It had been a very long day of traveling. Hindsight was always very clear to Aragorn; it was one of those things that had always frustrated him about making choices for a group of people. Sometimes those decisions hurt others if you were not careful…this was one of those times. He had been removing Brego's tack when he realized that there was no way in all the realms of Middle-Earth he was going to lift the saddle. His shoulder was roaring; even curling his fingers to make a fist pained him. This caused him to pause and observe the others around him, and to come to the final conclusion that they had traveled way too far today…and they had not been ready for it.

There was a light rain falling at the moment. Enguina and Legolas had dismounted and stood beside Lómë, Legolas favoring his leg, Enguina working on straightening her back; she looked very uncomfortable. Gimli appeared a little tired, but otherwise all right, and Arwen…she met his eyes as he discovered her right beside him. He gave her a sheepish smile, noticing that the toe of her right boot was on the ground at the moment and not the rest of her foot.

"A bit far today, hmm?" he said and she shook her head.

"A bit I would say," she agreed, "but no one here is going to complain, if that is what you are implying. Everyone would like to be home at the moment."

"How is your—"

"Please," she muttered as she rolled her eyes and reached up to take Brego's saddle down, "I am perfectly well compared to you. If you want to ask someone how they are, ask Legolas or Enguina. They are bound to lie as well as you."

"Legolas shall lie better than Enguina," he said softly with a chuckle.

"How bad is it?" she asked, and he nodded slowly, refusing to answer the question. That, in itself, was the perfect answer. "You need to rest."

"We all need to rest," he replied.

"I'll get a fire going!" called Gimli. "I know a few people who could use some food and some of that most excellent tea you're both so good at making, lad."

"Let me help you, Gimli," added Arwen, "as soon as Brego and Aragorn are settled."

"I could settle myself," Aragorn protested mildly, but she knew it was for show. He was far more exhausted than her, and she was not about to let him do anything by himself. She set down Brego's saddle.

"I will help," offered Legolas, but she caught his arm as he moved towards the fire.

"No, you will go and sit by the fire with Enguina. Perhaps gather some food for our evening meal." Enguina gave her a slow smile.

"I might be too tired to eat."

Legolas laughed. "I will see to it, Arwen."

It took a few minutes, but everyone soon had their bed rolls about and the fire was roaring quickly. Arwen sat Aragorn down and, after putting the tea on to boil for everyone, began undoing the front of his tunic. He caught her hand and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Undressing me before dinner?" he said so quietly she was surely the only one to hear him.

She shook her head, and Aragorn could tell she was in no mood to be teased; she did not even blush. "Do not be so foolish," she told him. "This wound needs serious tending, and I would not have the energy myself."

"I do not think I have been riding for so many days for so long," Enguina said, sitting closely beside Legolas, her eyes half-lidded. And been so uncomfortable while doing it.

"You can rest your head upon my shoulder, you know," Legolas told her with a smile.

"I know, but if I do that I will never get the tea I need, as I will be asleep."

"Enguina, how are your hands?" asked Aragorn, and Enguina lifted her eyes at just the wrong time to see Arwen removing the bandage. Her stomach turned and she looked away into the fire.

"Not terrible," she said hurriedly, trying not to think about the wound and listening to Arwen hiss softly in disgust. "Legolas held the reins most of the day. My side is tender."

"I will be honest and say that my leg, my hip, my side are sore," Legolas said aloud, slipping an arm around her as he watched Arwen begin to clean Aragorn's wound. It was not a pretty sight, and the man's fingers began to dig deeply into the dirt nearby.

"Honesty is the best way to go about," Aragorn said softly, and then clenched his teeth.

"How would you know?" Arwen asked, a bit annoyed. "This wound has been bleeding for some time. Why did you not tell me? You need to take better care of yourself."

"Why should he when he has you?" teased Legolas, and Arwen gave him a look full of fire.

"Do not give him any ideas," she said firmly, and Aragorn smothered his groan of pain. His shoulder was on fire.

"Legolas," he said, his voice still quiet, "do not irritate my wife while she is working. This is painful enough." And even though she was angry with him, her hands gentled on the wound. "I was so eager to be on the road home; you all must forgive me for prolonging your hurts today."

"We want to be home as well," Enguina murmured, and she did lay her head upon Legolas's shoulder. He slipped an arm around her and rested his head in her hair.

"You really are exhausted, Guin," he said gently. Aside from a sigh, she did not reply, and Gimli sighed loudly as well as he watched the water boil.

"I think I'm too tired to eat, and that's a first. There's always breakfast." He yawned widely and stretched. "You know, I don't even think my hand is bothering me enough to stay awake for tea."

"I will take care of it, Gimli," Arwen said. "Go ahead and rest."

"I'm grateful," he replied, and within moments was curling up on his bedroll…and moments after that, was asleep and snoring. Aragorn turned his head, trying not to show how much pain he was really in, and smiled to himself upon realizing that Legolas and Enguina were asleep where they sat.

"I wore everyone out," he realized.

"Including yourself," Arwen agreed, shaking her head. "I do not like the look of this, Aragorn." He could hear the worry in her voice, and he turned back to look at it.

"Arwen, a wound always looks worse before it goes better," he told her, glancing up into her face. "It will be fine; you are doing fine."

"You always say that," she muttered. "You would say that if your arm were about to fall off."

"I am sorry I teased you, and I am sorry I did not stop earlier. We will do better tomorrow; not so far, not so long."

"Can I hold you to that? Enguina is bound to be in pain, and Legolas is not yet well. We need to rest more often, and you cannot spare your strength to heal them now, not as wounded as you are."

He was silent for a moment, and Arwen gently began to rewrap the wound. He reached up and held her wrist in his hand. "How is your knee?"

"Fine."

She tied off the bandage and slipped out of his grasp, headed for the tea. It was plenty warm enough, and she poured mugs of it for each one of them. Holding two of them in her hand, she crouched down beside Legolas. Aragorn watched her, hating the fact that she was upset with him. He hated when she was angry; it felt off in his head, in his heart.

"Sleep-heads," she said softly and laid a hand on Legolas's arm. He blinked and looked at her, responding to the touch, not her voice.

"Oh, I must have fallen asleep," he said. "Forgive me, were you saying something to us?"

"Your tea," she said. "Drink it, and then you and Enguina can lie down on your mats."

"Guin," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"Mmm…"

"Arwen is trying to give you tea."

"Thank Ilúvatar," she whispered, and lifted her head to take it from Arwen's hand just as Legolas did as well.

"Are you really that uncomfortable?" she asked her, and Enguina looked a bit guilty.

"It could be worse." Taking the mug, she began to drink, cringing at the taste. Legolas did not even cringe, but downed the tea fairly quickly.

"There is more," Arwen said to him. "May I get you a bit more?"

"Save some for Aragorn," he replied but she smiled wryly.

"I promise there will be enough." She took his mug and refilled it; when she returned to give it to him, she took Enguina's and did the same. Enguina shook her head when Arwen held it out to her, but she insisted she take it. "If you wake in the middle of the night, you will want it," she said reasonably, and Enguina rolled her eyes and took it.

"Yes, mother."

"I will be what I must be when I need to be it," Arwen said waspishly, and she straightened. Enguina looked a bit apologetic, but Arwen continued. "Are you hungry?"

"No," Legolas said honestly. "I think I will eat breakfast when I wake."

"You have definitely spent too much time with the dwarf," Arwen sighed, and she looked to Enguina.

"I agree with Legolas," she replied. "I just want to rest."

"Have a good sleep," Arwen said gently, and she reached out and ran her fingers through Enguina's hair. The elf closed her eyes, and Arwen stepped away. "Both of you." By the time she turned back from the fire with two more mugs of tea, having drank one herself already, the two of them were lying on their mats, close together with Enguina facing him. Legolas was propped up on one elbow, stroking her face and watching her breathe. Arwen said nothing, but continued on to Aragorn, who met her eyes a bit sadly.

She tilted her head, surprised. "What is it?"

"I was thinking," he said with a small sigh, "how much apologizing would I have to do to beg you to run your fingers through my hair like that? But then I thought that I probably could not do enough."

Arwen looked at him a moment, placed a mug of tea in his hand, and immediately ran her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes the second time, and then found himself leaning his head against her stomach, relishing the feel of her hand in his hair. It still amazed him how so small a touch could relieve his pain better than the tea he was about to drink; she was his sanctuary, as he was hers.

"Forgive me…for being so…boorish."

He could almost feel her smile. "You do not need to beg me to touch you," she said, continuing to comb his hair with her fingers. I love you, Aragorn; it was loud in his head. "I hate to see you in pain, injured. It hurts me, just as much as it does you to see me. I wish you would be more honest about your injuries; you do not have to be tough for anyone here. There is no urgency in getting home…aside from the wedding, and those involved are in as much pain as you."

Her other hand worked its way slowly down to his spine and rubbed down from the back of his neck, straight down. He almost sighed with relief. "How did you know?" he asked softly.

"I know what part of you is connected to what part," she said wryly. "Sometimes, I know your body better than my own."

He laughed softly, his arm moving slightly so he could rest his hand on her right calf, near her injured knee. "As I know yours, beloved. May I rub this tonight?"

She laughed softly and shook her head. "No," she said. "You need to rest more than I need to feel your fingers. I will rub it myself when you are resting."

He did not argue, as she sounded fairly firm about that. There was silence between them for a little while as she continued rubbing his spine. "You have not been dreaming at all since we left Minas Tirith," he said, taking up a new subject.

"No," she agreed. "Enguina will be having all the dreams now. Legolas is going to try and stay awake all night and watch her…I know it."

"I would, if it were you."

Both hands were on his back now, and he almost moaned with the relief it gave his shoulder. "You have," she said, her voice softer now. "You have stayed awake with me all night, and kept the darkness away. I know you have." He was silent; he did not want to tell her just how many nights he had done exactly what she was saying, where he would rouse her just enough to wake her from the nightmare, but not enough to wake her fully…at least he did not think he ever woke her fully. Clearly, there had been times he had been found out. "You need to drink."

To get himself to pull back from her in order to get the cup to his lips was a trial; the last thing in the world that he wanted was to remove his head from her belly or stop the feel of her hands on his back. But he did, because he wanted both of them to sleep as they needed it; he was relieved when her hands stayed upon his spine as she watched him drink. He lowered the mug and nodded to the other beside him.

"Are you not going to drink yours?"

She shook her head. "It was another for you."

"No, you need it."

"I am fine. Drink it."

"Arwen—"

"Drink it or I will stop," she threatened softly and drew her hands away from his back. The mug was gone in a few seconds. She took it from him and set it down before taking his hands in hers and helping him to his feet. "It is time to lie down…and see what I can do about this back of yours." Leading him to their mats, she helped him to lie down where she removed his boots and gently rolled him onto his stomach as she sat down beside him.

Her hands were like magic on his back, so soothing, and they turned every sore muscle in his back and shoulder to mush. He lay there like a dead body, in a state of semi-unconsciousness, feeling her hands, her presence, and wondering how in the world he had been so blessed. "Your hands are like heaven," he sighed.

Her hands slowed, and one moved to his arm and began soothing the muscles there as well that ached and pained him. "Aragorn…" she said softly, and he made a noise in his throat to let her know he was listening, "will you…will you promise me that we are not to go through this tomorrow night? And the next night after that, and every other night on the way home? Will you promise me?"

She was practically begging him; how could he refuse? "I will promise," he said, and he meant it, as serious as she was. "As much as I so love it when you are the healer, I will not ride until I am about to drop tomorrow…and I will be solicitous of the others."

"I will worry enough for both of us," she replied, "and you need to rest now."

"Come here," he whispered. "Lie beside me."

"When I have finished with your arm," she replied, "then I will sleep."

"You are just as exhausted as the rest of us. Come," he repeated.

"Aragorn…when I have finished," she said a bit more firmly. "Close your eyes, now."

He obeyed her, and enjoyed the feel of her hands. Minutes or hours later, he woke to her body pressed up against his back, her arm wrapped around him, hugging him close to her. He did not even have long enough to smile before he was asleep again.

His hand was in her hair, his forehead closely pressed to hers, and she felt the comfort, the love pouring out of him into her. She loved him, so much it hurt. She was lying beside him in the grass near the Anduin; he was propped up on an elbow beside her, leaning in close. It was spring, and the warmth of the sun felt good on her toes as she lay there. His eyes were shining, the bright blue distracting her from everything else that was wonderful about the day—she had to focus on him. The way his flaxen hair hung down about his shoulders, how his delicate pointed ears made her smile, the way his fingers touched her face from cheek to chin, the way he stared at her—as though she was the only thing in his world; these were the things that distracted her.

"Beautiful…" he whispered, and she blushed.

"What?" she asked him.

"You," was his reply. "I have never seen anything so beautiful in my whole life than you…in this moment." His thumb traced along her lower lip, his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face upwards toward his mouth.

She let him kiss her; he did not ask permission. There was no need anymore, for him, every time she tilted her head was a cause for a kiss. He had told her once he could hardly help himself, and that she could hardly blame him when he was so in love. She felt his hand slip beneath her neck bringing her that much closer to him, holding her gently to his mouth.

The kiss grew hard, more intense, and the hold on the back of her neck became strong and demanding. She was struggling to breathe, and she tried to move back or move away, but she could do neither. And she found that she could not move her hands…they were knifed to the ground above her head.

Suddenly she was thrashing against him, in pain as she tried to free herself. The hand that was not beneath her neck was grasping at her breasts as she fought left and right, crying out against the mouth that held hers so tight. His hand dropped lower, lower, until she felt him pressed hard against her and she writhed desperately—

"Enguina!" She heard him screaming, tied to the tree. "Enguina! Guin! Guin!"

"Guin," Legolas stressed, shaking her. "Guin, stop, wake up!"

She came to, breaking into an immediate sweat as she felt his hands on her arms. She reacted, even after hearing him say her name, and she struggled against him, wrestling to be free, pushing against his chest and scratching at his tunic. She could hear him speaking, but in her head she could still hear Bragolaur's vicious words to her and feel him grabbing her, phantom pain stabbing through her hands as she tried to pull away.

"No, no!" she whimpered. This is not Bragolaur; it is Legolas! Legolas! But no matter what her heart tried to communicate to her head, the dream would not release her. She kept yanking, yanking to get away, still tearing at his chest, fighting in fright as she tried to be free.

Instead of holding her arms then, he brought her right to him, too close to cause much damage, and he could stop her thrashing when she was this close. Her every muscle was tense against him as he held tight, and after taking several hits to his broken ribs and listening to her whimper as she tried to escape him, he wondered when how long it would take for her to realize that she was all right. Grimacing, he continued to hold, mumbling her name, trying to fight back the chaos in her mind. She finally woke, gasping and choking on tears.

Enguina could smell him; being this close to his neck was what finally brought her out of the dream. Immediately, her body began to tremble and she began crying, unable to stop it. Her head spun, but she shoved her face into his skin and forced herself to focus on his scent. She barely kept the food she had eaten down as her stomach heaved, and she struggled to breathe correctly.

"Shh…shh…" he whispered, and suddenly his hand was against her head and she was flinching against him…and then she remembered again who it was that was holding her. "It is all right…I am here, moina…I am here." She tried to relax her muscles, but it seemed she had to do each one individually and she did not have enough strength for that. Trembling against him, she felt weaker than she had in days. He smoothed her hair with his hand, his fingers tangled in it as they had in her dream. It was a dream; it is not real…only a dream…just a dream…

This was the fourth nightmare tonight, and Legolas was just about exhausted and at the end of his rope. He had been awake, staring at her, knowing by the way her face tightened on the others that they were happening. He was able to wake her; she was still crying and trembling when she woke, but at least she was not suffering within the dream. But he had been so exhausted that he could not stay awake, and he had fallen asleep…and he cursed himself for being unable to do so. This one of course had been worse, and she was trembling harder than she had for the last two.

"Legolas…Legolas…" she wept, her hands pulled tightly into her chest as she huddled in his arms, trying to protect herself against the darkness. He felt her flinch again as his fingers stroked the edge of her ear, but he was not about to let her go. She knew it was him; she simply could not help the way her body chose to react.

"He cannot hurt you," he told her gently. "You are safe…safe…it was just a dream. Only a dream…"

"I am so tired…" she cried. "I am so tired of dreaming; I want him out of my head! I want him out!" Her tears increased as she whimpered, "How can I get him out?"

"Shhh…" he said, his arm tightening. Her stomach spun again and she swallowed hard; she did not know how long she could prevent herself from heaving. She tried to breathe and focus again on his scent, but her breaths were gasping, she could not even slow them. The nightmare came back to her, suddenly, forcefully, and she tried to push away, bringing her wrapped hands flat against his chest.

"Let…let go," she whimpered; there was no stopping the sickness washing over her. If he did not let her go now…right now…

The last thing in the world he wanted was to let her go, but as he watched her swallow twice, three times consecutively, he knew what would happen if he did not. He sat up with her in his arms, and then turned her away from their mats, keeping her in his arms now and taking her hair in his hand. He had not let go, and she hated him seeing her so ill, unable to control her body, but she did not have a choice as he was clearly not about to release her.

Her gasping became heavy, forced breaths and then she was retching and coughing; three, perhaps four times her stomach heaved, and she leaned against his arms, exhausted when it was through. She was sweaty and chilled, her skin clammy, her hands shaking against Legolas's arm as he held her still. She could hear his voice, telling her that she was all right…but she did not feel all right. In fact, she felt worse than ever, exhausted, weak, phantom pain filling her, the nightmare just behind her eyes. She had never felt more despair.

"I…I want…" she began, her mouth dry as sand, but she forced the words out choking on them, "I just want to die…" She hated herself for saying them aloud, but she could not stop them now, and she began sobbing, feeling more wretched than she had in days.

Legolas's heart broke as his arm tightened its hold, moving her slowly back to their mats and reaching out to get her a drink of water. He had known, or at least he should have known, that this would get worse before it would get better, that the torment she had suffered would not go away with one conversation, one dream, one assurance of his everlasting love for her. He made her drink the water, practically forced it on her, and then she curled her head back into his neck, seeking the security of his arms again, her tears thick and heavy.

"Do not say things like that," he whispered, a lump in his throat. "Ilúvatar protect you from wishing it. I cannot—"

"What is there left of me to save? What part of me is worth saving, Legolas? I have nothing to give you!" She was sobbing now, and his heart was throbbing with her pain.

"Guin, please…"

"It hurts!" she choked out. "I do not want this pain anymore! I cannot survive it. Every night…I cannot even close my eyes he is all I see, what I feel…I just want to sleep…hear the quiet of it…I cannot even feel that…" He rocked her in his arms, and she dug her fingers into her hands in fists; the physical pain was better than the emotional one.

"What can I do?" he asked her. "Please, Guin…you are in so much pain." He could feel it in his chest; it was eating him alive. Was this what Aragorn meant? He had never known suffering like this. Yes, he had lost his mother, but this…this was torment, agony, grief…this was the woman he loved.

It was as if she had not even heard him. "I dreamed of you…" she groaned. "I dreamed of us at the Anduin…there was nothing but our love, you touching my face…kissing me…and then it became him!" She cried out. "The dream became full of darkness and I was in pain and you were screaming, and he was right! God, he was right…he said he would say with me, that he would haunt my steps and he was right, he has always been right!"

She could not fight him in her sleep. She could fight the memories while she was awake, but while asleep…there was nothing she could do. And he, what could he do? Was there an answer for so much pain? Fire burned his chest—of course there was an answer…but he could not face that. How could he lose her? She would have to go…how, otherwise, could she find an end to this pain, could she find rest? If he could not help her, was this the only choice? Yet how could he ever find the will to let her go?

He held her, tears on his own face. "He was wrong…Bragolaur was wrong," he whispered, trying to talk over the lump in his throat. "He has always been wrong…Ilúvatar will protect you…let him be your shield, hold him as a light against the darkness."

"He is not there, Legolas…when I need him, he is not there…" she wept, her despair smothering her like a dark ocean. "I have begged him to take this away, and it…it is worse than ever…and what can I do? I am drowning…drowning in this darkness!"

He did the only thing he could do…hold her. There was no way any words he had to say would bring her peace, not tonight…not right now. His heart was so heavy for her, for them both, weighted down with the agony of her despair. Where are you? Why have you done this? How can she take this sorrow, the weight of this pain? Please…do not let her leave me! I will do anything…please, do not make me let her go! Be with me…be with me!

He sang softly then, tears on his face as he held her, rocking her, long into the night. The words were as much for her as they were for him.

Abide with me, fast falls the eventide.

The darkness deepens, Lord, with me abide.

When other helpers fail and comforts flee

Help of the helpless, O! abide with me.

I need Thy presence ev'ry waking hour.

What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's pow'r?

Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?

O Thou who changest not, abide with me!

When Aragorn woke, he was alone on his mat; his arm was aching, but he ignored it. He should not have been worried about Arwen but he was, and he sat up slowly, looking about the camp. Gimli was gone again; where the dwarf was, he had no idea, perhaps that was where the horses had disappeared to as—and then Legolas blocked his view.

"Aragorn, may I…can we speak alone?"

To have such a request at this hour of the morning? What hour of the morning was it, anyway? He could not even see the sun, he had not had time to gather his bearings, and he blinked at the elf, wondering what in the world could have put him so ill-at-ease. "Of course, Legolas," he replied, clearing his throat and glancing about for water. "I need—"

Legolas set out a hand with a waterskin in it and Aragorn took it gratefully. After drinking, he set it down and rose to his feet, his first instinct to look for Arwen. Thankfully, he did not need to look very far. She sat with her back to him, Enguina slightly before her; a blanket around her shoulders, her golden hair cascading in waves down her back as Arwen's deft fingers plaited a braid into it. She had her knees up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, her chin resting on her arms, eyes closed. Arwen was humming something softly that Aragorn did not recognize, but it was soothing. It was clear to him, in the set of Enguina's shoulders, in the walk of Legolas, that it had not been a good night. And he had slept through all of it.

Legolas stopped not too far from the camp, in the woods, leaning heavily against a tree. Aragorn came to a halt beside him, and he had to take a seat in the grass; his head swimming. He needed some of that tea soon, and he was ashamed to admit that he hoped Legolas did not want to talk long. He shoved it back and focused. This was important…it had to be, otherwise Legolas would never have brought him out here.

"I am so distraught," he whispered, and there was more pain in those four words then Aragorn had ever heard in the elf's voice before.

"Sit," Aragorn said gently, "and tell me what is troubling you."

Legolas nearly fell down beside him, so tired, his burden so heavy. "I have been awake all night with Guin," he continued, his voice soft but full of sorrow. "She woke four times from nightmares, the last most awful. She is haunted by him, pain filling her, causing her to be ill and weak…exhaustion does not even cover how she is feeling this morning. She is…so full of despair." He lowered his head into his hands. "I cannot reach her.

"I try to tell her that Ilúvatar will protect her from her dreams, but he has not. She cries out to him, but he is silent. I try to hold her, and she shies away from me, afraid that I am him." He choked on the words. "I try to tell her than nothing matters but our love, that we are meant for each other, that I love her no matter what…but she cannot believe, or she cannot think of it. She feels him; he is strangling the life from her. Last night she…she…she wished she was dead."

Aragorn placed his hand on the elf's shoulder, but he continued. "She is in agonizing pain, and I can do nothing to take it away. No amount of words, no amount of holding, no amount of tenderness can stop it…her pain is killing me, torturing me, eating me alive." He looked up into his friend's face, his eyes full of tears. "Is this what you meant, Aragorn? Is this what you meant when you said I do not know what suffering really is? Because you are right…I can hardly bear it. I feel as though I cannot breathe, that I want to murder what is hurting her, but he is already dead! She suffers with something I cannot touch, I cannot heal…I cannot even reach her through the darkness. She could barely look at me this morning, could barely find the strength to lift her head from my chest. You were right, Aragorn…I did not wish to know this kind of suffering; I was not made to bear her pain. I can feel her in my head, screaming…" He broke down, crying softly, and Aragorn sat beside him quietly.

"Why?" he asked brokenly, covering his face again. "Why has Ilúvatar done this to her? She does not deserve this suffering, to have been tormented by such an evil man, to have been hurt as she has been and now to be haunted by the memory of him, the memory of his hands on her, his body pressed to her. Why did Ilúvatar let it happen? Why can he not let me heal her? Why can she not take refuge in me and find peace from these sorrow? Instead, there is only more despair; all that is left is despair. How…how can I reach her? How can I fight the sorrow?"

"You cannot," Aragorn whispered. "You cannot fight it, Legolas. It is not a demon, not a thing that can be slain. It is an idea, a memory that haunts her, that drives her to the darkness, that smothers her, chokes her. I know what you are trying to fight…but you have to understand you cannot. You can no more reach into Enguina's mind and heart and take away all of her fear and the memories then I could Arwen's." His hand tightened on Legolas's shoulder. "You can only take them as they come, and bring comfort when they do."

"There is no way—?"

"There is no way to fight her dreams, to fight back her sorrow. She must do that. When we…" he paused, and then pushed onward. "When we lost our son, Arwen's nightmares were terrible at first; she would dream of him every night. She would pace the floors, unable to close her eyes, weeping, screaming, even wounding herself trying to find a way to get rid of the pain, pulling her hair in a fit of agony. There is nothing worse, as you well know, Legolas, than standing by and watching someone you love fight pain alone. When she could find no sleep, I would help her rest through herbs to make her sleep, just so she could get a few hours of rest.

"But…over time," he said, his voice tight, "the dreams lessened; the grief is no less, and it is sudden and consuming at times. I know, I feel it in her and I feel it, too…but hers is so much deeper than mine. She was connected to the child in ways I cannot understand…I never will. I cannot take her pain, I cannot fight it…but I can give her whatever comfort Ilúvatar has given me. I can bless her with my love, reassure her each time her heart tries to fail."

The elf met his eyes and Aragorn continued. "This is what you can do for Enguina, Legolas. She needs time; she needs grace. She has to fight the dreams on her own; there, you cannot help her. But when they do come, when they find her, you can be there. With time, the dreams will begin to fade, as will the hurt. She does not feel that yet, she cannot…not with the pain so fresh, so new."

"But…she has been fighting this pain since before…since Lothlórien, and she did not beat it."

"No," he agreed gently, "she did not…but she never had a reason to fight him until you. Legolas, Enguina loves you, and she knows you love her. She has to begin realizing that she is no longer alone in her pain; you are with her. You will become her rock. Ilúvatar has given her you to hold the dreams at bay."

"Aragorn, I know the pain that Enguina is feeling is a bit different from what Arwen is feeling, but let me ask this: if Arwen had not given up her immortality to be with you…would this pain, the pain of losing her babe…would it have driven her to Valinor? Would she be there now, if not for you?"

Aragorn was quiet for a moment, thinking about Legolas's words. "I honestly do not know Legolas, but I think perhaps not. Arwen has always had a certain strength in her. There are many elves who have been through trials and pain who have found a strength within them to stay here. Look at yourself, your father…yet you still remain in Middle-Earth."

"We have something to stay for," he added softly.

"Yes, Enguina does as well now. She must fight her dreams, her despair, and choose you."

There was pain in his face and his shoulders sank. "What if she cannot? What if my only choice is to allow her freedom, and she chooses Valinor? What if it is the only place she can truly find peace if I cannot bring it to her here, help her find it?" He lifted his head. "I am so in love with her, Aragorn; with all I am, my whole being cries out to her. Alas, now I can see what would have been your doom if you had let Arwen journey to the Havens where you could never go. Alas, it is evil indeed, that I should have to live without the other half of my heart, my soul!"

"Legolas, it is still so soon after the trauma," he said trying to encourage him. "Do not be so quick to think the worst, you, who are usually so positive." He smiled. "Chirpy…as Enguina would say." This, sadly, did not bring a smile to Legolas, so Aragorn continued. "She needs time. Stay at her side, encourage her…take as much of her pain away as you can, support her in every way possible."

"Do you…do you think she will stay?" he whispered, unsure he wanted to hear the answer, but it was out of his mouth before he could take it back.

"I cannot possibly—"

"What do you think?"

Aragorn was looking at him, and the elf turned his eyes back to the man. He sighed. "I think that Enguina will choose you. She will realize that seeking Valinor when she could have you is utter nonsense." He closed his eyes. "I know nothing of your Heaven, Legolas, aside from the tales I learned in your father's and Arwen's father's halls…but if she chose me, who is nothing over it, than that is saying something. Enguina will choose you…but you will have to wait for her." He looked over at him again. "You can do that, can you not?"

There was pain in Legolas's face and he said, "I will wait forever if I must, but Aragorn…I am afraid of so many other things."

"What? What else is troubling you?"

"When I wake Enguina from a dream, she fears me…she fears him; she sees him." He rubbed his face, and Aragorn could tell he was embarrassed. "Aragorn, I do not want her to see him when I touch her…when we…when we…the first time we…"

He squeezed Legolas's shoulder. "Worry about one thing at a time, my very good friend. Right now, you must be there for Enguina; we will discuss the rest of it once we get closer to the wedding."

"Should I…should we postpone the wedding? To give her more time?"

"Do you feel that is the right thing to do?" he asked, and a storm cloud crossed Legolas's face.

"I do not know!" he snapped suddenly, his frustration exploding out. "If I knew I would not be asking! Why must you always ask the hard questions?"

"Be glad it is only one," he told him. "There are more I could ask, but they will keep. What are friends for then to ask the hard questions? If I did not ask, who would?"

"What do you think?"

He shook his head slowly. "You have less than a month before the wedding, Legolas. The date is set; keep it. If you find, as the wedding draws near, that you must wait, then make that decision."

"But…is it not better to let everyone know who is traveling that there is a possibility—"

"Everyone is already traveling," he reminded him. "Éomer, your father…they will be here more quickly than we would expect." Legolas paled at his words, and Aragorn shook his head, looking concerned. "Do not fret about it; if it happens that you must postpone, if you and Enguina agree that you must, everyone will understand there has been serious chaos in the last few months, and we will all help you. You know we will."

"I…I do know…" he said softly. "It just…with the wedding in a few weeks it seems as though…nothing will be normal, that it cannot be normal. All of us are still wounded—"

"We will not be traveling until late today, if at all. You and Enguina need time to rest." He frowned. "How long had Arwen been awake with you?"

"I do not know," he replied. "I did not notice her until she came to take Enguina from me, and Gimli had already left by that time. I think she was awake for some time; she has a sixth sense when it comes to Enguina."

"This I know," Aragorn agreed. "We should be heading back. Is there any other encouragement I can give you, Legolas?"

He shook his head, still worried as he rose to his feet a bit awkwardly, his ribs and leg paining him again. "I do have one more question, Aragorn."

"Ask it."

"Should I talk to Enguina about any of this? My heart tells me no, but I am so unsure of everything I am doing. I do not know how to help her, to reach her, to comfort her and it makes me so unsure. I have never been so…lost."

"Pray, Legolas," he said gently, "it is the only comfort in times like these." The elf nodded and looked down at Aragorn. "I am afraid that I cannot advise you to tell her or not to tell. Telling Enguina about your uncertainties could be good, but it may also hurt her. Only you can make that decision within the moment. It is necessary I think, at a time like this, even when you are hurting, to be strong for her."

"I will continue to pray. Are you getting up and joining me?"

Aragorn met his eyes and smiled. "I…was intending to do so, but I think I might need to hold onto you. I am feeling a bit…unwell this morning."

Legolas nodded. "For you to admit that means you are definitely unwell. Shall I call for tea?"

"Lots of it. We need to seriously look at these wounds today. You are not walking as well as I would like; how was Enguina?" The elf reached down and grasped him, dragging him carefully to his feet. Aragorn's pain was written all over his face, but he made no sound as the two of them began to walk towards camp.

"Her hands are bothering her; I can tell."

Aragorn frowned. "I knew I should have looked at them last night. Forgive me."

"We will make sure they are better today," he said, "and there is nothing to forgive. You are just as weary and injured as the rest of us." Aragorn nodded, but no matter Legolas's words, he still felt responsible for their wounds.