had to be rid of the feel of him everywhere!

The screaming in his head woke him, and panic set in when Legolas sat up, grimacing, and could not find her. Her mat had been near his, and the light blanket he had put over her form lay discarded a few feet from the mat, almost as if she had been wearing it while she rose. She was gone, that much was clear, and he had never been on his feet so quickly. It was not difficult to find her trail into the woods or to follow it; the path she had been running on was muddy, and her footprints were quite clear in the wet clay. He went faster, a hand tightening on his ribs—he should not be running; his chest tightened and he held back the cough—no, he should not be running. His thigh sent shooting pains through his leg every time his foot touched the ground as well. But he ignored it…he had to. And then he came within sight of the river.

As soon as he struck moonlight, he averted his eyes from her; she was naked in the river, and he felt ashamed that he had panicked. Enguina had come at night for bathing, and he had hurried after her, worried that she was not safe; what a fool he was! He should go back to camp, and leave her be, and he turned to do just that. Then, above the sound of the rushing water, he heard the sobbing; immediately, he turned back and upon looking just a bit closer, noticed the way she was rubbing her skin, part of a cloth in her hand…and scratchingat it.

"Guin!" he called to her, yet she neither turned nor acknowledged her name. Panic took his heart again, and Legolas raced to the shore, stopping just short of splashing into the water. If she was having a nightmare, he knew how she would respond to him: she would lash out, trying to defend herself. There was nothing to be done; there was no way he could help her and not frighten her.

"Arwen! Aragorn!" he yelled urgently and at the top of his voice, and then watched helplessly for only moments as she yanked and tore at her very skin. Her hand came up over her back, as it was to him, and she tore a few deep furrows where her nails had touched.

He could not stand there one moment longer. Lunging forward, he waded into the water, unable to do anything but go to her, stop her from injuring herself. Calling her name and having her completely unresponsive frightened him, and his hand closed on her arm. She thrashed in the water, her legs going out from underneath her, and then he felt her kick him in the legs, hard. Agony poured through his thigh and he released her arm, his hands dropping to keep his leg from going out from underneath him. Legolas stumbled and reached for her again as she came back up out of the water, seeing the cuts and slashes she had already made across parts of her skin.

"Guin! Guin, stop!" he cried, and then all his breath left him as she struck him across the chest. He went down for sure that time, choking with the illness that still lingered, his broken ribs searing with even more agony than his leg had taken; his head went under as he struggled to go back and protect himself from her, but she was already hurrying in the opposite direction.

And then suddenly, she was gone. Her legs were yanked out from beneath her and she was towed under by the force of the water. The storm had caused the river to be so much higher, and she, still trapped under the terror of her fear, was dragged away from him. Legolas reached for her, crying out, but he just missed the end of her fingers. "No, Guin! Nooo!"

At that moment, out of the woods appeared both Aragorn and Arwen, Gimli running behind them in quite a hurry. The situation assessed in a moment, Aragorn turned and bolted along the shoreline, looking for a place to hurry in. Arwen hurried after him, limping and trying to ignore the pain in her knee as she screamed Enguina's name. Gimli waded out to help bring Legolas back in, but he fought against the dwarf.

"Legolas!" the dwarf cried. He could not go out and reach him; Gimli could not swim and the water was far too deep for him. "Legolas, come back here, lad!"

"No, no! I must bring her in, Gimli!" he cried as he took a step further downstream, but there was no way he could catch up with her now. He stumbled back, Gimli grabbing him as he began choking half-collapsing on the dwarf as he pulled Legolas's arm over his shoulder and hauled him out onto the bank. Gasping for breath he pulled himself upright and pointed. Gimli helped him stumble along downriver.

Ahead, Aragorn scrambled down the bank and dove into the deep water, powerful strokes carrying him out to Enguina's side as she thrashed, terrified, gasping for breath. Her hand hit his shoulder and she shied away, kicking him with her leg. Even spitting water and drowning, she fought him, thinking she was in the nightmare and he was Hrigow, trying to drag her under. He reached out and caught her beneath the arm, gripping tightly even as she tried to claw him, and he tugged her into his chest where she struck him underneath the chin with her fist.

It was a good hit, and he went under, but came up in a second, shaking water from his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the fallen tree hanging down into the river, and he knew he had to get her, no matter what she did to him; he could not let her hit it or she might actually drown. Thrusting with his legs, Aragorn reached out and snatched her around the chest with his arm and dragged her into him. He could hardly hold the two of them above the water, and with his arm about her chest she panicked, skin to skin. He tried to say her name, but while spitting out water himself and trying to tow them toward the shore, it was nearly impossible.

"Aragorn!" He heard Arwen scream, and he saw that there was nothing that was going to prevent Enguina from hitting that tree; he could not pull away against the current taking them, not with her struggling against him the way she was. They were on a course directly towards it, the flow of the water rushing them to its branches. Grunting, taking hits to the ribs from Enguina's elbows as he tried desperately to keep her afloat and her head above water, he shoved himself about, turning his back to the tree and protecting her body.

He hit…the impact knocked the wind out of him, nearly jarred Enguina out of his arms, and brought him sudden and agonizing pain. He cried out in her ear, his right arm dropping from her; even as he tried to hold on with his left, she was slipping. There was thrashing in the water, and he saw Arwen making her way to him, Gimli and Legolas now standing in the rushing shallows. He did the only thing he could think of to do; unable to hold her up any longer, he shoved her as hard as he could through the current to Arwen.

She caught Enguina by the arms and towed her up out of the water to her feet and into her arms. Coughing and spitting up water, Enguina half-collapsed against her, and Arwen began dragging her back towards the shore. The older elf was sobbing, body trembling both from the near-drowning and the terrors of her dream. She was awake at the moment; she could hear Arwen saying her name, Arwen's hands on her…she knew who held her now. Arwen flung her head up and saw her husband still clinging to the tree in the center of the river, water rushing over his face.

"Aragorn!" she cried out, terrified he might drown, and when she hit the shallows and Legolas reached for Enguina she shook her head. "Aragorn, Legolas," she gasped, terrified for her husband, "you must get to Aragorn! You cannot touch her just now, please!"

Gimli hurried into the water, but the water was far too deep for him; he could not get out to Aragorn, and clearly there was something seriously wrong. The man was still facing the rushing water, the edges of his left fingertips grasping the log as he tried to hold himself up out of the water, straining to gasp for air, water splashing him in the face. "Aragorn," Gimli hollered, "get in here now!" The man tried; he truly did, but he cried out again, his eyes closing as his held fell back against the tree and he swallowed more water.

And then, thank Ilúvatar, Legolas stumbled towards him through the current, grabbing onto the tree to hold himself beside the man, everything in him aching as well. He was shaking now, chilled to the bone as he reached Aragorn and tried to lift his head out of the water.

"Aragorn," he gasped, "what the hell—?" Then the elf saw and did not need the man to answer. When Aragorn had spun about to protect Enguina, he had impaled his right shoulder on a tree limb. The force of the current kept him there, the branch protruding from his chest as he was unable to free himself. "Ilúvatar," Legolas muttered, and grasping Aragorn, he poured all of his strength into freeing him. Tugging him several times forward and against the current, the elf was reaching his exhaustion point, and with Aragorn nearly dead weight in his arms he could barely support him. "Aragorn," he gasped, choking, "you have to help me!"

"Legolas, get out of there!" hollered Gimli at him, but the elf was not going to leave Aragorn. Gimli was helpless in the deep water. "I can't reach you both!"

Legolas yanked again with all of his strength and Aragorn fell free, collapsing heavily against him, his head lolling into the elf's neck. He quickly wrapped an arm under the man's chest, but he was shaking so bad he could barely hold him. Fear was smothering Legolas; if he could not hold onto him, they might both drown. "Aragorn, Aragorn," he panted, coughing again and groaning as every injury he had suffered ached with agony, "you have to help me! I cannot hold you!"

It was the terror in the elf's voice that broke through the dark stupor Aragorn had found himself in. Thrashing once, Legolas tried desperately to tow him towards the shallow water, Gimli reaching for them both. Aragorn's foot fell against the tree and he shoved them off, propelling them towards the dwarf. Gimli just caught the edge of the elf's tunic with one hand, but that was enough to tow him to the shallows and help him get his feet under him.

"Gimli, help me," Legolas cried, nearly dropping the man but the dwarf grabbed him beneath the arm and helped drag him to shore where the three of them collapsed upon the bank; Legolas's leg had finally had enough. Aragorn's breath was coming out in short huffs, and he lay still, unable to move. Gimli was the first to sit up, struggling to pull his leg out from beneath Aragorn's weight.

Ten or fifteen paces away from them, Arwen sat on the bank holding Enguina, covering her chest with her arms and holding her close. Half-naked, the elf was freezing, trembling in her arms from the cold and from fear, her hands clutching at Arwen's sides as she sobbed. Arwen rested her head on Enguina's, but her heart was with the men on the bank. She comforted Enguina; she was the only one who could do it right now, but she was terrified for Aragorn, and she yearned to be at his side. Torn, she did the only thing she could do…stay with Enguina, who clung to her as though she were a rock in a storm. Even from this distance and in the darkness of night, she could see his hot blood. Estel…Estel! It will be all right…I will be right there! Her hands began to tremble and her heart was in her throat.

"What're you, mad?!" She heard Gimli bellow at Aragorn who lay far too still in the grass. The dwarf stared down at him, suddenly realizing as Legolas hauled himself to a sitting position despite his own pain, what was really happening. Leaning over him, the trembling elf began undoing the man's tunic, though Aragorn's face was a mask of pain.

"H-how b-bad is it?" he gasped, all adrenaline gone as Legolas tugged aside the shirt to see the wound. Legolas grimaced and turned his head half-away; Gimli cursed aloud.

"Bad," he said, shaking his head. "Terrible, in fact. Do not move."

"That…will not…problem," Aragorn struggled out, keeping his eyes tightly closed. Legolas had never seen him in so much pain; struggling with exhaustion, yes, but not in physical pain. It was hard to see. The man was trembling as much as he was.

"Gimli," Legolas said, turning back to him, "you are the only one for the work. Hurry back to camp and get some bandages; this needs to be wrapped and packed immediately. And you need to bring a tunic for Enguina, and blankets; it is freezing out here." Gimli knew that well enough as he was cold already. He hurried off, trying not to look at Arwen and Enguina as he made off into the woods.

Legolas leaned over and pressed his shaking hands down onto the wound in Aragorn's shoulder, trying to stop the bleeding by forcing it between his hands and his own leg, which still remained underneath the man. Aragorn cried out again, loudly, unable to hold back with the agony; his breath coming out in gasps. A few meters away, Arwen's hands tightened on Enguina and her body jerked, desperate to run to him. She could not let Enguina go!

"You stupid—you idiotic—" Legolas stuttered, seeing how much pain he was in, "you complete ass. How could you do something so stupid?" His teeth were chattering now. He barely had the strength to keep himself upright, never mind put pressure on this wound.

"I c-could not pull her away," he gasped out. "She pulled against me; I had no choice. I—" his voice cut out and he gritted his teeth, knocking his head against the ground before he began writhing. "I could not let her hit!" he groaned. "She would have been dead."

Legolas stared down at him, holding his hands as tightly as he could to the wound. "Thank Ilúvatar for you, Aragorn," he whispered, pressing down with as much force as he could.

Gimli came rushing back into the camp, dropping a tunic and blankets near Enguina and Arwen. "I'm sorry," he gasped, "it's not one of hers. It's all I could grab!" He hurried to Aragorn and dropped to his knees beside Legolas with every other supply he could have carried. "You're freezing, laddie! You both are! Let me light a fire!"

Legolas shook his head. "Th-there is n-n-no time. I am no Healer. He n-n-needs Arwen, who knows what she is doing," he said, and he lifted his head to see Enguina's back now clothed as Arwen was buttoning up the much larger tunic over her form. "I w-will go to Enguina; take your hands, Gimli, and place them here. H-hurry, Gimli." Legolas pulled his hand away, and Gimli grabbed the wound with his large hands, pressing his hands together, one beneath the wound and one above, as though they would meet through Aragorn's body. Aragorn cried out again, and this time he did writhe, his body out of control with pain. Legolas yanked himself out from underneath him, his leg slick with Aragorn's blood.

"Legolas, you've got to get warm," Gimli said, nodding behind him. "There're blankets, please! You'll be ill again!"

As if to emphasize that point, Legolas burst into a fit of coughing before collecting himself. As he hauled himself to his knees, he pulled off his soaking wet tunic and yanked on the dry one that was nearby—it was one of Gimli's, just as Enguina's had been. He pulled the blanket around himself, and still shivering, looked down at the man who was striking his own head against the ground.

"I want to make you unconscious," Legolas muttered, and in spite of the roaring pain in Aragorn's shoulder, he choked out a laugh.

"Please do," he groaned out, "if you can do it with one strike."

The elf looked down at him, sympathy in his eyes. "I cannot. I do not have the strength just now. Perhaps the dwarf—"

"I'm not knocking him out with my fist!" cried Gimli.

Through gritted teeth, Aragorn grunted, "Have you never wanted to hit me, Master Dwarf?"

Arwen closed her eyes, reaching out to Aragorn and taking as much of his pain as she could into herself, her hands tightening on Enguina automatically as she staggered beneath the weight of it. She could hardly stay still, her need to go to him so great, and she was on her knees beside Enguina now, half-torn. Legolas stumbled to her side, nearly dragging his weak leg and he reached down, grabbing her shoulder.

"Arwen," Legolas said his stuttering only slight now, "let me take her. Aragorn needs you right now. Let me hold her, please." He dropped to his knees, his leg giving out again, his hip paining, his ribs jarring as he hit the ground. Reaching out, he took Enguina's arms in his hands and brought her gently back from Arwen. She released her and Enguina tensed, but there was nothing she could do—Arwen had to go.

"No…" she whispered brokenly, and Legolas brushed it aside, refusing to be hurt by her words. Instead, he turned her in towards his chest and brought her to rest against him as Arwen fled to Aragorn, nearly falling herself as she made her way to his side.

"Yes," he murmured, "take shelter in me, Guin. Let me bring you peace." He took one of the blankets off the ground and wrapped it around her, rubbing her back gently. He could see the scrapes from her own hands along the skin of her neck, and this close to her in the moonlight, he could see the marks on her skin from Bragolaur's teeth. It made him sick to his stomach, but he held her close, wishing that he could just rinse them from her. He felt her hands slowly draw in between them as she gave into him; she turned her face into his neck and he could feel her tears falling there. These small cuts he could take care of when she was warm enough; Aragorn's larger wound, not so much.

Arwen was at Aragorn's side in a moment, gripping his hand. "Aragorn," she said softly, tears in her eyes from her worry for him, and he opened his eyes, staring at her face as she rested her other hand upon his chest. Her gift, even though it was small, warmed his chest. "Gimli, let me see the wound."

"The bleeding's slowed a bit," the dwarf muttered and raised his hand, "but the wound goes straight through. It's bad, Arwen."

It was bad…as bad as Gimli said. She could feel Aragorn tensing beneath her hand as the dwarf pulled his hand away. The wound needed to be packed and wrapped quickly, before anything else could settle in it.

"Ilúvatar, Estel," she whispered, "this is not good."

"Just a surface wound," he replied, but the pain he was in roared through her head and his voice was weak. He was in more pain than she had ever seen him; it frightened her—the weakness in his voice, the amount of blood on the ground around him.

"You cannot call this crater in your chest a surface wound," she said, her anxiety increasing. She needed to do this right, and she was going to need Gimli's help to do it. Thankfully, Gimli had also been able to bring the saddlebag full of herbs, so they immediately began working on the wound together. Arwen's hands began to shake, his pain so loud in her head that she suddenly realized what it must have been like for him these last few months when he had to deal with her screaming.

"You all right, lass?" Gimli asked and she shook her head, gasping.

Taking her bloodied hand, she pressed it to his forehead. "Sleep, Estel." It was so abrupt that he was still instead of writhing that even Gimli gasped, and she was suddenly terrified of making him sleep, afraid she would never see his grey eyes again. But she had no choice; she had to make him unconscious even if it was not for long or she would never be able to do this, stop her hands from shaking at his pain. She needed all of her healing abilities right now, and his pained voice in her head could not be with her. She focused herself and tried desperately to think of only what she was doing—not who she was working on.

Legolas could hear Arwen whispering to Aragorn as she sat beside him; Gimli had finally been able to build a fire. The dwarf had gone back to retrieve the horses—none of them were in any state to return to the camp they had been in for the last three days, Gimli the only one without injury to the wounds he had already sustained. Instead, he was bringing the camp to them. This way, they would be much closer to the water they all needed.

He fingered the edges of the strands of Enguina's hair; she had stopped crying and she simply lay trembling in his arms, frightened, and just as exhausted as he was, his head now resting on hers. He wanted to say something to comfort her, but he was unsure what exactly to say. Should they talk? Was now the best time, when everything was so close at hand? He realized they had never spoken of her dreams; she had never told him about them after everything that had happened. She had been intending to tell him that night, had been going to tell him the truth, and then he had been taken, and then this whole mess with Bragolaur, and then—

"I am so sorry…" came her whispered words, heartbroken, devastated. He smoothed his fingers through her hair as he opened his mouth to speak, but she continued, "I hurt you…I am always doing that. I am always hurting you."

He shook his head. "No…the nightmare is always hurting you," he whispered. "But you are safe, Guin…you are safe now, and Ilúvatar will keep you safe in my arms."

"I did not know what I was doing," she groaned. "I hurt you…I can see the marks…I did not even know it was you. I was so afraid…"

"You nearly drowned," he whispered. "You were swept away by the river—"

Her breath caught and she buried her face more deeply into his neck. "In my mind, I thought you were Hrigow," she said, her voice shaking as her body continued to tremble. "He and Stetlan dragged me down to the river and…and…"

"It is all right," he whispered, stroking her hair. "You can tell me."

"They bathed me," she said, choking on the words, horrified. "They took my clothes and then tossed me into the water." He was appalled at her words, his arms tightening around her. He knew her hatred of water, not why, but he knew about it; he knew she had always shied away from being wet. How terrified she must have been! And unclothed? He was almost sorry they were dead; he wished he could have killed them all himself. He must not let her see that…that tendency towards a fierce temper, fierce defense of her, frightening anger.

"Oh, Guin…"

"They shoved me back and forth between them, and they…they touched me…and I went under…and I thought I was going to drown…I was so afraid." She gasped the last words. Her hands were so sore, but she wrapped her fingers more tightly into his tunic, clutching him as if holding herself to him, as if she could not bear to let him go, as if he would slip away through her fingers. "And then they clothed me, and brought me to him…"

"They cannot hurt you anymore, moina quén," he told her, but in his heart he was so angry about what they had done. She had been so hurt by these men…if he had known…oh! the vengeance he would have inflicted upon them!

She was silent for a moment, thinking about her nightmares, about how she had hurt him, how she had hurt herself. She was waiting for it, waiting for him to say the words that would end it all, that would break her heart forever. Holding him even more tightly, she pressed her face to his neck, and he noticed the change in her, the way she was holding him. Her hands pained her, but she still pulled.

"Guin, what is it?" he asked. He could not ask what was wrong; her world was upside-down, everything was wrong.

"I…I keep waiting…I keep waiting for you to say the words…for you to say…"

"Say what?" he asked gently. "What are you waiting for me to say?"

"Good-bye." The word left her mouth and silent tears slipped down her face.

"What?" he said, completely confused. Did he not talk about marrying her? Did he not hold her, tell her he loved her? At least twenty-five times or more in the last two days!"Why would I—"

"I keep wondering when you will have had enough." Her voice was so broken and sad. "I keep thinking that at some point you are going to say 'I cannot do this anymore. This is not what I wanted, what I expected; I cannot love someone who is so…so…so ruined.'"

"Stop, stop," he said, his arm holding her even tighter as his hand found her face. She flinched as his fingers traced the bruises and scars there and then towards her neck, but he continued to do it. "Stop saying things like that. You are not—"

"Yes I am!" she choked out, crying softly. "He struck me, h-he touched me. In heaven's name, he entered me, Legolas! He held me down and he thrust himself inside me!" He flinched as though she had struck him, and her words certainly had as he remembered those moments, her screams of pain. "I know you saw! I know you did!" She began weeping then and trying to pull away, but he would not let her; not now, not ever.

"I did see," he told her gently. "I did; I saw what he did, how he hurt you, how he put his hands on you, how he forced himself on you. He did it so I would see, the despicable being…but none of that was your fault. It was him; he was the one who hurt you. That does not change how I feel."

"It should! I…I am not pure…I am not whole. A woman should be…your wife should be. And I...I cannot understand," she said, choking on the words, full of disbelief that they were coming out of her mouth, "how you could love me…how you could want me, when another man has…when he…"

"I…I do not care what he did, except that it affects you, that you are wounded, hurting," and he felt her flinch. "I care about you, that he hurt you, abused you in a way that you should never have been." He pulled her back from him carefully and cupped her face in his hands. "Look at me, Guin."

"I cannot! I cannot look at you, see your eyes shining at me. I cannot believe it…I cannot believe that you could possibly still want to marry me, not after this, not after knowing the truth about me."

"The truth about you?" he whispered hoarsely. "Guin, I have known the truth about you since I met you! What did I not know? That someone in your past had severely hurt you? That you did not wish to trust me? That you had nightmares that haunted you and sometimes caused you to lash out and fight unseen demons? Guin, look at me!"

His words were full of pain, and the order in them made her obey, even when she did not want to. She opened her eyes, tears flooding out of them as she met his, hers full of grief, of the terror of him telling her farewell. "That I had been assaulted, abused."

"I did not know the particulars of your nightmares," he agreed, "but I did not need them to love you. I did not need to know every detail to know you had stolen my heart from my chest and that nothing would ever change that. I belong to you. Every part of me…every bit of my soul is yours; it has been touched by you, it clings to you. Nothing can change that. I love you, Enguina."

"You cannot love me," she stated flatly. "What is there left to love?"

"I love the way your hair dries in the sun," he said suddenly, his fingers tightening and holding her very still, very close to his face. "I love the way you laugh when I tell you something funny, when I tease you. I love the way you stroke Lómë's forehead and whisper to him when you think I am not looking. I love the way you tighten your hand in mine if you are anxious or afraid. I love the way you look at me over your shoulder; the way you blink, the way your eyelashes come down and cover your eyes. I love the way you laugh, the way you smile at me as though I am the only person that matters. I love when you run through the grass of the Pelennor as fast as you can to escape my reaching arms." He laughed out loud as she began to cry again, listening to his words. "I love watching you run. I love to see you sitting with Arwen and laughing with her, spending time with Gimli and his people, singing in the morning with your eyes lifted to the sky…Enguina…I adore you…everything about you, from your perfect toes to the last strand of golden hair on your head, from the kindness of your heart to the stubbornness of your spirit. I love you, so much that I cannot bear to think of a day I would not be at your side.

"I will never leave you, Guin," he whispered. "I am not going to say goodbye…not now, not ever. I am never leaving you, unless you send me away or you beg it of me. And then I would…and I would die of a broken heart," he told her honestly. "I cannot live in a world where you are not with me. I cannot be without you. If you will stay, if you can stay…then I would have you as my wife, at my side, forever and always…for the rest of my days, Enguina. I swear I will love you. My love will never fail, never fade away, nothing will change it. When I told you that night so long ago that you are all my heart knew of love, I meant it. I meant every word; I promised my heart to you…it belongs to you. It could never be another's."

Enguina wiped her face and her breath caught again. "He has taken everything that I would have given only to you."

"But you never gave it to him," he told her. "You never gave him anything; you would not, because I am yours, and you are mine…just as we pledged to each other that night in the White Mountains. He could not take what you did not give away, and you will only give yourself to me. And me alone." She stared at him as his thumbs stroked her cheeks. "Just as I will only give myself to you and you alone. We belong to each other only, therefore, he could not take from you what you did not give. You are pure, Enguina, because you have been waiting for me."

She choked back a sob, and he smiled at her. "Ilúvatar in Heaven," she whispered, "I do not deserve you. Your kindness, your goodness, your faith…I do not…I do not deserve it."

"Ilúvatar blesses us all," he said gently, "just as he has blessed me with you."

Enguina shook her head from side to side very slowly. "I have received all the blessing."

"You are so wrong…you only have not realized it yet."

"I am…I am yours…" she said softly, thinking about his words.

"That is right," he agreed with her slowly. "And I am yours. I belong to you, just as you belong to me. We are pledged to one another." He touched her face and rubbed his fingers along it again, and this time, she did not flinch. "We are to be wed…we will have one another, forever. And when we are wed, I will…I will rub out every mark," he whispered, his voice lowering so that only she could hear him as he leaned his forehead to hers, "and I will erase every kiss, and I will wipe away every touch he ever made on you, and I will remove every possible hold that he has had on you for the last fifty years. He said you were his, I say no." He spoke fervently, passionately. "You are his no longer…you are mine." He felt her swallow against his fingers. "And if you will continue to have me, I would keep you forever, in my arms, close to my heart."

"Legolas," she whispered, and he closed the insignificant gap between their lips and kissed her, softly, gently, as though it could last for hours, and she was reminded of that first moment of that first real kiss, how free she felt, how wonderful it was to be loved, to feel the heat of utter bliss and joy that was kissing him and being kissed. She loved him, and even if she was so afraid at times, her heart belonged to him, just as he had said his belonged to her.

Eventually, he would begin taking a look at the scratches she had made on herself, but for the moment reminding her that she was loved, that he cherished and adored her more than anything else in the world, in his entire existence, was what she needed.