Enguina leaned back against Legolas's chest, her feet tucked beneath her, his arms around her as they sat together on the divan. She reached up behind her and stroked his chin with her fingers, smiling. Nearly asleep, as they had been quiet for some time, the touch was welcome on his face.

"Legolas," she asked softly, "when did you know that you loved me?"

He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her fingers on his chin, his jaw, and his cheek, and thinking about the answer to her question. "I felt the beginnings of it when I first saw you enter Minas Tirith," he said honestly. "I knew I was drawn to you before I met you, but I am fairly certain that I fell in love with you between the night we spent bantering with each other and the trip to the market."

She laughed. "What a disaster that was."

"No, moina, just the part with Dagnirhir. But you did ask about the moment I knew I was in love. I think I realized it after I discovered how terribly protective I was of you." He toyed with the edges of her hair. "And you? When did you know?"

"You mean I am in love with you?" she questioned, teasing him, and he tugged the hair he had been playing with. "I began when we were fooling about in the snow and then by the fire that night, soaking wet in the King's House, but I could not admit it to myself then. No, I think I realized the way I felt when you named me 'Guin.' Even though I was afraid of those feelings, I saw it for what it was. I was in love with you then. Even if I was terrified…and still am sometimes." She admitted the last softly.

He smiled and kissed her temple as her fingers continued to trace his skin. "Sometimes I am afraid of my feelings for you as well."

She turned her head to give him an incredulous look. "You are?"

"Yes," he told her. "Enguina, before you arrived, I was content. I was perfectly happy to spend the rest of my days comfortably in Ithilien almost completely on my own, visiting Gimli and Minas Tirith often." He bumped her chin with a finger. "But then you came through that gate and I saw you, and nothing could have ever been the same. I felt as though there was a hole in my chest that I would not be able to fill unless I spoke with you, was privileged to know you. There was an emptiness in me that I did not know anything about, that I had not discovered until I was already in love with you. That emptiness can never be filled unless you are beside me."

Enguina stared at him. "I…the way you speak is so…incredibly romantic."

He laughed softly. "Yet every word I speak is true."

"That is what makes it so wonderful. This…you…are not make-believe."

"I could never pretend about something that makes me feel like this. Oh, one more day until we will be bound as one for eternity. One more day until I can show you the love you deserve—"

"The love you deserve, too," she whispered, stroking his jaw again. "You should have that same love that you are going to so willingly shower upon me."

He smiled at her. "I suppose I should," he teased. "I do want you to love me that way as well. It is the image of your love that makes me desire you more."

Touching the end of his nose softly, she whispered, "I do not think anything would make you desire me more."

He laughed, and it was so sudden that she startled. "Oh, love, you have no idea the effect you have on me. But you will…someday soon you will and then life will never be the same." Legolas's arms tightened around her and she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against his shoulder again.

"It is so late. Perhaps we should lie down and try to sleep. One day closer to the wedding."

"You really are not going to tell me what you are doing tomorrow, are you?"

"Most certainly not."

He rolled his eyes. "Why can I not know? Why must you torture me?"

"It amuses me," she teased. "And you, I am sure, have far more horrid things planned for me at some point, so do not push me, or tempt me to do worse."

"I suppose you must keep a secret or two, yet you are probably right about the horrid things."

"I was giving an example. I was not serious."

"Mmmm…" he muttered, and dragged her slowly over with him, stretching out along the divan so that her back was to him still. He reached over and slipped a blanket over her feet and she smiled.

"Oh, how I love you," she whispered, and he pressed his lips to her temple.

"I just remembered something important I wanted to tell you," he said softly and she tilted her head towards him as he propped himself up on his elbow. "Well, perhaps not tell…perhaps discuss is the word."

"What is it?" she asked, lifting a hand to stroke his thought-filled face.

"I…noticed something between us," he said softly. "This is going to sound very strange, and…it is strange, but Aragorn seems to think it might help us on our wedding night, and I am inclined to try just about anything that might do us good." He sighed and she gave him a little grin.

"Usually," she teased him gently, "I am the one who babbles."

He rolled his eyes. "I do not babble."

"And aside from the babbling, Aragorn gave you advice for our wedding night?" She was amused, and he could tell that she was practically laughing at him.

"You are awfully mean tonight," he said.

"I am not mean!"

"I will allow the 'not mean,' but you are laughing at me," he said, "and I am trying to be serious. Aragorn was only trying to help."

"Yes, I know," she said, "the best of men." There was no tease in her voice then as she raised an eyebrow at him. "Tell me what is troubling you so. I am not going to laugh at you, even if it is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard; not if you are serious about it." He was silent for a moment.

"It is so strange!" he exclaimed softly. "I barely know what to say…how to describe it to you…where to begin." He sighed again. "I suppose I should start with the first time I…the first time I felt it, heard it. Do you recall the day that I told you I was determined to be a part of your life?"

She smiled. "How does one forget a defining moment of their existence? It was the same day you kissed me the second through twelfth times, the day we made lamb stew together, the day Aragorn assigned someone to watch my door, the day—"

"You remember all of that?"

She laughed. "Well, yes! Especially the kisses."

He shook his head in awe of her. "You actually counted them?"

"The first hundred," she answered, turning her head to kiss his chin. "After that, somewhere along the journey home, I lost count."

"It was also the day that Dagnirhir tried to take you from the market."

She sighed. "You had to—"

"Yes," he insisted. "I needed to remind you because that was the first time it happened."

Enguina looked up at him. "It?"

"Yes, though there were several times after that. Let me explain. When I came down the steps from the Butchers' shop, I realized that you were missing. Though I was terrified for you, it was nothing compared to the shock that went through my chest when I…heard you call my name."

"I did call for you," she said. "I remember screaming for you quite loudly."

"No, this was…it was different. It was from inside. It was inside my head…in my heart."

"In your—? What?" She was clearly confused. He tried to find a way to explain.

"Guin, when you were taken, you called for me, but it was not out loud. I heard it in my head; your voice was powerful when it called my name, and along with it came emotions of terror and pain. I knew you were in terrible trouble."

"You…you heard me? You heard me call for you?" she asked, and her fingers stilled on his face, shock registering on hers.

"It was the first time, but it was not the last," he admitted. "Whenever you have felt in danger, many of the nights you have dreamed, when you were held captive by Calendur, when you were…taken by Bragolaur…" he hesitated, and then plowed on. "I heard you call me, call my heart; I felt your pain, your sadness, your fear, even your agony and despair at times. I could hear you in my head, even if you never called for me out loud. I do not know why; I do not know if you—"

"I did," she whispered, stunned. "I did call for you in my heart. Sometimes over and over…I did not know…I did not know such a thing was possible!"

"I honestly do not understand it. I only know it has happened; that it continues to happen." She touched his chest with her fingers, and her eyes flooded with tears before she could close them fast enough so he would not see them. "What is it?"

"You felt…what I felt…?"

He covered her hand with his. "I want to share your burdens."

"Oh, Legolas…"

He pulled her more tightly against him. "You called for me…you needed me. And I came."

"It must have been so awful," she whispered, horrified. "How could you bear—? Why did you not tell me? I could have prevented myself, I—"

"No, that would only have been worse!" he groaned. "Do you not understand? The only thing I want is to protect you; to have you hide it only to discover it later would be so much worse."

"You should never have had to…feel that…" she whispered.

"That was not the worst part," he said gently, wiping beneath her eyes. "The moment that was so awful I could not bear it was that night in Henneth Annûn. That night when we laid side-by-side and I could not calm you. You called for me, you were continually calling for me in your head, over and over, but with your words and hands you sent me from you. That I could not bear."

The guilt that washed over her was painful. She was reminded of Aragorn's words to her, that she was tearing Legolas's heart to pieces. Now she knew why, she understood why, and it made her cold inside. "Ilúvatar, forgive me," she murmured. "I am so sorry! If I had only known I—"

"It has been long past," he told her, "all is forgiven. I know that I can hear you, feel you in my heart. I…I do not know if this flow, this force, this—I do not know, power?—works so that you can hear me."

Enguina looked at him a moment and then her mouth fell open. "You called to me," she gasped. "One of the last days you were captured and Gimli and I were looking for you! Youcalled to me and I heard you that night. I remember the way it felt; I could not feel what you felt, but I could hear you calling in my head, a pull on my heart that we were headed the right direction."

"Yes," Legolas agreed with a smile. "Yes, that is what I mean. So you have felt it as well; I had hoped you would not think me mad."

"I did not know what it was that I was hearing; I had forgotten all about the call in all of the chaos that ensued afterwards. What does it mean?" she asked, so unsure. "How can we…feel each other?"

"I do not know," Legolas replied, shaking his head, but with a few fingers he stroked her cheek. "But I think it is a blessing."

"How can you, feeling my pain, be a blessing?"

"I will know when you are hurting, and I will be able to stop it," he said firmly. "You will not be able to hide anymore, but it is not only that, Guin."

"What does this strange connection have to do with Aragorn?" she asked, confused.

"I asked him about it, months ago," he explained. "I told him what I felt, and I asked him if I should tell you. I asked him what he thought about it."

"You told him? And not me?" She shook her head, nibbling her lower lip. "You and Arwen…tell Aragorn everything." She could not help the bitterness in her voice as she said it.

"Without Aragorn, many things might have been very different," he told her gently. "You should be grateful for the relationship Arwen has with her husband."

"Do not chastise me right now," she sighed. "I know, and I am grateful. It just seems that he knows everything before I do."

Legolas smiled. "Aragorn advised that it might not be the best idea to share it just before we pledged ourselves to one another. Remember, I was afraid you would think me mad. Aragorn told me then that he and Arwen share a similar bond."

"They do?" she asked, incredulous. "How have I never heard of this before? Why did Arwen never mention it?"

"I think perhaps they thought that none of us would understand," he admitted, "and that we might think them mad. But Aragorn said something the other evening that made me think it might help to tell you about it. He told me that there is a possibility that we could…well, open ourselves to it somehow. That way, I would be present in your mind, and you in mine."

She stared at him. "That is…possible? I would feel you all the time?"

Legolas nodded. "I think so. He said that he and Arwen share feelings, even thoughts with each other. It has deepened their bond in an incredible way. Aragorn did not speak much in detail, but I know that it must be very powerful. He explained the night you sat with Arwen after they had lost the child, and he could feel her in the room. He knew exactly what she was feeling, what she needed. To me, that would very much be a blessing. And it may, very much, help us tomorrow night; if you can feel me…in your head…you cannot possibly think of him."

"How? How can we do this? Can we try it?"

Legolas winced. "You and Arwen showed up at the House the other night before I was able to ask him about that. Perhaps if you simply think to me as you have been doing—"

"But I did not know I was calling you," she murmured, sighing. "How can I…perhaps we should try it now and then—"

"Honestly, I do not think that is a good idea," he admitted. "I am not entirely sure you have any desire to know what I am thinking…and I do not think I want you to know at the moment." She smiled at him and he laughed softly. "I think, if anything, we should try it when we are not trying to sleep…and not lying here, tangled in each other's arms."

Her smile grew even wider as she looked into his face though her eyes narrowed. "I know what you are thinking right now, and you are not trying to communicate with me."

"You do?" he said, leaning a bit closer with a smile of his own. "And what am I thinking, moina?"

"You are thinking about kissing me," she murmured, pressing her lips to his chin as her fingers held him there before he could tug back. "Kiss me, Legolas…" He gave in to her, wanting to do it as much as she wanted him to. He leaned into her as the kiss grew longer and his arms became a bit tighter, the back of her head pressing down into the divan. He knew he should not, knew very well they should not tempt themselves. One more night—can you not wait one more night? Ugh…he did not want to wait anymore!

Legolas…

The word was drawn out, low, seductive and it wormed its way through his brain—and set his head on fire with a rush of feeling that was not his own. Immediately, he knew that it was what Enguina was feeling that was pouring through him in a rush, an outpouring of joy, love, and desire. It flooded him, melted even his bones until he could hardly think when his brain turned to mush in his head. Gathering thought after such a flood of feelings that were not his own was so difficult he barely wanted to do it. But…he physically pulled back. It was a smooth transition, however, so she did not realize he was doing it out of propriety, out of a desire to not lose his self-control again. He found his hand cupping her face, her fingers still holding his chin as he watched her blink slowly, as if rising from deep water or sound sleep.

"It worked…did it not?" He felt her fingers release his chin and rest against his chest. He knew there would be no way he could answer untruthfully—not when she could feel and hear his heart racing.

"It would be no use to lie to you," he whispered when he had discovered his voice. He felt as though his whole body had been set aflame again, and he was tempted to ask his father tomorrow if this was entirely normal; if it was all right for a man to be feeling this way before the wedding. Perhaps he should stay as far away as possible…

"Tell me what you felt," she whispered back, and her eyes were full of a desire to know what he had felt from her, to know that he had not only felt pain through that bond, but that he had felt her love.

"I should not," he murmured honestly.

"Please," she begged him, and he closed his eyes and let his breath out.

"If I did not already know," he whispered low, "I could say that I now understand what you feel for me, the power of your love, your joy in me…and yes, your desire." He watched her swallow. "That was…cruel."

She blushed, looking away. "I…I did not mean to be cruel," she said, feeling a bit miserable. "I was so…I wanted to try it…"

"It was, is awful…you are tormenting me."

Her face became rather horrified. "I am so sorry if I hurt—"

"No, you did not hurt me," he told her firmly. "I am hardly tormented as if I were in pain. It…you should not do that to me. Heaven above, if I had felt that, been connected to you and was half out of my mind, not the man I am, I might have been all over you. Guin, you cannot see yourself clearly through my head; you cannot understand what it is you do to me. You cannot even begin to comprehend what it felt like."

"I would," she offered, "if you would try to call to me at the same time."

He laughed outright, even his ears turning a tinge of pink. "O! I do not think so!"

"I am serious!"

"Oh, so am I." He kissed her roughly on the forehead and looked directly into her eyes. "Good night, my Guin. My lovely, lovely Guin." She laughed as he dropped his head to the divan behind her shoulder and closed his eyes, tightening his grip on her but refusing to look at her again.

"My, my…" she said lightly as she laid her head down but resting her hands over his. "You are a bit touchy this evening, are you not? Why will you not show me—"

"I will," he said, "but not tonight. I will not try it."

"But you promise you will."

"Oh yes…I will." The way he whispered the words made her shiver in his arms as his breath touched the back of her neck. He tightened his arms around her and drew her back against him.

"I am sorry that you were unprepared for the touch of my mind on yours," she said gently, and he shook his head.

"If I had been completely unaware, my response might have been very wild."

"Wild?" she giggled, quoting him.

"Stop teasing me, laughing at me."

"Will you stop teasing me?"

He snorted. "Never."

"Then I suppose you are going to have to live with this one time."

"You are…excessively cruel tonight." She felt him move as he propped himself up again. "And you know what?"

"What?" she asked, keeping her eyes closed, but unable to keep the smirk off her face.

"I want to sleep on the outside."

"What—"

She felt herself lifted bodily, his hands tightening, dragging her back onto his chest and holding her to him so he could scoot underneath her. She began laughing half-way through the movement, unable to contain herself that he was so silly as he rolled her up and over his body, wedging her between himself and the back of the divan. He straightened out behind her and continued to hold her, giving her just enough room to breathe.

"There now."

She huffed out her breath. "You are…completely and utterly ridiculous."

He laughed softly in her ear. "Come now, you enjoyed it. You like a bit of silliness now and again. No pretending. Moreover, this way, if you move during the night, you shall not fall on the floor."

"Oh, my strong protector. How shall I ever thank you?"

"A kiss and a good night," he whispered, his face much closer to her cheek than she thought.

She turned her head and kissed him gently. "Good night, meleth."

"Good night, my Guin."

There was more mist this morning and though Erumar thought it suited her mood, she felt it was not appropriate weather for a wedding to take place tomorrow. The sun should have been joyously out. She probably should have been at service this morning with the others, but she simply did not have it in her to sing songs to the One this morning. That, in itself, made her feel wretched.

She had not felt this miserable, this awful for several months. Usually, she felt nothing, and that nothingness was enough to sustain her through the days. But feeling wretched? These thoughts were enough to make her toss herself over the edge of the wall she sat upon. Oh yes, seven levels and a sudden stop would put an end to everything she did not want to think about. There were no guards about in this early morning gloom, no one to see her, no one would even think twice until they found her body somewhere on the first level—if she made it that far without hitting something. She rested her head in her hands, her legs curled beneath her.

The hours of the evening had been spent in memory of Haldir; she had not found one bit of sleep. Plagued by these waking dreams that she was powerless to stop, she was completely ragged, exhausted this morning. Once the memories began, she could not stop them, like a book with someone else turning the pages. Most of the night she had spent in tears, stifling her sobs in the pillow beneath her face. She had no idea when she had come here to sit by the Embrasure, and the morning was passing very slowly, her thoughts still not entirely her own. Aside from the memories, there were recollections of the past seven years: the grief that had destroyed her heart, the inability to help Enguina conquer the nightmares she had continued to face, the loss of her children to Valinor, her failure to be taken by death when she had sought it for so long. These long lists of painful memories warped her perceptions. She had thought coming to Minas Tirith, to be here in celebration might help to return her to…some form of the life she had led before. But the loneliness…and most of it was self-imposed like this morning or last night when Thranduil had walked her to her quarters.

Oh, Ilúvatar…what in the name of Heaven do you have planned for me? I have been so long in despair that I feel as though I am trapped under deep water. I have nothing to give you, bring you. I cannot worship in this dark valley, in this place; the shadows tear at my heart. Haldir's love, such as it was, sustained me. I had a reason for breathing, living. We had each other, our children…to be without them now… My heart is a gaping wound that salt is continually being poured into. Is there no escape? Can you give me no promise of hope?

She lifted her head from her hands and stared blindly at her scarred hands as she rubbed her thumbs against her fingertips. It was a pointless activity; they were numb…they had been since she had—no, she could not think about that night when Enguina had found her. Instead, she blanked her mind and left her head bowed as the mist began to finally clear, though the clouds remained.

"It is a quiet and gloomy morning this day," a voice spoke calmly from off to her right, over her shoulder. She did not startle, she was too far into the blindness. Instead, Erumar began to lift her head slowly, trying to draw herself out of the state of stillness. "I asked Ilúvatar for sun and he gives me clouds and a chill. There needs to be sun in the sky tomorrow; not for me…my son is getting married."

Finally, she had turned her head enough to see him. Thranduil stood, his hands behind his back as he had been looking at the sky with irritation. He lowered his chin, still holding that perfect posture she was nowhere near this morning as she remained, slumped towards one side, hands in her lap. He gazed at her then, those green eyes missing nothing, from the set of her weary shoulders to the redness of her eyes. She said nothing; at that moment she found she could not. She swallowed, trying to gather her wits, not yet ready for speech. Erumar had not expected company.

"May I?" he asked softly, inclining his head to the stretch of wall beside her. She wanted to say no, but could think of no good reason to tell him otherwise. He was just as able to sit upon the wall as she was; who was she to tell him no? She dipped her chin only slightly to indicate a yes, and he sat beside her, facing the gardens and the White Tower as she faced out towards the Pelennor.

Clearing her throat without making noise proved to be a bit of a challenge, but she managed, finally finding her voice. "I am quite terrible company this morning."

He sighed, giving her the tiniest bit of a smile. "As am I…perhaps we will make each other good company." Without giving her time to reply or refute him or even think about what he had said, he continued, "I take it you did not attend service either."

"I…could not."

"Nor I. I do not know when I last said a prayer." She looked at the side of his face as he stared at the Tower. It was still a proud, handsome face, but it was lined with sadness. "I have found it difficult to praise him, though I should if for nothing but my son's happiness alone."

"Did you not ask Ilúvatar for sun this morning?"

"Yes, but requests are not praise…" He looked down, still not looking into her eyes. "It seems far too often I feel abandoned by Ilúvatar when I should feel him closest, when I should wrap him around me as a shield." He hesitated, looking as though he thought he may have said too much. Then, he raised his eyes to hers. "Do you understand?"

She hesitated as well; give away too much and he would be gone. Now that he was here, she clung to his shred of company like the last leaf to a tree in autumn. "I do," she said, her voice soft and reflective. He nodded, glanced down, then back to her eyes.

"Are you wishing me gone?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"I was," she admitted, "but now I…"

"Yes," he agreed, nodding again, "I understand that feeling of wishing to be alone and then wishing with all your heart you were not so overwhelmed with loneliness. When I saw you here as I left the gardens, I did not know whether to come or to leave you alone with your thoughts."

"You could have," she whispered. "I would have never known your indecision."

"I could not stop thinking of you last night," he said honestly, and her eyes did not prevent him from seeing her surprise at his words. "I could not get your eyes out of my mind, so full of pain. I am used to seeing that, but only in my own reflection, not in the face of another. And here, this morning, your eyes are the same." He looked as though he wanted to say more and she looked away, thinking she would be blinking back tears at his words but instead she just felt an aching in her chest—salt in the wound. "I feel as though I wronged you last night," he said and her brow furrowed at his words. "I knew you were in pain," he said softly, "yet, I left you alone. I have been…too concerned with my own affairs and have tried little to be near others. I must beg your forgiveness; if I were any sort of person I would not have left you that way no matter what you had said."

"I…" she stuttered over the words, surprised at his frankness, his open berating of himself and his deeds. "I could not have spoken last night. It was not your fault. I would have turned you aside readily if you had asked. Do not deride yourself on my account, my Lord."

Thranduil set his hand down on the stone between them, the perfect posture gone entirely as he leaned back on it, closer to her, and she looked down at his fingers. "Please…Thranduil," he said, and she looked back into his face.

"Thranduil."

"Still, I seek your forgiveness, even if you think I do not need it. I was wrong; one should always confess when they are wrong."

"That is a highly valued trait," she said softly, "and not had by many. You are forgiven, Thranduil though no matter what you had asked, I could never have answered."

He looked at her. "You have had a very long night."

She felt a twinge of pain inside her as he spoke the words. Why should she lie? "Yes."

His eyes were sad. "A…shroud of death clings to you, Erumar," he whispered, and she found her eyes drawn to his. "I recognize that shroud; I understand it. You have lost someone you loved, yet you remain."

She stared at him. "I—" her voice cut off and she swallowed the lump in her throat. "How could you know that?"

"Because we are both broken," he said, sorrow flooding his voice. "I have lost someone, yet I remain, trapped within this world. I have no desire to sail, yet at times I have no will to live. I can see this same war in you, in your gaze. You cannot let go of the past, yet you struggle to live in the present." His eyes bore his sorrow, but his voice was a bit stronger. "I have asked Ilúvatar, so many times, to either give me a reason to live or to take me—"

"Yes," she said, and she looked down at his hand again, "yes. That is what I have felt." They were silent for a moment, not knowing that the other was thinking of just how many times they had tried to lay themselves down. "You have lost…someone?"

"My…" he stumbled over the word, but then forced it out, "wife. Long, long ago, yet the pain is fresh and new each morning. It takes hold in my heart; it has never let go. Though, when I force myself, I can appear a bit more…normal."

"My husband," she whispered, feeling the pain flow through her at the word. "A little over seven years ago, in the War. Sometimes, my heart wants to simply stop beating, and I have to remind myself to breathe."

"Yet we are still here," he said, and she nodded, looking back into his face.

"He has not told me why."

"Nor me," he added. The two of them sat beside each other in silence for a moment, even as they looked into one another's eyes. "Erumar, may I tell you something?" he asked, and she nodded. "I have been feeling drawn to you. I did not understand what it was I was feeling at first, but I think I do now. We are…connected, somehow. Perhaps in our grief, I do not know. I do know that I feel as though I know you, or at least I understand your grief so well that I feel as though I do." She had not looked away, but she had not spoken either and he looked a bit embarrassed at his declaration. There were words that had gone unspoken, but she heard them anyway. I feel as though we were meant to meet. "Perhaps I—"

"No," she interrupted him gently, "no. You are right, Thranduil. I felt it as strongly as you but you are far wiser than I." She shook her head. "I would not have known it for what it was."

"I am far older than you," he said, and she smiled.

"Age alone does not make one wise, just as wars do not."

He found himself smiling back. "Is that not truth?" he sighed.

"Yet, you do have much wisdom, Thranduil, and character. You are here, in this moment, taking the time to talk to me, to spend a few moments with a widow when you could be enjoying the day."

"I…find I am enjoying the day," he said honestly. She wanted to look away but she could not. He was silent for a moment and then he asked, "Can we talk again sometime, serious, like this? I…barely, rarely if ever, speak of her."

She moved her hand from her lap and laid it gently over his. He studied the lines crisscrossing her hand and wondered at them; he did not ask. "I will listen to whatever you want to discuss, Thranduil."

He smiled at her. "That does not mean you will share."

"I…will when I can…if I can," she admitted.

"Shall we…no, perhaps it is too soon."

"What is it?" she asked. "Go ahead and speak your mind."

"Shall we make a vow?" he asked, a little smile on his face. "When we cannot sleep, we shall meet there," he said, nodding toward the garden, "and we shall sit and talk if we can. If we cannot, we will sit. What do you think?"

She was astounded by his words; gripped by the entire conversation. This total stranger cared, was moved enough by her pain that he was willing to talk to her when she needed it, to listen to her stories if she could tell them. That, more than anything, spoke to her about the character of Thranduil. But no, she was reminded, it did not feel as though he was a total stranger. She wanted to know; she suddenly wanted to know anything he would tell her, to get to know him, to understand him.

Erumar nodded. "Thank you, Thranduil."

He smiled. "Thank you, my dear. Now, on to less strenuous conversation, as we are both tired. I heard you say last night to the Evenstar that morning glories are your favorite flower."

"Yes, that is true."

"I have scoured this garden for the past several days and I never noticed any morning glories until this very morning. I think, if you would be willing, that we should take a slow walk that direction as there is a chance they are still open." He stood, taking the hand that had covered his and waited until she swung her legs over the wall.

"Thank you for finding them," she said as she stood. "I did not think you were listening."

"Can you not listen to a conversation and have one at the same time?"

"Not if I want to pay attention to the one I am having."

"I will neither confirm nor deny the truth of that," he replied, looking a bit guilty. She laughed at him; again, that tinkling of silver bells as he threaded her hand through his arm. "Permit me?"

"Yes," she said, and as she spoke the clouds appeared to roll away and the sun shone down on Minas Tirith. Both of them looked up together, and she knew exactly what they were both thinking. Ilúvatar heard you after all, Thranduil.

"Erumar! There you are!" The two of them turned to see Enguina and Arwen walking quickly toward them from the passageway. They immediately halted walking and waited for them to catch up. "We wondered where you were this morning for breakfast and then we were afraid we would not find you after service," Enguina stated, but her eyes were on Erumar's hand on Thranduil's arm. "Good morning to you as well, Thranduil."

He smiled at her, noticing the tiredness around her eyes. "Good morning, Enguina, Evenstar. I notice neither of you were looking for me, though I suppose I can overlook that."

Erumar smiled, patting his arm. "They were looking for me first; you were a close second."

"Of course," said Arwen, smiling, though Erumar could see through the visage to the worry beneath it. "We missed both of you at service. Is everything all right?"

"I was going to ask you both the same thing," Thranduil replied softly.

"It was a long night," Enguina replied softly, and Erumar nodded, her fingers tightening automatically on Thranduil's arm. "But it was good to be at service."

"We were about to take a turn in the garden," Thranduil responded, never answering Arwen's question, "but if I am not mistaken, you have come to steal Erumar away. I will relinquish her if I must."

"By all means, come with us, if it is your desire," Arwen said, inviting him. "We could use a second opinion, or perhaps someone to sing for us." There was a glimmer of mischief in her eyes and he crunched his eyebrows at her. She burst out laughing. "Dear Ilúvatar, if you do not look like my father!"

"I do not, as a general rule, use my voice for song," Thranduil grouched.

"That is sadness, indeed!" proclaimed Enguina. "Your son has such a lovely voice."

"It is not from me, I assure you." He shook his head. "Furthermore, I would not wish to be in your way; did you not tell Legolas he could not attend?"

"Can you keep a secret until tomorrow at the celebration?" she asked pointedly.

"Will you be keeping yours until the wedding?" he challenged, and she nodded. "Then I can. Very well, I see no reason not to attend. I will accompany you."

"Wonderful," added Arwen. "Come along both of you then, and we will see what can be done this last day before the wedding."

But even as they walked, Enguina could not help but spy that Thranduil walked closely with Erumar, even though she no longer held his arm.

Legolas sat, carefully flicking the knife blade over the piece of wood. This was the first time in many days he was sitting in the room that had been his for nearly seven years, his home and Gimli's. The dwarf was in the other room at the moment, letting him get on with his work. The idea he had for Enguina's wedding gift had been perfect; all he had left to do at the moment was to finish it.

He was not a great carver. He should have asked his father for help, or Aragorn, or Faramir, but he wanted to give Enguina something that was made entirely by his own hands. He wanted to give her something that he had made for her out of his great love, his desire for her to become his wife, a token of the joy he had found in her. He yanked his hand back after slicing the edge of his finger on the blade. Hissing, he shoved his finger in his mouth for a moment, disgust on his face from the taste of his own blood. Yes, he had never felt so clumsy before—or wanted anything to be so perfect. He loved her. He looked forward to their life together. He could show her with a gift like this.

Gimli came to stand in the doorway, watching him slowly begin to flick the knife again. "That's hard work, lad, but it looks like it's coming along just fine."

Legolas set the knife down for a moment, rolled his shoulders, and reached up a hand to rub the back of his neck. "If my head was not throbbing," he began with a laugh, "I might be able to finish this more easily. That is not meant to be, I suppose."

"What'd you do to it?"

"I fell last night," he replied, sighing. "Enguina threw me from the divan to the floor and I nearly broke my neck on the table."

Gimli chortled. "Hehehehe! Gettin' a bit frisky for your own good, eh elf?"

"Gimli," Legolas said with forced patience, "she had a nightmare."

The snicker left his lips and the dwarf crossed his arms. "I thought she was fine when you were there with her! Isn't that the reason you've been staying there all this time? Didn't these dreams stop?"

"No," Legolas said sadly, "they have lessened recently, but they are not gone."

"Damn that fiend, Bragolaur!" Gimli shouted, making Legolas jump. He spat on the floor, disgusted. "And damn the horse that brought him! Why, if he was alive right now, if Arwen hadn't butchered him, I'd butcher him myself!"

"So would I," the elf agreed in a low voice. "But instead his memory remains. We continue to fight it, and some nights are easier than others. Last night was a difficult night for her."

"It's so close to the wedding," the dwarf groaned. "Couldn't she just…forget? Not even for a little while?"

"She clears her mind before sleep now; she did not do that before. Sometimes, it is not enough. Aragorn says it will get easier," he added. Legolas flexed his fingers, rolled his shoulders a few times, and then took up the knife again. "I need to finish this for her before tonight. Do you think I will?"

Gimli grinned. "I guess it depends on how quickly you work. Just stop getting your blood all over it, eh? That won't make for a very nice gift."

"Yes," he laughed, "you are quite right, friend." He looked up at Gimli again, his hands stilling on the wood. "Tomorrow I will be wed," he said softly. "Bound to Enguina for the rest of my days, to be with her, and her alone."

Gimli smiled sadly, nodding. "You don't have to say anymore, elf. I know." He smiled at him more joyously. "And you're the better for it. I've never been happier for anyone than I am for you, lad. I'll let you get back to your work." He turned to leave the room.

"Gimli." Legolas's voice called him back and the dwarf turned in the hall to meet the elf's eyes. The blonde's eyes were pleading. "Promise me…promise me that you and I…that we will always be friends. That we will always be close, like brothers."

Gimli laughed and smiled. "Of course we will! You're not getting rid of me that easily!" He took a step back towards him and leaned against the doorframe again. "No matter if you're in Ithilien and I'm in Rohan, we'll still see one another," he said a bit more seriously. "I'll even be Uncle to your children if you'd like!" Legolas stood, setting the carving down upon the bed and walked to the dwarf. He extended his hand, and the dwarf clasped his arm. "I promise," Gimli said, in his affectionately gruff way, "we will always be brothers."

Legolas nodded, unable to speak. The dwarf seemed to notice as he looked into his intense face that the elf was not going to be able to respond. He released his arms and embraced the elf around the waist, once, tightly, then released him.

"I love ya, laddie. I never thought, in all my life, I'd ever have an elf as my friend. But you and I…well, we're different. Always have been." He smiled and turned away. "Now, git goin' on that before you never finish it in time, and stop cutting yourself!"

Gimli disappeared down the hallway, leaving Legolas standing in the doorway, hands at his side. He could not speak around the lump in his throat, not to second Gimli's words, not to make the promise to remain brothers or to repeat the words to the dwarf that he had said. He did turn back then, as he needed to finish his carving, but not before he had repeated the words in his heart.

I love you, my friend, Gimli, son of Gloin. Ilúvatar bless us that we will always be brothers.