Two Days by Prophecy

TITLE: Two days...(1/1)
AUTHOR: Prophecy
EMAIL: darlinggrrrl@hotmail.com
RATING: PG
PAIRING: Arwen/Aragorn
DISCLAIMER: The characters and events refered to in this story belong to the estate of J. R. R. Tolkien, and probably some dudes at New Line Cinema.
FEEDBACK: Please! This one's taken quite a long time to write, I'd be interested to know what people make of it.
SUMMARY: "I've been looking for you for two days," Arwen tells Aragorn when she finds him and the injured Frodo. This fills in that gap while exploring the Evenstar.

*

She sat in the watchtower, eyes scanning the horizon still. It was growing dark again and Aragorn had promised to return to her by the evening of the day before... Arwen Evenstar sighed impatiently - it had been too long since last she lay eyes on her love, and her heart was always heavy during the long absences. Growing used to them did not dull the yearning inside; if anything she felt it more keenly has time passed. Oh, she knew very well that he was not only a warrior of great strength, trained by her people and by the Rangers but that he had a great destiny to fulfil... and yet...

He'd gone after the Ringbearer upon a request from Mithrandir; so who knew what he would have to battle through to return this time? The Enemy had many servants, many terrible creatures at his command - No. No - she wouldn't let her mind go along that road. Blind panic would surely follow.

Her efforts to calm her mind failed - even the rush of water from the Rivendell Falls, normally so soothing to her, failed to relax the tension that was gathering in her muscles and pooling in the pit of her stomach. Getting up to stretch her legs - she had been sitting in that same spot for hours - Arwen's muscles groaned a little in protest, and she couldn't help a rueful chuckle.

"Impatience is most unbecoming in a woman of your age." The melodious voice of her father voiced her own thoughts as he came and stood behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Elesser will be here when he arrives, Arwen, and not a moment before. Gazing at the roadways will not hasten him."

Her eyes were fixed on the evening star that was appearing on the horizon, willing it to return her lover to her before it's light joined that of the dawn. "He is a day late, Father. That's not like Aragorn," she shook her head. "And something troubles my heart-"

"You miss him," Elrond pointed out gently.

"No!" she said firmly. Then, with a half-smile, she corrected herself, "Yes... but that is not the only thing that troubles me." She returned her gaze to the road, "There is something... unnatural out there, Father and it worries me. For Aragorn's sake."

The Lord of Rivendell squeezed his daughter's shoulders, following her line of sight. "You feel it too?" He sighed inwardly, eyes closing with weariness. He had been hoping what he felt was just the nagging sensation of The One Ring drawing closer - and all the memories contained in that band of purest evil... memories he would rather have left to the darkness of the past to which he had consigned them.

A slight nod indicated that she'd heard him, and that, yes, she felt it. "It's not like anything I've felt before, and I can't say I would ever wish to feel it again... A darkness deeper than night, and a cold more chilling than the depths of winter."

Many years had passed since the Lord of Rivendell had felt that particular sensation. He'd wondered -or hoped?- that the nagging feeling was merely psychological. With The One Ring on its way, it would make sense for the Nine to be abroad, too. But his daughter had not the bias of having encountered the Enemy's most terrible of servants before. "The Wraiths," he concluded.

Arwen gasped, and turned to face him. "They will be stalking the Ringbearer!" Her blue eyes were wide with alarm, and only widened at her father's solemn nod. "I must go and find Aragorn... or the Bearer. Both!" Her brow wrinkled at the reluctance in Elrond's eyes. "Father, I must go!"

The ancient elf nodded slowly. She was no longer a child - she could do this, he knew, but she was his only daughter and he loved her dearly. Fathers are allowed to worry, are they not?

"Ready yourself; do not leave Imladris unarmed. I will have Asfaloth made ready for you." He pressed a kiss to her forehead - part fatherly concern, part benediction for her mission - and watched her hurry off.

As her footsteps died away from his hearing, Elrond raised his eyes to the evening star, and breathed softly, "Elbereth, keep her safe!"

Sending his own groom to prepare his daughter's horse, Elrond sat down slowly in the chair she vacated... slipping into his own vigil over the roadways to Rivendell.

*

Arwen rode far into the night, every nerve ending tingling in protest as she drew closer to the Wraiths. Somewhere between her and them was her love, and his companions. She would not let herself think of the terrible evil that, by aiding them, she would be speeding into the sanctuary of her Father's home.

But good intentions and willpower can only banish gnawing thoughts for so long. Especially when one is alone in the darkness, and approaching something darker than the night could ever be. It is ironic that the harder one tries to avoid thoughts of something, the more those thoughts plague you?

No, instead, she would think of the respite that Imladris would be to the little halfling Ringbearer - a place where the evil he carried would not weigh so heavily upon his tiny shoulders. A place where Mithrandir would be able to receive guidance and take some rest... And Imladris would be, as ever, a haven for her Aragorn.

She had lied to her father when she'd claimed her worry was purely for Aragorn. The Dark Lord's all-seeing Eye would be watching them - Elrond had, after all, been a General in the Last Alliance. Unlike Elendil, Isildur and Gil-Galad, though, he still lived. Sauron's evil and malevolence knew no bounds, revenge was certainly within the realm of possibility. And what a terrible revenge he had wrecked on the Elvish people in the past - the torture, mutilation and transformation of captured Elves in to the demonic Orcs...

*

It was easier to be hopeful when the sun climbed the sky. She covered a lot of ground in daylight - about 3 days' worth of riding and it had been hard on Asfaloth. With a little luck she would find Aragorn, Mithrandir and the halfling before sunset. She stopped briefly to get her bearings, and allow her horse a moment to drink from the River; she took a drink from the clear water, also. It was refreshing to both mind and body...

The Watch Tower of Amon Sul was within about a few hours' ride, and likely somewhere Aragorn would stop to rest - he'd be able to see anyone coming from up there. True, escape would be difficult if attacked from all sides, but between he and Mithrandir there was great strength in the little travelling-party. So, she would make for Weathertop, and yet hope to meet them on her journey towards that place...

*

Darkness had fallen when her sharp hearing caught the soft rustling in the nearby clearing. *Ai, Elbereth, don't let it be the Wraiths...* There were five of them, five she could feel so near - the presence of each sending icicles down her spine. She drew her sword and slipped softly from Asfaloth, touching his nose and whispering to him to be silent. Every muscle in her body coiled tighter than an archer's bow, Arwen slipped past the tree that blocked her view of the clearing and let her eyes fall shut in blissful relief.

Aragorn.

He was crouched low, intent on something on the ground. So intent, in fact, that her presence had gone unnoticed. But he was in one piece, she could smell no blood on him and his heartbeat and breathing seemed normal. The surge of sheer joy she felt was astonishing; for two days she had feared, at least subconsciously, finding his bloodied corpse in a clearing such as this. Feared that he would die not truly understanding how utterly and completely he had captured her heart and how much she wanted to be near him for every moment of every day for the rest of her existence.

The fingers of one gloved hand found the Evenstar at her throat. He would know - she would see to it as soon as she could. If he knew not already, she would leave no doubt in his mind...

And still he did not notice her.

A sly smile curled her lips as she moved closer, and slipped her blade under his chin - the dull edge a breath away from his throat. He tensed immediately, the fluid mind under that mess of dark hair no doubt calculating if he could thrust the torch he carried back at his attacker before his throat was cut... Several seconds passed, counted on his now pounding heart, before Arwen put him out of his misery.

"What's this?" she purred softly, watching the tension drain from him as her voice registered. "A ranger caught off his guard?" Still she did not withdraw the blade, curious to see his reactions; rarely did she see the Ranger in action as when he came to her in her father's house it was as her love, or as the Heir of Isildur, so this chance intrigued her.

Upon the realisation of her identity, he turned his head to face her, not shrinking from the sword she held unwaveringly - not a doubt in his mind that the cutting-edge was not the one pressed to his skin. The look he gave her made her want to laugh, back down and melt all at once. The raw power Aragorn held in his eyes took her breath away, but the affection behind the glare was unmistakable, as were the unvoiced words: No one but you would dare try this, and no one but you would get away with it.

His hand snaked out abruptly and grabbed her wrist, squeezing until she let the blade fall and then pulling her down to her knees beside him. "Min Älskling," he murmured; 'my love' in the language of his people. It was a moment of pure emotion, of drinking in the unexpected comfort of her presence; crushing her to his chest and holding her there tightly, Aragorn pressed a kiss to her hair. She held onto him just as fiercely, fighting the relieved tears that wanted to slip down her cheeks.

Breaking from her, Aragorn stood. He stooped to pick up his torch, her sword and the plant he had cut when she'd surprised him. Offering her his hand, he helped Arwen to her feet before returning her sword. "Do you have your horse?"

"Asfaloth," she called softly, new worry coursing through her at the brusque tone of his voice. Hearing his Mistress' voice, the horse joined them and Aragorn nodded, satisfied. He helped her climb upon the horse's back again.

"We are a little distance from here-"

"Mithrandir and the Ringbearer?" she interrupted.

A shake of his head, he handed her the torch briefly to sheath his dagger and took Asfaloth's reigns. "I travel with four hobbits. Where Gandalf is, I know not. Frodo - the Bearer - has been stabbed by a Morgul blade," he did not pause at her horrified intake of breath, "his strength is waning -"

She cut him off again, "I have not my father's skill as a healer, but I will do what I can." Reaching to reclaim the reigns from him, the Elf asked, "Where is he?" Aragorn pointed ahead, and she dug her heels into Asfaloth's sides, spurring him on.

*

The little hobbit's eyes were a shock of blue in a startling pale face, framed by sweat-matted hair. Arwen felt her heart sink at the sight of him - was he too far gone for her help? Elbereth, why could she not have arrived sooner? She slid smoothly from Asfaloth to his side, feeling three other pairs of eyes boring into her.

"Frodo," she whispered, kneeling beside him. He could see her, she knew, and probably with the sight offered at the gates of the Shadow Realm, seeing beyond the dirt from the road... She whispered softly to him in her own tongue, not sure if he understood, but Sindarin could be heard in the mind, no matter how far into the Shadow he had descended: *I am Arwen. I've come to help you. Hear my voice. Come back to the light.*

He recoiled from her voice, eyes closing and a wheezing cough wracking his small form. Leaning forward to touch the little one's forehead, she felt rather than saw Aragorn drop to his knees at her side, chewing on a little of the athelas plant he'd gathered.

A voice behind Frodo vaguely registered. "Who is she?" it demanded, even as she whispered to the Ringbearer again.

"She's an Elf." Another voice; companions of the Bearer, no doubt.

Not stopping to acknowledge them, she turned worried eyes up to Aragorn. "He's fading," she murmured, hissing in a sympathetic breath as the Ranger deftly moved aside Frodo's clothing to expose the hideous stab wound, already sending tendrils of dark poison towards his heart. Perhaps there was a fragment of the blade left under his skin?

The thought stabbed at her, and she flinched for the little hobbit as Aragorn pressed the herb into the deep wound with his fingertips. Frodo began to cry out piteously and spasm violently as the herb (hopefully) began to dissolve what was left of the Morgul blade; but still - the fact that Frodo was reacting so intensely... She looked up at Aragorn, "He's not going to last," she warned, "we *must* get him to my Father!"

Aragorn nodded, and the two moved in unison; he, gathering the little Hobbit in his arms, and she by his side to ready Asfaloth. Her poor, devoted horse would be pushed even further on the return journey than he had on the previous ride... At this point, her father would be the Ringbearer's only hope; still, she was loath to leave Aragorn and the other little halflings...

"I've been looking for you for two days. There are five Wraiths behind you," she told him as he set Frodo on Asfaloth's back - close to the horse's neck for support. He nodded his acknowledgement, and she continued, "Where the other four are, I do not know."

He took a step closer to Asfaloth, moving as if to mount the horse, and spoke to her in Elvish, *Stay with the Hobbits - I'll send horses for you.*

Arwen frowned a little, pointing out the folly of that course of action: *I'm the faster rider,* she reminded him. *I'll take him.*

*The Road is too dangerous,* Aragorn breathed, shaking his head. He would not risk her to the mercy of the Wraiths - better that he should take the risk, rather than put her in such a situation.

As the two spoke in Elvish, one of the little halflings voiced the confusion that all three must have felt. "What are they saying?"

*If I can get across the river,* Arwen pressed home her point, *the power of my people will protect him.* He looked agonised - torn between acknowledging the truth and the logic of her words and his desire to keep her safe. Holding his eyes, she added firmly in the Common Tongue, "I do not fear them..."

Aragorn gave in, placing his hand over hers on the reigns, and clasping her long, gloved fingers in his own. Were they alone he would have placed a kiss to her mouth; a kiss for luck. But his eyes and his hand in hers would have to suffice. "Min Älskling," the Ranger murmured, smiling softly at her. His brave, beautiful Lady.

She returned the smile, squeezing his hand in return and accepting his help up onto Asfaloth's back. A long, last look passed between them - saying all that needed to be said.

He let go of the reigns, fighting the worry that already was stabbing at his heart even though she was still in sight. "Ride hard," he warned her, "don't look back." *I will not lose you, min Älskling; not to the Wraiths nor to any Dark Power...*

With a dig of her heels into the horse's sides and the pounding of hooves, she was gone. Curling a fist, and pressing his thumb to his lips, Aragorn's eyes shut briefly in prayer, "Elbereth, keep her safe!"