Aragorn floated in an endless void, lost in a sea of memories and fever induced visions. In his mind, he held lengthy conversations with those who were not there. Voices drifted to him across distance and time.

"He's here! I found him!" A hand touched his, stroked gently through his hair.

"Is he alive? He's not moving." The voice sounded worried.

The hand that had stroked his hair encircled his wrist, feeling for a pulse. "He's alive." The relief in that voice was great, but tempered by concern. "He's warm, though, and he hasn't reacted to our presence."

"Let's get him out, then, quickly."

The voices faded away, and for a time, there was silence while Aragorn drifted calmly in the void. He knew the voices were only in his mind, but he felt rather lonely without them. Then the voices spoke again.

"Are you ready?"

"Aye."

Hands were upon him, then, pulling him across a bed of rocks. The pain was excruciating. He was unable to scream, and a soft gasp was all he was capable of.

"Gently now," came one of the voices.

He felt the movement cease as he was laid on the ground.

"He looks terrible. Will he survive? Did we arrive too late?"

The pain of being moved overwhelmed Aragorn's mind and he fell back into the void and knew no more.

The voices intruded upon his dreams once more.

"How is he doing today?"

A hand rested gently on his forehead before brushing the hair back from his face. "The fever has broken. I think we finally have the infection under control. He should be waking soon."

Aragorn's brow furrowed. "Ada?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. He struggled to open his eyes, expecting to see only darkness again. He winced as the bright afternoon light penetrated his eyes. He quickly closed them again. Was this another dream, a memory, a delusion?

"Aragorn, are you awake?"

He recognized that voice. "Legolas?" He made another attempt to open his eyes, and once they had adjusted to the light, he was rewarded with the sight of his father and Legolas looking down at him.

"How do you feel, my friend?" Legolas asked, smiling.

"Is this real?" Aragorn asked in confusion. He tried to sit up, then fell back against the pillows, breathing slowly through the pain. "This has to be real. Dreams do not hurt nearly so much."

Elrond placed a hand on Aragorn's shoulder to hold him still. "I would not recommend trying to move just yet, Aragorn. You were injured very seriously. It will be many days yet before you will feel well enough to leave your bed."

Aragorn settled back into the softness of his bed. After being forced to lie still on a bed of rocks, he couldn't imagine anything better than staying in bed for a while. "For once, Ada, I will not argue with that." He looked over to Legolas and opened his mouth to ask a question.

A dark haired head peeked around the doorframe. "Did I hear Aragorn's voice?"

Aragorn looked over at his brother and smiled. "Yes you did, Elrohir."

A wide grin spread across Elrohir's face, and he looked back into the hallway. "Elladan, he's awake!"

Two identical elves came rushing through the door, wearing identical grins. "Aragorn!" they exclaimed, as they came to a stop at his bedside.

"You had us worried," Elrohir accused.

"Do not do that again," Elladan added.

"I'll try not to get trapped in another cave-in, Elladan. Thank you for your concern."

They just grinned at him, happy to see him awake and recovering.

Aragorn looked up as Arwen appeared in the doorway. "Ada, is something wrong? I heard shouting." She looked toward the bed and saw Aragorn gazing at her. A smile spread across her face, and she walked over to stand beside his bed. She reached out and gently touched his face. "How do you feel?"

Aragorn's grin was slightly crooked. "As long as I do not move, I feel quite well." He looked at those surrounding him. "I have a few questions." He looked toward Legolas. "What are you doing here in Imladris?"

Legolas smiled at him. "My father needed a message delivered to Imladris. He knew I had wanted to come for a visit, so he asked me to deliver it. I had just arrived when your horse returned without you. Knowing your penchant for finding trouble, we formed immediate search parties. Aráto had thrown a shoe, so he left very distinctive tracks, and it was not hard to find you. But when we had found you, we were afraid that we had come too late. Your condition was quite grave."

Aragorn grinned slightly at Legolas' inadvertent word choice. "For quite some time, I thought that cave would * be * my grave." He turned serious. "I had given up hope of rescue. I thought that since no one knew I was in trouble, there would be no help forthcoming."

Arwen squeezed his hand. "That must have been horrible for you, being all alone in the darkness." Even before his horse had shown up without him, she had known Aragorn was hurting and in serious trouble. But her visions had only shown her darkness. She had not known how to find him, and was greatly relieved when his horse had found his way to Rivendell. Though she had had several visions of him, she did not think that she had been able to reach Aragorn and reassure him that they knew he was in danger.

Aragorn shook his head slowly. "But I wasn't alone. You were there." He looked from Arwen to Legolas, to his brothers, then to his father. "You were all there. In my dreams and memories, you were there, keeping me company. I could hear your voices, giving me hope, telling me to hold on, that you were coming for me. You were all there with me in that small space. You kept me alive, kept me sane."

Arwen caressed his cheek. "And we always will be with you, Aragorn. You will never be alone."

"Yes," Legolas said. "We will always be with you, even in the small spaces you may sometimes find yourself stuck in."

Aragorn could feel weariness overtake him. He was still weak, but he would recover. As he drifted off to sleep, he murmured softly. "Friends in small spaces. I like the sound of that." He smiled to himself. He was safe now, with his family. So many times in that cave he had gotten lost in his memories and had been sure he was home. This time though, it was real; it was no fevered dream, no hallucination.

A frisson of doubt shot through him.

Or was it?