Author's Note: Thanks to my new followers! Hope you are enjoying the story! :O)

It had not been in Erumar's plan to be in the garden already; it had not been Thranduil's either. The two of them had randomly met near the Fountain and began walking with one another, once more unable to sleep. They had said nothing when they met each other, simply began walking. So far, they had spoken of many things, it seemed everything but the real reason they were out here. Though, it appeared that Thranduil was closer to the subject than her. She tried more neutral ground.

"You have a big day tomorrow," she said softly.

"Me?" he said indignantly. "It is nothing. I stand there and watch my son."

"You are walking Enguina to the church, yes?"

"Oh, that." He shook his head. "No one will be looking at me. If she is half as beautiful as she is in the everyday, all eyes will be on her. If she has asked you and Arwen to escort her as well, it is assured no eyes will be on me."

He saw a light blush tint her cheeks and it made him smile. "I…do not think I am ready to be on display. I…have practically been in hiding the past seven years."

"But you will do it," he said softly. "Because you love her."

"Because I love her," she agreed.

"By the by, the morning glories, though they are not out at the moment, are here around this bend," he said, pointing ahead. "There is a very significant sapling planted there as well, and a figure of stone."

"Oh?" she asked. "I am certain it will be as beautiful as the rest of this lovely garden. I did not expect to find such beauty here in this great city of Kings." They were walking side-by-side, but she was not holding onto him tonight, rubbing the ends of her fingers with her thumbs. He glanced down, distracted by the movement of her hands and there was silence between them for a moment before he spoke. She did not understand what he was speaking of at first, but she quickly caught up with him.

"Her name was Glosvana." He stopped before they moved around the hedgerow. "She was fair-haired, though a deeper gold then Legolas's or mine, and her eyes were full of expression and patience." He looked up into her face and smiled sadly. "I went to lay down tonight and found my head full of her—there was no sense in remaining there any longer."

He heard her sigh softly and watched as she nodded; he knew she was probably not going to share anything. "Glosvana," she repeated. "What a beautiful name." Thranduil nodded.

"That was the first thing I told her when we first met," he said a slow smile coming across his face. "She laughed at me; I tried to impress her. It went on for years in fact. She did not wish to give in…for more than one reason."

Erumar actually laughed. "She was proud! How could a young prince not be good enough for her? Or were you a King then?"

"No, you are correct," he said, "I was a prince. Oropher, my father, thought her beneath me. He did not approve of the match at all." He sighed. "I was as proud as he was, but not when it came to her. Whenever I was near her, impressing her was all that mattered, speaking to her. Needless to say, my father sent me on many journeys so I would be away from her."

Erumar smiled. "I was going to say that I do not think it would be possible, with so much wooing, that she would not fall for you in a few months, never mind a few years."

"Well, I was not there very often! My father did everything in his power to keep us apart, and mind you, that was quite a bit of power. One of the many reasons Glosvana acted as though she did not want me was because he did not want her. She did not want me at odds with my father. In the end, it mattered very little what he thought. We were wed during the Second Age as Sauron was coming to power…in secret."

She stared at him. "You…eloped?"

He laughed suddenly. "That does not seem like something someone like me would do, does it?"

"Not at all," she said, completely taken by surprise.

"My father was so angry, we were at odds for a few years."

"A few?"

He shifted his head back and forth as if deciding. "Hundred."

"Oh, Thranduil," she laughed. "You seem in a good mood for the telling tonight. Tell me more if you like." He tilted his head at her. "If it brings you peace, please."

He shook his head. "It should not bring me peace," he said. "Speaking of her has ever brought me pain. I do not know why reminiscing with you feels…different."

"Strike when the iron is hot, as they say," she said with a smile, and he smiled in return, clasping his hands behind his back.

"And what of you? What brings you out to the garden tonight?"

"Too much on my mind," she answered honestly but would say no more about herself. She met his eyes with a little smile then. "And you said there were morning glories."

"You cannot see them this late at night," he reminded her. "Or at least their beauty."

"I was intending to wait for them to open," she said, and he nodded. Another sleepless night.

"You did not eat much at dinner this evening," he observed.

"Sometimes I forget," she replied, her voice softer, more reflective.

"I thought perhaps you were fasting until tomorrow's feast," he teased her gently.

"Oh…no," she said suddenly, "but I wish I had thought of that. It would have made a much better excuse." He reached out for her hand.

"Permit me?" She accepted it and he threaded it through his arm again; he led her around the hedgerow. "Whatever happened to your hands, Erumar?" he asked her gently. "You have been through pain."

She shook her head. "No, Thranduil, that question is…out of bounds."

"Forgive me."

"Apology accepted." She watched their feet make a slow path in the thickening spring grass, not wanting to look into his face. "You told a story of your father, Thranduil. Did you accept Enguina so readily? Or did you wonder if she would be good enough for Legolas?"

He felt a bit spun-'round by her question, so it took him a moment to process it. She was, once again, drawing the conversation away from herself. "I will be honest that I planned on accepting her straightaway, unless she were a harlot or a trickster and had seduced my son in the worst way. Though I will also admit I did not plan on liking her so much," he said. "Legolas has long been without a partner."

"Enguina is most certainly neither of those."

He laughed. "No, certainly not! She is too sweet, much too sweet." He looked up and noticed two soldiers of Gondor at their posts near the end of the far row of roses, facing the street. They would not be bothered by each other. Nearby where they were walking stood the little mallorn sapling and the statue of Enguina's brother.

"Perhaps," he said, interrupting her thoughts, "you would also enjoy this? This small sapling is a mallorn Aragorn was given to grow here in Minas Tirith; Legolas told me that Enguina planted it here after a ceremony not a few months ago. The likeness of the statue to the figure it was carved in honor of is incredible. Aragorn drew it for him and the stonecutter chiseled it out perfectly." She lifted her head to look at Thranduil and saw him pointing, even as he looked down at her. "Just there, in honor of Lórien and the sacrifice of the Elves during the War." Her eyes followed his extended hand and her heart stilled within her chest.

"You may have known him. He was Enguina's brother—Haldir, of Lórien."

She froze, stock-still where they had been walking, her hand falling from Thranduil's arm. Even from this distance, every detail of the statue was known to her in the moonlight. He was the perfect height, his armor and cloak, his sword and bow, every aspect and form the exact picture of when she had seen him last, standing near the gate of Lórien, the Elven guard lined up behind him. Time stopped, and her eyes searched that noble and handsome face that she had known better than her own for over a thousand years. If she could have moved her head to the left or right, it would almost be as though he was standing there directly before her. As it was, he was too still, a reminder of the way he would stand on the edge of a flet and look out into the woods beyond, hearing, seeing, studying things in ways she could never have understood. He was so perfect in every way that in that moment that she looked at him, she thought it was him—alive and in flesh before her.

"Erumar?"

It was his word, the way he spoke her name out of concern that drew her from a state of stillness and memory into a state of desolation, despair, torment. Agony—strong, swift, violent—tore through her heart and shattered every bit of the brittle wall she had enclosed herself within to make it to Minas Tirith at all. She could not feel her head, could not draw breath. The pain was suddenly excruciating—he was dead! He was never coming back! He would never hold her again, protect their family, their children. He would never stand and stare into the woods, watching for danger, standing nobly, protector of the Golden Wood…never, never, ever again.

Her knees buckled and she collapsed to the ground beneath her feet before Thranduil could react to catch her. Falling forward onto her face, fingers digging up the grass in great clumps, she lost all thought of anything except the pain and her grief. She did not know what she was doing. She did not hear her own voice screaming, sobbing. She felt so empty…the nothingness of despair. She felt nothing.

Thranduil, in a state of utter disbelief and horror, knelt beside Erumar and tried to take her shoulders in his hands. Calling her name had no effect, trying to draw her from the ground had no effect, nothing he was doing could reach her. Her body was wracked with sobs, rocking back and forth against the ground of no accord, her fingers clenching and unclenching in the dirt. He laid a hand on her back, touched her hair, anything to rouse her.

"Ilúvatar," he groaned, "tell me what to do!"

He heard footsteps and metal, and he looked up to find one of the guards who had been standing near the garden's entrance. "My Lord Thranduil, what has happened?" Hildanir asked, staring at the stricken figure he had shown to the King's House only yesterday.

Thranduil looked up and saw the man and immediately, thoughts of Aragorn, of Arwen came to his mind. "She is ill," he said. "Send for the King, and quickly, my boy!"

Hildanir turned and hurried away, telling the guard who was with him to stand by as he made for the King's House. In the meantime, Thranduil laid his hand against her back again, and lowered his head to his own fist, pressing it to his brow.

"Erumar, Erumar…dear god, what has happened? What have I done?" he murmured. He did not know what to do—nothing he was doing was making her respond; it was as if she were deaf and blind. Ilúvatar, please…she is in such pain! Is there nothing I can do? Can I be of no help to her? What have I done? What brought this on? How can I help her? What are you doing? Stop this and help her! Help her! Whatever this is, stop it!

"Thranduil!" He heard the shout of his name from the end of the hedgerow and he lifted his head to see Aragorn and Arwen running towards him. "What—?" Aragorn began the sentence, but then did not even waste the time mincing the words. Taking the scene in, seeing where Erumar was standing, what she was facing; he knew exactly what had happened.

"I do not know!" Thranduil cried. "We were walking and then she suddenly fell to her knees." He nearly had to shout in order to be heard over her sobs.

"Oh, Ilúvatar, Erumar," Arwen whispered and dropped to her knees beside her, laying her hands on her back beside Thranduil's.

"She is not responding," Thranduil said worriedly. "I have tried everything. I do not know what the matter is. I did not know what to do." Aragorn stood blocking the statue from view.

"Haldir," Aragorn whispered. "We did not walk to the end of the garden, here, last night specifically because of the statue. Haldir was her husband."

"What?" Thranduil asked, horrified by what he had unknowingly done. "Why did you not tell me, Elessar? Why did no one say anything?!"

"We did not even think to mention it," said Aragorn, crouching down as well beside her.

"She has gone cold," Arwen said worriedly, looking over at Aragorn. "We need to get her out of the dirt, before a fire, warm her."

"That will not help this—" Thranduil began, pressing his hand to his forehead again, flooded with her grief, and knowing exactly what it was like.

"Nothing will help it, stop it," Arwen whispered, as Aragorn tried to lift her. "It will run its course until she exhausts herself."

"Thranduil, help me," Aragorn said, and the elf reached over to her hands, tugging them from the dirt. He then helped press her into the man's arms, but she was barely pliable—her body was so stiff Thranduil and Arwen had to bend her on their own to make it easier for Aragorn to lift her. He closely followed them out of the garden.

"I cannot believe you did not tell me," Thranduil said angrily from the doorway of the sitting room of the King's House. He did not look at Aragorn who stood nearby. Instead, his eyes were fixed upon the figures of Erumar and Arwen at the fire. The room was hot. It was a warm spring night and the fire made it even more uncomfortable, yet Erumar's skin was cold, almost lifeless under Arwen's hands. Her arms were around her friend, holding her closely. Aragorn had wrapped her in a blanket and made her as warm as possible but it was not doing anything to help. This could not be hurried, could not be rushed; there was no comfort that would be found.

"Shhh," Arwen whispered, pressing her cheek to Erumar's head, rocking her gently. Her sobs had died down to whimpers, but the tears flowed unceasingly. Arwen did her best to help warm her with the gift she had; Aragorn had tried as well, but Erumar was deaf and blind to the world—she had no idea that someone held her, that someone spoke to her…she was in the darkness of despair. She barely existed aside from the anguish.

"Thranduil—" Aragorn began tiredly.

"No, I will not have it, Elessar," he stated. "I know what she is feeling! If I had seen a statue of Glosvana there I would be no better! You knew she had been walking there. This is your—"

"This is no one's fault," the man said calmly. "She is grieving, Thranduil, just as you are. This is the only way she, as an elf, can deal with the pain. Your hurts run so deep; I know."

Thranduil tried to control himself. "I am…if I had only known. I could have done something." His heart was grieved. He felt he had brought this on her, had made it happen.

"This was coming," Aragorn said softly. "She could not outrun it. Legolas said she was sad tonight—"

"She was sad last night when we parted," Thranduil said. "I met her at the wall this morning and she was still in pain." He touched the center of his chest and closed his eyes. "The sorrow in her voice tore out my heart."

"It will happen again and again before it gets any better," Aragorn continued. "You know this, Thranduil. Haldir has been dead seven years and her pain is no less than it was then. Is yours? Of course not. There is no way to stop it."

"Seeing him like that…" he said, looking over at the top of her head. "It nearly killed her. She was not breathing when she fell; it was the most awful experience. I thought…I—"

Why did it matter? She was in agony; she was seeking death. That was what he had wanted for so long, was it not? Why had he found himself talking about Glosvana tonight and laughing? Why? Erumar was right; he was finding peace with himself for the first time since her death. He had…he had never told that story to anyone. Why her? Was it because she knew grief like his? Or was it more than that? His hand tightened on his own chest.

Aragorn set his hand on the elf's arm. "Thranduil, it has been a long night already, and it is going to be longer still," he said. "We all have an important day tomorrow. Why do you not go and—"

"I cannot," he stated, shaking his head. "I could not sleep before, that was the reason I was in the garden to begin. She met me there to walk; we had agreed this morning we would if we could not rest and that we might…"

"Take comfort in each other?"

"Yes," he said. "I…would never be able to sleep now." He looked at Aragorn. "Do not turn me away, please. I will only find myself in that garden again, and I would be staring at that statue all night."

"I would never send you out, Thranduil," Aragorn replied, his voice serious. "You are welcome to stay as long as you need…as long as you choose." He waved a hand about the room. "The House is yours. Please, make yourself at home and take a chair. Erumar will more than likely be sleeping on the divan in another hour or so."

Thranduil caught his arm before he made to walk back towards Arwen. "Elessar, your words, before, made me think about something the Evenstar asked me when I arrived, and I have meant to tell you…I have meant to tell you that I am sorry for the loss you have both suffered. Perhaps this is not the time, but this night is dreary as it is."

Aragorn gave him a weak smile. "Whatever you said to Arwen, I thank you for the words of comfort. Her nights can be so long sometimes."

"But you are strong for her," he said gently. Then he glanced back at the two elves seated on the floor before the fire. "Erumar needs someone to be strong for her."

"So do you," Aragorn reminded him. "Perhaps you can find some strength in one another, some peace. Perhaps you can make one another more…alive. You are strong and kind, Thranduil, and Erumar is an excellent listener." He gave him a wry smile. "I should know."

"Yes, I…discovered that earlier," Thranduil replied.

"Perhaps you are both just what the other needs," Aragorn said gently and Thranduil said nothing, watching Erumar and Arwen. The man began to move away again.

"When she sleeps," Thranduil said, and Aragorn glanced back at him, "I would be willing to sit with her so that you both may take some rest. It makes no sense for all of us to remain awake. I would wake you when she does." Aragorn nodded in reply and Thranduil backed from the room to make some tea and then to find a place to sit and think.

Legolas and Enguina sat side by side on a blanket by the Anduin, her hands in his, their eyes on the moonlight. It had been a perfect night for a ride, the weather ideal, the moon just high enough for perfect lighting. Again, he could not help but find himself the luckiest man in all of Middle-Earth. Tomorrow would be their day. It would be a day of firsts for both of them, a day of special celebration and special giving…he would become one with her in every way possible. He felt his heart swell inside his chest and he sighed as he looked upon her in the moonlight.

"Arwen was right," she said softly. "She always said this was the most beautiful place in all of Minas Tirith. She said that every time she was here she could cry with its majesty, its beauty. Finding beauty in a place so very different from your home is a gift. I am so glad we are here, this night before our wedding." She looked at him, and then smiled. "I am so…glad to be with you, here, in this peaceful place."

He tugged her gently, drawing her back against him and then dropping both of them on their backs on the blanket; she snuggled against his chest and both of them looked up at the stars. "Can we stay here all night?" she asked. "Go back in the morning?"

"We could," he replied. "No one is going to look for us. They know where we are."

"Mmm…" She closed her eyes as she felt his fingers in her hair. "I love you, Legolas…so much."

"You might sleep better out here," he said gently and he felt her sigh.

"It was a hard night last night," she said. "How is your neck? I felt so awful at dinner; I wanted to rub it so badly, but I thought it would be inappropriate and there would be questions that I simply could not answer."

"It is all right," he replied, "but do not worry about rubbing it. The dream last night was more difficult than usual."

"Yes," she whispered. "I have not dreamed about the words he spoke to me since the night I ran to the Embrasure. I…am glad you were there last night."

He thought about how he had fallen, how distraught she had been, how she had wept into him, how he had carried her to the bath and held her as she vomited and shivered. Then, he had drawn her a bath to make her warm, to help her feel clean; she had not wanted to, but he had practically forced her, and she cried when he had not been there beside her. She did not know it, but he had dug marks in the underneath of the bath door to prevent himself from entering, her whimpering cries so loud in his ears…and within his heart. She had called him the entire time she had been in the bath, but he could not go to her, not like that, in her nakedness. He had dug the marks and destroyed his nails, clenched his jaw for nearly twenty minutes, and was so tense his back pained from being pressed against the wood. He had seen her, in his mind, the marks of Bragolaur yet on her skin as she scrubbed away at them…he did not know if the bruises had completely faded.

"Never again will that happen after tonight," he whispered. "Never again will I have to leave you to suffer alone." She opened her eyes and lifted her head from his chest to see his agonized face; his eyes were closed. "Last night…last night was the most difficult thing I have ever done."

"I thought that was in—"

"No…last night was much, much worse." She saw the way his jaw tightened, and raised a hand to cup his face. "I had to leave you in that bath alone…I had to…and you…"

"I called for you, did I not?" she asked, feeling guilty at once. "Oh, forgive me, Legolas." He crisscrossed his fingers through hers and she noticed, for the first time, the edges of his cut fingers. "Did you do this last night?" she asked, touching his fingertips.

"Some of them," he replied honestly. "But I will not forgive you for calling for me. You needed me, yet I could not be there." She stroked his face.

"I…will be glad that after tonight we will not have to leave each other's side," she said, kissing his chin, and he opened his eyes. "Then you can wash me clean." The last bit clearly had been meant to stay in her head, but the words had slipped out, and he watched her cheeks slowly turn pink. Legolas found himself thinking of the words of Éomer, of water and skin and soap and Enguina…

"Yes," he replied, brushing his fingertips along her cheek, "I think that would make me feel much better than leaving you alone."

"I should not have said that," she murmured. "It was…a bit too intimate." She lowered her head back to his chest so she did not need to look into his smoldering eyes. He continued to maneuver his fingers slowly along her face. "Perhaps we should get up," she suggested, and she could almost see him smile.

"Why? Because you are embarrassed by what you said in a moment of honest love? I am not sorry, and I would prefer to stay right where we are than move."

She laughed softly. "Now you are just being lazy."

"Very."

"What if we were to stay here all night, and then we would never exchange our gifts as we had set out to do?" She lifted her head. "Honestly, if we do not give one another our gifts, then we will have come all this way for—"

"Do not say nothing," he interrupted. "Is this not enough of a gift? To have the privilege of lying here beside one another, listening to the river and enjoying the sight of one another in the moonlight? Yes," he added, tangling his fingers in her hair, "a privilege indeed."

"Legolas, you are such a romantic."

He smiled. "As it turns out, I would like to give you your gift."

She sat up. "Can I give you yours first?"

"I…" he began, thinking as he sat up beside her. "No…this was my idea; I want to give you mine first." He heard her sigh as he leaned towards his saddle bag. "What is it?"

"But yours is probably so much better than mine."

"Our gifts are going to be perfect for each other," he said. "No gift will be better than the other. I will love it; you will love it. Very easy." He leaned back towards her. "Put out your hands."

"Well," she said dryly, cupping her hands, "at least it cannot be alive."

"Who said?" he asked, pausing in his act of maneuvering whatever-it-was from behind his back.

"Because it would be dead by now, riding about all night in your saddle bag. Legolas."

"If I could have found something small and furry in three seconds behind my back, you know I just would have." He smiled tenderly at her and then set the wrapped object in her hands. "My gift to you, my Guin," he said, his voice dropping sweetly, "as a token…to demonstrate my love for you and made with my own hands."

She unwrapped it slowly and was stunned by the beauty of what he had made. It was a long spoon, carven out of cherry wood. Its handle was long with complicated knots at the top, a twist in the main handle, and a linked chain at the bottom before the scoop of the spoon. There were two symbols carved into it. Just below the series of knots there was a keyhole as for a door, then a vine that entwined with the top of the bell just above the linked chain. The effect was incredible; she sat, staring at it for many long minutes, simply taking it in. It was not a spoon to be used; it was a spoon to be cherished and hung in a place of honor…perhaps in the home they would share.

"Elbereth," she exclaimed softly, "this is so beautiful, Legolas…you made this? You carved it with your own hands?"

"I have the cuts to prove it," he murmured, and then scooted closer to her, cupping his hands beneath hers. "Each one of these symbols means something to the Woodland Elves. Would you like to know what the symbols mean?"

"Yes, please…" she replied, trying to keep the lump out of her throat.

"These knots represent a love that will be ongoing, a forever, eternal love. The twisting of the wood represents the two of us, becoming as one," he continued, tracing a finger along it. "The linked chain is for children; this is a prayer to Ilúvatar for at least two…though I can hope for more." He chuckled softly when he said this and he heard her breath catch, knowing she was moved by his gift fanned the flame that had begun in his heart as he had been speaking. "The keyhole is for security, protection—I will be that for you, and you, for me. The vine is to symbolize the growth of our love as we continue through our lives together, and the bell is to symbolize our wedding…a celebration of who are in Ilúvatar as the bells ring out from the steeple of the church."

Her hands closed around it, listening to his words, and he covered hers with his own. "Do you like it?" he whispered.

She swallowed three times before she could speak. "I will cherish it always," she told him. "For you to have made something so beautiful with your own hands…for me…there are no words, Legolas. I hardly know what to say."

"I am glad you like it," he replied. "I was hoping you would…and I was unsure how it would come out. I have never carved anything before. It is rough, but it will do."

"It is not rough," she denied him, "it is perfect. When we will build our home in Ithilien it will…hang on the wall above our bed." She covered her mouth and laughed at herself as tears came down her face. He took her face in his hands.

"Meleth, why are you crying if you like it so much?"

"I—I cannot believe I am going to spend my life with someone so wonderful," she whispered hoarsely. "Legolas, you are…I never thought I would be here, choosing to marry someone who clearly loves me so much I…" she shook her head, unable to finish.

"I feel the same way," he admitted, wiping the tears from her face. He reached back down to her hands and took the spoon from her. "Let me set this down over here."

"Right," she said, laughing again at herself and continuing to wipe her tears away, "your gift." She reached over into her saddle bag and took out a folded piece of fabric. "I suppose your gift is really for both of us," she said sniffing, regaining control of her emotions.

"Yours was, too," he agreed, but he accepted what she held out to him and opened it up. "Guin, this is beautiful! Did you stitch this yourself?"

"It is going to be part of a quilt for the wall in the main room of the house we will build," she said. "My thought was that we will have a square added to it for every anniversary…and then for every other important thing that happens in our lives."

He studied the squares she had made in awe. They were perfect depictions of what had happened in their lives. There was a square with two figures riding on horseback in the snow, a picture of two figures sitting in a hollow of the mountain, an embroidered picture of two figures kneeling before one another, one holding on to the other, the other holding their hand to keep the figure's face pressed to their chest, another had a dancing couple on it, the colors perfect, another held two figures, their hands held with a light shining down behind them; and finally, a perfectly embroidered knotted heart in the center of them, larger than the other squares around it.

"This is…" he shook his head. "Please, tell me about them. What made you choose these?"

She swallowed, and touched each square as he had the spoon. "For now, the heart and knots for our love, everything you see grew out of that. The first day we spent riding together in the snow, when you discussed our faults and our gifts. The first day you took me to the mountains, the first time we really kissed. The way you have protected and shielded me from pain and by the grace of Ilúvatar have delivered me from the evil of my past, my dreams that have haunted my every step these long years." She swallowed again. "The last two show what I imagine the wedding to be like—the ceremony, our holding hands before the stained glass window with the light shining upon us; the other, us dancing as we have never danced before."

"But, how did you know the color?" he asked, shaking his head in astonishment. "How could you know the color so perfectly when you have not seen my tunic?"

She smiled. "I had to ask Gimli. I wanted it to be perfect."

"It is…it is," he repeated. "Could this gift be any more perfect?" He leaned forward and kissed her, then rested his brow upon hers. "Ilúvatar, how I love you! You cannot fathom the love that bursts in my heart!"

"Legolas, you have such a way with words. Your words move my heart."

He laughed. "I have one more gift."

"No, you said one," she said firmly, tugging her head back.

"It is for both of us. I…took the liberty, several months ago of writing to Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. You might remember the name, though it was only mentioned in passing."

"Dol Amroth," she murmured, confused. "I do recall it…Éomer's wife is his daughter, yes?"

Legolas nodded. "I wrote to him because I thought that it would be a beautiful place to travel before we begin constructing our home in Ithilien. Dol Amroth is on the Bay of Belfalas, before the Great Sea. Aragorn and Arwen traveled there briefly after the War and said the place is beyond words. I thought that perhaps, as you have seen the Havens and I have not, that perhaps we shall visit the Sea. It does not have to be a long trip, but it would be part of Middle-Earth you have never seen and…it would draw out our idea to have a bit more celebration alone. To travel alone, stay where we choose and enjoy each other. Imrahil has welcomed us with open arms."

"I love it," she whispered, slipping her arms around his neck, and they kissed several times before she rested her forehead against his brow again. "Oh Legolas…being married to you is going to be the most wonderful thing that has ever touched my life. I am so…so blessed I could never praise Ilúvatar enough for the gift of your boundless love."

Enguina…Enguina…meleth nîn…

She heard the words clearly in her head along with a burst of joy so incredible her knees weakened; she was glad to be sitting down. She felt his arms around her, holding her steady, and she knew that he knew very well what he had done; that he had called to her, that she had heard him, responded. Her hands trembled as they rested against the back of his neck.

"If that is a taste of what it is going to feel like tomorrow night," she whispered, her breath a caress on his lips, "connecting with you, feeling what you feel…then I will never think of him. Perhaps ever again."

"Ilúvatar is so good," he whispered, and he closed the last bit of space between them.