As the night came upon them again, and as nervous eyes looked toward the West, and then the East, fearing another invasion, there was time for rest.

Though his body was battered and though he had been pushed to the limits of his ability, Aragorn knew no respite awaited him. He would find no peace. Not now. Perhaps not ever again.

Yet, his frame felt too heavy for his bones, and all parts of him were too sore and weak and worn for even one more step. Many times in his years had he been exhausted, but not unto the point of feeling near his end. Every part of him hurt, every sinew and muscle, and he had never in his entire life wondered whether drawing another breath was worth the effort it cost, had never been so very, very weary.

Or more disheartened.

There was precious little privacy in the ruined fortress, but he, Gimli, and Legolas were given a small room in the King’s chambers to share. Though he did not wish to leave the watches, and though he thought perhaps they should have ridden out that night, Gandalf was insistent that they take rest.

"Aragorn, you have pushed past the limits of your strength. All of us have. Acknowledge it, and do not be such a fool. Even if you did have the will to go on, these men must have a night to grieve, to say goodbye to their sons and their fathers and brothers, to take or give what comfort they can to their women."

Gimli was already sleeping fitfully when Aragorn came into the room. The absence of the tell-tale roar of the dwarf’s snore told him that physical exhaustion would not chase away memory of the death so that easy sleep might come forth.

Legolas stood at the window, staring sightlessly into the darkness. He turned when Aragorn entered the room, but there were no words between the warriors, only the slightest acknowledgement of the end of the day. It was time to put down their weapons, though both were uneasy in doing so.

There was no bed, but Aragorn needed none. He threw down a blanket upon the stone floor and eased himself upon it slowly, feeling as old as Gandalf and in much poorer condition. He groaned softly as the tension went from his legs and lower back. He fell onto his side and was quite convinced that he might never be able to rise again.

His eyes burned and stung and he thought he could feel every small vein that was shot through them, but closing them at last was no relief. The faces of the dead were branded on the inside of his eyelids, like scars.

He would not sleep. Could not sleep. Did not want to sleep for fear of what he would dream.

And yet, Gandalf was very wise. He had come to the end of his strength and his will was overcome by his body as he gave himself over to oblivion.

*

"Where have you gone tonight, Estel?"

"I am in the darkness, Arwen. I have gone back to the night of the killing."

"You can not bring back the dead, nor send away the moon, nor change the stars. Will you not come to me tonight? I have been waiting for you."

"I cannot come to you. I am too weary and my heart is heavy."

"Then I shall bring you to me and take the burden of your heart from you for awhile."

The voice, light and soothing, drifted over his entire body like the most delicate caress. Easing him out of darkness, easing him out of pain, easing open his tired eyes. She was there, lying beside him, eyes just inches from his own.

He knew himself to be dreaming, to be asleep, for she often visited him in sleep and he treasured it. And yet, even as he looked upon her, felt her breath upon his face, he knew she was far, far away, forever beyond him, and loneliness knifed through him. He fell further in despair.

He thought that perhaps he’d never had greater need of her.

As she searched his gaze and pulled the wounds from him, he felt tears, hot and swift, come up in his eyes. One fell, the first he had allowed himself. It scalded a path across his nose and dripped to the pillow their heads rested upon. In response, tears rose in her own eyes, cradled on her dark lashes like silver half-moons.

He was in Rivendell with her, for that was where their minds and hearts always met in dreams. Their home. The rushing of the waterfalls replaced the echoes of the screams, the lowering sunbeams caught up in the leaves of gold, and the wind, warm and gentle, dried his tears before he shed another. He lay with her on a feather-soft bed that held him away from physical discomfort, and it was only the two of them in the entire world. For a moment, he felt content.

Until he remembered. Not even Rivendell and the Evenstar could eclipse the memory of Helms Deep.

"My Estel, I am here," she whispered, watching him steadily, sympathetically.

"You cannot be here," he murmured. "You are sailing away from here, from me. Forever. Yet you still find me in dreams. I do not know if it is comfort or torment."

Her eyes narrowed just slightly. This was the point of contention that tried her most, and he knew it to be so. "I will not sail, Aragorn. Long ago I made a choice that I would never be parted from you."

"I would have you leave Middle-Earth, more now than ever before. We will all be ended. There is naught but death and destruction. There is naught but hate left."

"There is love in you, Aragorn."

"No Arwen. There is no love left in me, I fear. Not after the night."

She smiled at him, soft and sure. "As you breathe, you love. You love the people you fight beside, you have always loved the people you protect, and the men you will rule. And you have always loved me, Estel. You love me still. I feel it in every heartbeat. You are made of love and bone. And the fact that you are so grieved by the loss today is evidence of it. It is not in you to stop loving. Though it costs you dearly."

He closed his eyes, did not want her to see any more of what he had seen. He would protect her from all the badness of the world, all the weakness of men and of evil.

"Do not hide your heart from me," she asked of him. "You have never done so before."

And he met her gaze again, and he let her see, let her see what he had tried to protect her from, let her see why he had tried to do so. "Arwen, I watched children stand, and fall under blades. I watched them try to wield swords longer than they were! Why did you call me back from the peace I might have found on the riverbank? I would have preferred it to seeing such things! How can such things happen in the world?"

"Such things cannot happen. That is why you fight. To stop it. That is why you are here, Aragorn. It is your destiny."

"I do not think I can bear it, Arwen," he whispered, so frightened to give this weakness voice. "I cannot watch children die."

"I know, Estel. I know. But you will bear it because it is not in you to walk away from this now. You will see it through. And that is why I love you." He flinched at her words and she smiled softly. "Why do you recoil at such words after all this time? Do you no longer love me?"

"My Lady. It is painful to love you as I do. Everything, it seems, is painful." His fingers stretched across the pillow towards hers, but stopped abruptly. He looked at his hand, scarred and bruised and bloodied.

"What is it?" Arwen asked him quietly when he paused, and seeing his hesitation, met his hand with her own.

Aragorn jerked it back quickly.

"Why do you fear to touch me, Estel?"

"There is blood on my hands, Arwen. The blood of many."

She deliberately reached for his hand, and though he resisted weakly, she turned it and placed a kiss on the blistered skin of his palm, and brought his torn knuckles softly against her own cheek, cradling his hand to her.

"Ah, that is it, is it not, Estel? You think all of this blood is on your hands. You would take the weight of the world on your shoulders you arrogant, foolish man. When you have led an army of 1,000 to victory against 10,000, you would still question your right to stand before them all, Elessar. It is your title. You have earned it in the darkness."

"Men died by my command. And elves. Many of them have fallen to shadow. Haldir. He is gone."

"Men and elves alike live and die by their own fates, not yours, Aragorn. And you know that it is so."

"What shall I do, Arwen? What can be done now?"

"You will stop the evil, or slow it, while Frodo completes his task on the mountain. You will save this world from the darkness so that you and I may live in it together and love. So that our children may live and love. It is you, Aragorn. It has always been you. The world has awaited you for 3,000 years, and so have I. Now is the time. It is come, Estel. It is upon you. Upon us all."

"And if I fail?" he asked in a hushed voice, the only one he would pose this question to, in the dark of the night.

"It is not in you to fail," Arwen responded, and when his uncertain gaze searched hers, she put a hand against his cheek and kissed him. It was a kiss that meant not to stir, but to ease, though both feelings surged into him. "I see such doubt in you, Estel. It has always made you fight harder and longer and with more heart than all others. You will not fail in this."

She brushed his hair from his troubled brow. "You must sleep now, for your rest is hard won and there will not be opportunity for much of it in the time to come. Your road is long and the sun prepares to take you from me."

"Stay with me here, until the dawn," Aragorn told her, forgetting his bloody hands and reaching out for her, pulling her closely to him. "Do not leave me yet."

She obliged him, wrapping her arms tightly around him and pulling his head down to rest upon her breast. Her fingers stroked his hair, and she murmured soft reassurances as if he were just a child in need of comfort upon waking from a nightmare.

And he was in need of comfort. He was wounded down in the deep places in his soul, the places that could break a man. He’d seen so much death and would see more, and he feared, so would she. So many men would die before it was over.

She was life though. She was life and love and hope and light. Beneath his cheek, her heartbeat was strong and sure, and he closed his eyes and let that steady thrumming fill his mind and his blood, let it push back the shadows in the corners of him, and as the dark hours waned, he set his life’s rhythm to it.

It seemed like moments later that he opened his eyes again. The waterfalls had faded away, and the cold stone of Helms Deep awaited him, as did his destiny.

Legolas was still by the window, and the first rays of newborn light touched him, spilled over him in golden waves, and Aragorn saw the elf take a deep breath and set his shoulders with the same resolve that had entered Aragorn through Arwen.

Rising slowly and stiffly, Aragorn limped toward the window to stand at Legolas’ elbow, watching as the sun stretched across the torn land, warming, healing.

"The day is new," Legolas murmured softly.

They watched the coming of the dawn together, and as he did so, Aragorn felt the steady, faithful pulse of another alongside his own heart and knew that he would not doubt again that every night, however long, would end in dawn. The days would come down, again, and again, but always they would rise anew.

Against his chest, the Evenstar seemed to pulse with the very warmth of the sun.

And the hope and promise of morning filled his eyes and his heart, and he made ready to go forth.

*

Finis

*This story was inspired by the movie...particularly the look upon Aragorn's face after the fighting is done and everyone else is celebrating. He just seemed so very overwhelmed and weary and sorrowful in that brief flash to me. 

*The sequel, which is Legolas' thoughts of this long day and night, is called, "And Moon Rides High."