When Arwen and Aragorn arrived at the Houses, they found that Éowyn had been moved to a more comfortable bed in a completely different room. Now that she was clean and the birth was over, she could rest more comfortably. When they entered the room, they saw Faramir asleep in a chair nearby. Their new son lay in the cradle that Faramir had made for Annî, wrapped up in cloths and held tightly, fast asleep. Éowyn was also sleeping, half-propped up by pillows.

"Come," Aragorn said softly to Arwen, leading her by the hand. She lowered her eyes and followed him to where the child lay sleeping.

Her heart clenched when she looked down upon his face, the pain as intense as it had been when she was laying curled in Aragorn's embrace upon their bed just hours ago. She forced it back as far as it would go and knelt beside the cradle. Forbidding herself to cry, she simply sat for a few moments, trying to make peace with herself, with her burning need, her desires. She watched as Aragorn knelt down beside her.

He laid his hand over Folengel's body, his hand the entire size of the baby's abdomen. "Forgive me, little one," he whispered. "I did not have the strength to bless you before; the pain was too fresh in my heart. May Ilúvatar guide your steps; may you always see the love that shines in the eyes of those that will raise you. Blessings on you, son of Faramir; Ilúvatar bless you as he has blessed your father."

Arwen reached forward and brushed her fingers across his forehead, along his little nose, and down his cheeks and chin. "He is so small," she whispered, her fingers gently touching his little hands. "Annî was…so much bigger than him."

Aragorn nodded. "Yes, he was not quite full term. I am very glad he was not even earlier due to the stress of her situation." His mouth moved in his sleep and Arwen's made a little 'o.'

"He is precious," she murmured, and she swallowed hard, but forced no tears to fall. She was determined to be happy now at this little one. "He has Faramir's chin but Éowyn's eyes. He barely has any hair!"

Smiling, Aragorn chuckled. "Yes, not like Annî with the shock of red hair. He will grow into his instead; perhaps it will be blonde like Éowyn's."

"Let us let him sleep," she said, tracing his face again, but now that she was looking at him, she could barely stop studying and touching his perfect face. A thought came to her then, as she was kneeling there beside him. She wondered, though she did not have an answer, if she could ever truly be whole if Ilúvatar never granted her a child. She intended to be the best Tiriel ever; she would fulfill the role until the day she died, and give and nurture and love as much as she could until her heart burst. She would fill their lives with everything she had…but could she be filled? Perhaps now was not the time to answer that question; it was not even time to ask it.

"Sleep well, Folengel," Aragorn said softly, and Arwen bent over to press her lips to his forehead.

The two of them rose together and made their way towards Éowyn's bed. Arwen thought she looked very uncomfortable indeed. Even in sleep her breathing was shallow; it seemed she was in pain, and there were darkening circles beneath her eyes. Arwen settled herself on the end of her bed, covering the woman's hand in her own. Éowyn's fingers were so cold, she wrapped both hands around them to warm them. She lifted her head to look at Aragorn as he drew near to Éowyn's other side.

"Aragorn," she said with concern, "her hands are like ice." He reached over and laid a hand on Éowyn's forehead.

"She is warm," he said, looking worried himself.

"What does that mean?" she asked urgently. She noticed Éowyn was trembling, even in sleep.

"She should not have a fever." He lowered his hand to her throat and felt her pulse beneath his fingers, then met Arwen's eyes. "It means infection…somewhere."

Arwen's heart dropped into her toes. "No—" she began, but he reached out and put his hand over hers.

"We are catching it early," he said firmly. "Take it easy; this is why we came tonight. She will be fine. I need to speak to Kinna; stay with her." Aragorn left immediately, and Arwen swallowed, looking down into Éowyn's face. She remembered Thranduil's words about childbirth being so difficult; Éowyn was weaker this time than she had been with Annî, yet she had expected her to do better in labor with a second child, for it to be easier.

"Arwen?"

Éowyn's voice surprised her for reasons other than being unexpected. She supposed it should not have; it was weak and filled with pain. Arwen had been right when she thought Éowyn uncomfortable. The woman blinked slowly as she looked at her, and Arwen lifted one hand to lay it on her face.

"Is the baby awake?" she asked, and Arwen shook her head.

"No," she whispered in reply. "Are you cold, Éowyn?"

She nodded, and Arwen reached to lay an extra blanket over her. "What time is it?" she asked. "It must be late, you went back to the House, yes?"

"After supper. Have you had any yet?"

She shook her head weakly. "My…knees are shaking; I ache all over."

"Tell me what hurts."

"My back," she groaned softly, and Arwen saw her eyes fill with tears. Éowyn was not the type to whine about pain; in fact, she would be the one that would ignore it completely. This was serious. "No…my whole lower body…" She closed her eyes. "I feel like I have no strength. I cannot even lift my head."

"Why are you sitting up?" she asked. "You should be lying down."

"I needed to feed the baby," Éowyn replied. "I wanted to hold him…it was the first time."

"Let me wake F—"

"No, let him sleep. He was so exhausted earlier."

"Éowyn—"

"No," she said again. Her face tightened and Arwen laid a hand on her forehead again. "I feel…so strange. I was tired after Annî, but this…" Her eyelids fluttered closed.

"You are not well," Arwen whispered. "You are feverish, Éowyn. You need to lie down, to rest."

Aragorn returned just then, Kinna behind him carrying a tray with a mug and some bread. Éowyn looked at him and he smiled at her, stepping over to her side. "Éowyn, how are you feeling?"

"She is in pain," Arwen said softly. She looked down into Éowyn's face again. "Please, let me wake Faramir. He will be so angry if—"

"All right, all right," Éowyn muttered, and Arwen immediately rose. Aragorn laid a hand on her forehead again.

"Kinna told me you slept through dinner," he said, "so she brought you some bread to eat." She nodded as Kinna set the plate down. "Éowyn, do you feel feverish?"

"What is happening?" came Faramir's voice, seeing them standing around Éowyn's bed as he got to his feet. "Éowyn?" He immediately came to her side, taking the seat on the bed where Arwen had been. He took her hand and looked at Kinna. "Here, let me hold that for you." Arwen returned, but stood back from the bed, not wanting to be in the way.

"She needs to eat, my Lord," said the midwife. "And then she needs to drink this potent tea."

"Éowyn?" prompted Aragorn, and she nodded.

"I…feel heavy," she admitted. "I can barely lift my head, my hands."

"Did you sleep?" asked Faramir worriedly. "You need to eat this."

"Easy, Faramir," she said and then her teeth clenched. "Oh…"

"She needs to eat it so there is something on her stomach," added Aragorn. He looked back down into Éowyn's face. "I am going to draw down the blankets," he told her. "We need to make sure this is exactly what we think it is. Do not be afraid, Éowyn. Let Faramir feed you."

"What is it?" asked Faramir. "Is she all right?" He tore off a piece of bread for her and she chewed it slowly.

"A bit of infection, most likely," he said softly, and Faramir paled as Aragorn brought the blankets down. "She is going to be all right," he reassured him, "but I want to be sure." Éowyn wore a simple button-down tunic with her undergarment, and though Aragorn tried to keep her modest, he needed to see what he was doing. He unbuttoned the last few buttons on the tunic, exposing her abdomen as Kinna stepped to his side. Faramir could see his wife's legs trembling under the blanket and he gave her another piece of bread.

"Éowyn," he said gently, "are you in that much pain?" She nodded as she chewed weakly, her eyes closed; she did not want to see what they were doing. Aragorn laid his hands gently against her skin and carefully palpated her stomach and pelvic area. She hissed with pain and the muscles in her face tightened and Faramir paled even more, rubbing his fingers along her eyebrows.

"Kinna, here," he said, moving so the woman could do the same. "Swelling, yes?"

Kinna nodded. "You are right, my Lord. Eru be praised that we caught it this early." Aragorn nodded, agreeing as Kinna reached up to touch Éowyn's shoulder. "You are going to be fine, milady. The mug holds a mixture of relief and medicine. It should kill the infection quickly."

"It is not going to taste good," Aragorn told her flatly, carefully covering her shivering body with blankets again. "But it will help with the pain." He lifted his eyes to Faramir and said pointedly, "And she needs to drink it every three hours until the fever is gone." Éowyn had not even heard him, but Faramir nodded.

"Thank Ilúvatar," she whispered, her voice practically a groan as she swallowed more bread. "You know what I could really use?"

"What?" pleaded Faramir, hoping to do anything to ease her.

"Potent liquor…" she muttered, and Aragorn laughed as Faramir kissed her forehead.

"That is my girl," he whispered to her.

"Perhaps when the infection is gone," Aragorn said with a smile, and he stepped back from the bed to give her some space to breathe. In the meantime, he reached over to take one of Arwen's hands, uncurling the fingers that were digging into her arm in her worry for Éowyn. He did not say anything, just held it. Kinna slipped from the room and left the four of them alone.

"Where is Annî?" Éowyn asked softly.

"Éomer took her back to the house for dinner and bedtime," Faramir replied, and she nodded.

When Éowyn had finished the bread, Faramir took the mug from the nearby table where Kinna had placed the tray. He held it to her mouth, and as soon as Éowyn took a sip and the hot liquid hit the back of her throat, she gagged, nearly retching as she choked on the foul taste. Faramir leaned her forward, rubbing her back as she coughed, tears in her eyes from her body's reaction.

"You need to drink it, Éowyn," Aragorn said and she shook her head, her face pale.

"Yes," Faramir agreed. "You need it, or the infection will spread and—"

"Ugh…there is no other way?" she groaned, her hand falling to her abdomen; there was too much pressure sitting this way. Faramir leaned her back against the pillows and she watched as Aragorn shook his head.

"No, I am afraid not."

Choke it down she did. Gagging on it every few sips, she finally drank the whole mug, feeling simply awful with it floating around inside her. She looked as though she was going to be sick, and Faramir rubbed her back gently, trying to help her keep the liquid down.

"I hate you," she whined at Faramir. "Both of you." Aragorn took that to mean himself, and Faramir just chuckled softly.

"Well, at least you can lie down now," he told her, "and rest." Aragorn turned his head to look down to Folengel, whose face was screwing up to wail.

"Perhaps not quite yet," Aragorn said. "Someone is awake."

Folengel cried out then, and it was clear exactly what he wanted.

Éowyn turned her head and found Arwen. "I need you," she said softly, and Arwen immediately moved around the bed to sit on her other side, taking her hand. "Can you stay for a little while?" she asked. "Just till the baby is fed and I…sleep again?" She wanted them with her so terribly she could not explain her sadness at them leaving her alone or at being asleep while she was awake. She would have never been able to make them understand, but thankfully, she did not have to as Arwen nodded. "Thank you," she whispered, and then she clenched her teeth again, tightening her grip on Faramir's hand.

He did not want to leave her side, and he glanced back to Aragorn. "Would you mind bringing him to her? I—" Aragorn nodded, understanding the man's dilemma. He reached down and gently lifted Folengel from the cradle. At the touch, the boy stopped whimpering and cracked his eyes to see who had lifted him. Aragorn smiled at him.

"You…have beautiful eyes," he whispered, and then reached down to lay him in Faramir's arms.

"No, you hold him," Faramir said. "It is fine if he is quiet. He will be content for a few minutes."

Aragorn nodded, staring down into his little face. He opened his mouth and whispered something none of them heard and then smiled at him again, touching his face gently with the edges of his fingers.

Arwen's eyes were fixed on him, and Éowyn knew there was something going on between them that she did not quite understand. But she did not have to; she knew very well that the whole situation might bring them pain, even if they were happy for them, and she lifted her hand, even weakly, to brush Arwen's cheek. She could see the tears in the elf's eyes and Arwen looked down at her, catching her hand and holding it.

"Forgive us," she whispered, and then she looked at Faramir, "please…"

"What is there to forgive?" he asked seriously. He avoided mentioning the baby altogether; the memory was painful for them, too. "You are here because you love us. We are so grateful."

"Yes," Éowyn whispered. "Grateful. Thank you."

Folengel was hungry, and soon grew tired of staring at Aragorn's face. The man laughed as his face scrunched up again and then he did lean over to lay him in Éowyn's arms after Faramir had unbuttoned her tunic. Faramir kept his arm under hers to steady her as Folengel curled his fingertips against her breast, sucking hungrily. Aragorn watched Éowyn's face, glad to see that the tension in it had eased a bit; her pain was lessening. She laid her head back, grateful for Faramir's assistance, and she tilted her head to look at Arwen's face.

"When he is finished, will you hold him?" Arwen clearly hesitated to respond, and Éowyn sighed softly, closing her eyes. "I wish you would…and sing him a lullaby." She squeezed the elf's hand. "I know this must be so hard for you, but you have…such a beautiful voice and such a heart to love."

A heart to love…Tiriel… Arwen felt her heart tighten at her words, but she knew she was right. She wanted to love their son as much as she did Annî. Éowyn opened her eyes and Arwen met hers as she nodded.

"Yes," she whispered back. "I…I will."

The darkness of night surrounded Legolas when he unexpectedly woke. Enguina's nails were piercing his chest, her hands clenching as the other was digging into her own palm. Her hair was plastered against his hand as her face lay upon it, her brow soaked with sweat, her voice crying out in his head. They had fallen asleep to the light of candles, and now the room was in darkness—they had burned down and out. For one fleeting moment, he thought of leaping up to light new ones before he woke her, but she was already tangled in his embrace as she had been after their long love-making, one of her lovely legs between his, one of his arms around her back to keep her close.

Instead of waking her as he usually did, he opened his mind to hers and pressed as much love and light into her dream as he possibly could, calling her name in his head. Guin, Guin…I am here! I am right here with you! Open your eyes and see me. You are not in that dream, that place with him! You are with me!

Her muscles began to twitch, her body trembling. Usually, that meant she was awake or that she might be coming to the most awful part of the dream—and he knew only too well now exactly what that awfulness was. He pulled her even more closely into him; perhaps that was not the best idea, but it was the only one he had. Forcing as much of himself through their bond as he possibly could, he called to her aloud as well, shaking her.

Legolas? He felt her reaching for him through their connection, but it was as if she were digging through muddy water—she could not find him.

"Legolas!"

Enguina came to, rising from the deep well of the dream, his name leaving her lips as a scream, her nails drawing blood from his skin and hers. His presence swamped over her like a wave she could not fight back even had she wanted to, his mind invading hers to the point of smothering her fear. Her whole body was shaking against him, blinking her burning eyes and meeting his in the darkness. There was very little moonlight that could be seen in the room, it was a cloudy night, but she found his blue eyes and she began to breathe—deep, gasping breaths—to beat back the terror that had overtaken her for those few moments.

He rested his forehead against hers, her breast heaving against his chest as he held her tight around her back. "Shh…" he whispered soothingly. "I am here…and everything is all right, my dove."

Tears fell on her face and she pulled herself even more tightly against him, unable to withdraw her hands from between their chests. The hand on her back released her to reach for the blanket, and she whimpered. "No, please…do not let go!"

He drew her into him and sat them up so he could really hold her, pressing her face between his chin and chest. She was half in-and-out of his lap again, and she was shivering so hard that he dragged his hand along her back to try and warm her up even further, rocking her gently.

"You are safe, my love," he told her. "You are safe."

"I know," she answered, teeth chattering, as she tried to collect herself, to make the memories fade more quickly. She was in his arms, his arms, her husband's arms, the arms of the one who cherished her, the one who had shown her what real love was. Yes, she knew him. It still took some time, but her tears subsided. Legolas slid one hand over to the blanket and pulled it around her and over her, tucking it about her against the chill of the dark.

His fingers were stroking her hair, and they were both quiet for some time before she found her voice again. "I…do not know what brought that on," she whispered. "I do not understand what happened. Everything has been…so wonderful. Why—"

"Nothing had to happen," he said gently. "Sometimes the night terror will simply come. You are safe; you are with me."

She opened her eyes and looked around the room. "When I fell asleep to the rhythm of your heart," she whispered, "there were candles burning."

"They went out," he admitted. "I…never thought to pay any attention to them and I was not thinking of them when we made love earlier."

"I want them to be lit," she whispered, a tremor in her voice, "but I do not want you to stop holding me." She felt him shift and she tucked her elbows in, leaning against him even more. "Please!" Her plea caught him off guard and he froze with the terror in her voice. She had been begging him to release her all this time, now, she could not be without him.

"Shh, Guin," he soothed her, "I am not letting go. I am only moving."

He felt her embarrassment at her exclamation and she tried to slow her breathing. "I-I cannot be without your arms right now."

"Stay still against me," he suggested. Letting go of her back with his one arm, he carefully took the hand that was digging into her palm and stretched out her tight fingers, crisscrossing his fingers through hers. She looked down at their joined hands and saw the blood beneath her nails—and then caught sight of his chest. Tears sprang to her eyes as she saw how deeply her nails were embedded in his skin.

"Oh…Legolas…"

"Forget it," he urged. "You can hold me as tight as you like. I am yours, Guin." He released her other hand and gently helped her remove the nails, trying not to wince. She straightened out her cramping fingers and laid them on the little crevices she had left in his chest.

"Holding you is not clawing you," she muttered, stroking her fingers along the holes.

"It is fine."

"I wish I could change how I react to the dream. I am glad I was so close to you," she whispered. "I cannot think about hurting you like that, tossing you from our bed. If…if it had gone any further—"

"But it did not, Guin. You were safe in my arms, even if it was unexpected."

"Everything…" she said, her voice catching as she spoke, "everything had been so beautiful. The wedding, our time alone, our love-making…tonight's love-making, so long and powerful and…it was the most wonderful experience, to fall asleep in your arms, my skin to your skin… Why?" He knew she was not asking him, but instead Ilúvatar. "Why did he have to come tonight? Why did he have to come when we were lying together, where he was clearly not wanted?"

Legolas could not answer that. Instead, he returned a hand underneath the blanket and laid it against her back, her bare skin. His hand was so warm that she laid her head down upon his shoulder, relaxing a bit more into him. The nightmare needed to leave their midst, and he wanted to try drawing her away from it, distracting her.

"I love it when you press your skin to mine," he murmured. "If I could, I would never be clothed around you again, and I would encourage you to press yourself to me as often as you like."

She gasped at his words as her breath caught and she half-laughed. "You are too much."

"I was being perfectly serious. I love the feel of your skin on my skin, the way your hands stroke my chest, my back." He pressed his lips to her forehead and sighed. "It feels so perfect."

Enguina was silent for a moment and then she said so softly he almost did not catch the words, "Can we make love again…right now?"

He rubbed his lips against her forehead, feeling the heat from her face; she was embarrassed by her own request. "No…I would not make love to you right now, my dove. I do not want to chase away memories of him like that; loving you is sacred. He does not belong here. Let Ilúvatar chase him, and when he is long gone and far away we will love." Legolas slipped a hand around her front and laid it against her abdomen. "And you and I are not used to love-making. You will be sore if we are joined too much. You need time to recover."

He felt her face grow warm against his skin and her fingers touched the marks on his chest again. "You are so right. We…loved each other three times yesterday," she said softly. He chuckled and kissed her neck.

"Four."

"Four?"

"Four." He smiled. "I was thinking last night, as you were trying to breathe when you were lying against my chest—"

"Legolas," she groaned, "please…you are making fun of me."

"I am not; I was trying to give you an idea of when I was thinking." But he was teasing her, and she knew it.

"I…" he felt her face grow hot again, "I think you had a difficult time breathing, too."

He laughed. "And so I did, but you did not notice, did you?"

"You were not lying on my chest."

"I think that is not necessary," he said, lowering his voice. "I think we are doing perfectly wonderful without my being anywhere above you." He rubbed his fingers along her spine. "I was thinking that I should bathe you this morning, as you wanted. That was to be my offer when you woke."

She swallowed, just imagining Legolas running his hands over her body with a bar of soap in his hands. What had Éowyn said? Bath time with Faramir was a favorite moment of hers? How could it not be? "I…do not know if that could be considered a bath, Legolas."

He smiled against the skin of her throat. "I would be willing to find out if we could keep it a bath. Are you not so willing?"

"I thought," she said, lifting her head to kiss his temple, "that you were afraid I would be sore."

He lifted his head to look in her eyes. "Is twelve hours not enough time to recover?" he teased her gently. "Moreover, I was trying to think of bathing you. You would not have any reason to be sore." But his eyes sparkled, and she rolled hers.

"I think that you have successfully rid me of the thought of that nasty dream." She pressed her cheek against his and they leaned their heads together. "In the morning, we should see Éowyn—"

"Mmm…after we bathe."

"—and then we should talk to your father."

"Bathing would be very nice, too," he murmured.

She continued to ignore his suggestion. "And I would like to have a few moments of quiet with Arwen," she added thoughtfully, her voice quiet.

"That means you shall be speaking of me," he deduced easily. "Which means, you owe me."

"What? No." She felt him stroke her spine again and her skin tingled.

"Bath time. It will be wonderful."

"Why do I let you do this to me?"

"You secretly yearn for me to bargain with you. And you love to feel my fingers against your head, beneath your hair…you want me to wash it, and I want to. Please." She sighed and let herself cave against him, and then she heard him sigh as her skin pressed against him. Enguina had to smile, and he drew her with him back down onto her side, their skin still touching. "I cannot get enough of your skin upon mine."

"I noticed," she teased, smiling. "Arwen told me you would not be able to stop touching me."

"Well," he admitted, "she was certainly right about that. Yes, they were right about so many things." He stroked his fingers through her hair and rested his fingers against the back of her neck as his other hand pulled the blanket over him as well as her. He lay onto his back and she pressed herself into his side, winding her leg between his and pressing her cheek to his chest. "Rest now, and dream about the morning," he whispered.

She laid her hand against his chest, touching the marks she had made again. "I will wash these in the morning, too," she said softly as she closed her eyes. "Thank you, Legolas," she whispered. "Thank you for being my husband, my love, my protector.

He bent his head and brushed his lips to her hair. "I love and adore you. Sleep well now."

Legolas held her tightly in his arms as Enguina wept into his chest, harder than she had since the day they had sat in the mountains and she had told him the true story of the assault. His head was leaned back against the side of the mattress, Enguina lying against him as they sat upon the floor. This was where she had fallen from the bed when she had hit him square in the chest three, possibly even five times—he had not counted. She had been physically sick, and then he had gathered her up into his arms, even as she begged him not to touch her. Such a contradiction from three hours before!

Yes, the nightmare had returned with vengeance, this time much worse. He had not even been able to wake her; she had spent more than five minutes in the worst part of the dream. He had tried everything, but it was so embedded in her mind that she had been trapped. He knew she had, because she had been screaming and begging with the darkness, crying out 'no' and 'please' and he knew only too well where she had been—lying beneath him in that glade, listening to the filthy names he had called her, his hot breath upon her skin. It made him sick just to think of it, his precious Guin, trapped in that nightmare over and over again. Again, he felt the unmistakable urge to kill Bragolaur himself for what he had done to her.

Her hands, no, her body was trembling against his chest. She had finally given into him; now she lay limp against him, her face buried in his neck, her tears pouring down his breast. One of his arms was wrapped around her, the other prevented her hands from traveling to her own skin and scratching at it. Oh, he knew only too well where her hands would go, and he would not let her mark herself anymore. No, it was time for more healing, the cleansing he had promised her. Whatever he could do to be rid of him was what he wanted for her.

"My love, my love," he whispered, kissing the top of her head, "I am going to carry you now." He maneuvered her carefully when she did not respond and stood, bearing her up in his arms and then into the hall. He shoved the bath door open with his bare foot and carried her inside. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was put her down, but there was no way to fill the tub with her still in his arms. "I have to set you down, Guin." Using his foot again, he dragged a towel to the floor and then lowered her to it, leaning her back against the tub. Her tears had stalled out for a moment, and as he reached over her head to turn on the faucet, she leaned her head back against the tub and her hands moved to her chest, her collarbone, beginning to close around her skin near the places where Bragolaur had made his marks on her.

"Legolas…" she whimpered, "not now…"

"Yes, this very moment," he insisted gently, noticing her gripping hands. "Let me cleanse you from this dream." He drew her hands away from her own skin, holding them in his own, preventing her from tearing at her skin again. "Let me cleanse you from him, make you feel whole again."

He said no more, neither did she, but soon the water was ready. With tender arms he scooped her up and set her in the water, letting her soak for a few moments as he readied a few towels, a cloth to wash her, and the soap. She was watching as he knelt down beside the tub and cupped her face in his hand.

"This is…too much, Legolas," she told him, her voice soft and hurt. "Just leave me here. You should not have to clean me up. I should not be so weak. You do not have to—"

"My deepest desire," he said, "is to cleanse you from every thought and feeling of him. Your body is mine, just as mine is yours. Not a single part of you belongs to him, and you should not feel him on your skin. Let me wash him away, and let you feel me instead."

He first reached up and gathered her hair onto her head, taking the strands and tying it up gently so it was out of his way and off her neck. Then, soaking the cloth in the water, he rubbed the soap onto it, making sure it was good and lathered. He reached into the water and drew out her arm, holding her hand in his own. With deliberate slowness, he cleaned her fingers and hand, drawing the cloth between them and beneath her nails where she had dug into her own skin and his last night. Again, slowly, he began moving up her arm. He raised his eyes to her, found her eyes studying him, and then he shook his head at her, his words clear in her mind.

This is not good enough for me, Guin. Damn the rag between us!

Legolas dropped the cloth on the floor and rubbed his hands along the soap bar. She watched him as he brought his soap-covered hand back to her wet wrist and began cleaning her skin gently with his own fingers and hands—again, slowly and deliberately. Soon, he had rested her hand on the edge of the tub and was dragging both hands along her arm, underneath all the way to the pit and then above, up along her shoulder to her neck, soaping as he went.

Being on his knees and leaning over partway into the tub, he was so close to her face that he tilted her chin gently towards him to kiss her softly, his hands working along her neck where the bites had been, focusing on the areas he knew there had been a mark from him, all the way up behind her ears. When he drew back, her eyes were closed at the pleasure of his touch, her voice now softly saying his name in his head.

"Let me see the other," he whispered, and she lifted it from the water for him. He soaped his hands anew and began with her right arm, working his fingers between hers and his nails under hers and then carefully massaging and cleaning the same way he had her other arm, spending some time beneath her arm where he had bitten her and drawn blood, coming back to her neck. His fingers gently maneuvered along her collarbone and he felt her swallow, her breath catch. He knew very well what he was doing to her, what every movement of his hands would provide…and enflame.

He moved down the tub and reached into the water, drawing out one of her long legs and setting her foot on the edge. Rubbing soap suds into his hands, he dragged his soapy fingers between her toes and her jaw clenched with pleasure. She thought it might tickle when his hands stroked along the bottom of her foot, but the feel of his fingers on her was so sensual that there was no tickling to be found, just raw, open nerve endings that awakened at his touch as his hands worked their way slowly up her ankle then calf and on towards her thigh. When he reached her hip, he lowered her leg back into the water and reached for the other. Her pulse was increasing with his continued caressing.

Even with her heart racing, she was so relaxed when he returned to her neck that when he had her lean forward so he could follow along to the back of her neck, she might have drowned in the water had she not caught herself before her head fell forward and her face went under. He must not have noticed, so focused on erasing every imaginary feeling on her skin except his hands. If that had been his only objective, he could have already stopped as there was barely any memory left in her head of Bragolaur at the moment. Her thoughts were now consumed by the feel of Legolas's hands upon her skin.

There was nothing like this—the soap made his hands slippery as he stroked her flesh, making the memory fade as quickly as the dream had come upon her. The way it felt was indescribable. How could one describe the erasing of such filth with a tender touch? No scraping, no scratching at skin, no assault on her senses. Just him; his love pouring through her mind, the way he felt as his hands stroked the soap along her skin. Could she possibly feel this way forever? Could he never, ever stop?

Ilúvatar, please! Cleanse me with his touch! Make me never remember that filth again! I am clean! I am pure! I am whole! I am his!

Dipping his hand into the water, he brought the heat up her back to wash the soap free from her skin. Scooting over directly behind her now, he took her hair down from the pins and ribbon he had used to tie it up, and tilted her head back to pour water over her scalp. She could feel it in his hands—the amount of delight he took in washing her hair, soaping her head and letting her feel the pads of his fingers along her neck as well. Her body went to mush beneath his expert hands, her every nerve relaxed; she had no idea how she was remaining even close to upright but she did, supporting herself with her hands so that he could rinse the soap from her hair.

She was so pliable in that moment, when he had finished her hair and drew her backward again, that he simply slipped his hands beneath her arms and sat her a bit more upright against the back of the tub, leaning her now wet head back against his shoulder. His soapy hands were along her shoulders again, traveling to her collarbone and throat when she turned her head just enough to press her lips to his neck. He remained focused on what he was doing, even as her lips pressed again and again to sensitive areas beneath and behind his ear, and his hands lingered above her breasts for only a moment before he began caressing her. Her breath huffed out into his ear.

"Is he washed away?" he whispered. "Is he gone, my dove?"

She felt almost as though he was speaking of something she did not know anything about. Who? Was there ever anyone but him, Legolas? There would never be anyone but him!

"I-I feel n-nothing but you," she murmured back, stumbling over her words with how much utter bliss she felt. "This is heaven, Legolas…you are heaven…you know just where to—" she gasped and nearly writhed against the side of the tub. "Oh…" Legolas!

She felt him turn his face against hers, smiling softly, knowing very well how moved she was by the pleasure of his touch, the feel of this bath he was giving her. "This…" he sighed into her ear, "this is what I wanted to do the night you were crying in this tub and I sat tearing through my fingers outside. This is what I wanted you to feel—me, only me. I wanted to erase him, to make you feel the love I have for you, my desire to please you. This is what you deserve: to be cherished, and loved…Ilúvatar, how I love you!"

His voice was hoarse as he whispered the last words, his chest now pressing more into her back and shoulders as he leaned forward, reaching his hands now past her breasts towards her ribs, her abdomen, freshly covered with new soap, stretching beneath the water as his lips now pressed kisses to the skin of her shoulder and collarbone. She was alive beneath him, and her hands slowly rose out of the water to catch around the back of his head, to hold him to her neck and feel his lips and tongue behind her ear in that way that he had. His hands came back up her body and her breath left her once more as he soaped along her breasts again.

No, there was no way to ever get enough of this, of him. She would never know what she had done to deserve a love so wonderful, so powerful it could move heaven and earth, so beautiful that it would make her feel as though she was one with the dawn. What he had sought to do with this bath he had accomplished—she did not even remember who or what was supposed to be erased, could not even call the name to her mind to wish it away. There was only one name and one thought on her mind as she leaned her head back even further, murmuring in a breathy whisper.

"Legolas, Legolas, come to me…"

He was sliding into the tub with her in seconds.