“There are tracks!” Imrahil pointed to the indentations in the sand near the edge of the beach. He did not wait for the boat to be moored and secured before he leapt out of it and raced down the sand. “Survivors fell on this beach and moved of their own accord. Near the treeline, search for tracks!” Imrahil called to the search party. “The sea has washed away most of them, but by the Valar, someone lived!”

 

Bodies were littered across the sand and Imrahil noted with a pang of regret that they were all dead. That realization was made even more clear by the red marks dotting their foreheads. “Someone took care to make sure any rescue party would not linger long here.”

 

“Aye.” Came one of Imrahil’s guards. “Which indicates that perhaps we will find more injured that are still alive and in need of urgent care.”

 

“We will find them.” Imrahil’s gaze bore heavily into that of his guard. “I will not return to Gondor with news of the King’s death.”

 

 

 

-------------------------------------

 

 

 

“He worsened in the night,” Elladan covered Aragorn’s forehead with a damp rag, trying desperately to lower his brother’s fever. Fruit peals littered their camp as they were what Elladan had used to mix healing salves and teas to use on his foster brother throughout the night.

 

“We cannot give up hope.” Elrohir slid his fingers between the clammy, lifeless ones of his foster-brother.

 

“Not until he takes his last breath will I give up hope.” Elladan’s steely gaze encouraged his twin.

 

Below them, Aragorn whispered in his fevered sleep, incoherent mutterings save for one word, one name that either twin would recognize instantly when falling from the King’s lips. Arwen.

 

Elladan leaned over Aragorn and flattened a warm hand against the man’s whiskered cheek. “She is well. She waits for you. Fight this darkness, Estel. Fight it for your wife and child.”

 

Elrohir eyed his brother suspiciously but understood the reason for his lie. If he could make Aragorn believe there was something very tangible to fight for, a wife and a baby waiting for him to get well, perhaps he wouldn’t succumb to the severity of his injuries.

 

“Where?” Aragorn’s eyes slitted open and he glanced about, looking for his beloved.

 

“Yes, fight it,” Elladan held another rag to Aragorn’s parched lips and squeezed the water down the man’s throat. “I know it hurts. I know you want to sleep. But you must fight it. Please.”

 

“Arwen.”  Another cough wracked his body and Elladan winced, hearing the labored breathing far clearer than he really cared to hear.

 

Elrohir looked up toward the rising sun. “Hurry Legolas, Gimli. Find help.” The elf turned to the other injured men sitting and lying nearby. Some were relatively unharmed, others had varying degrees of severe injuries. But all were equally concerned for the King's failing health.

 

A cry then drew the attention of the twins and two sets of dark eyes scanned the beach to locate the source of the sound. The men sitting around the camp had yet to hear the calls, elven ears could hear far better, but soon, they too, could see the soldiers racing down the beach.

 

"Imrahil!" Elladan cried, relief flooding his tall frame. He leaned over his foster-brother and flattened his hand against the unconscious man’s cheek. "Help has come!"

 

Imrahil’s eyes widened when they reached the small camp and he immediately fell to his knees beside Aragorn.  The Lord of Dol Amroth made no attempt to mask the worry in his eyes as he stared down at his injured King. He immediately issued orders for his men to treat the other wounded and held up a small container of herbs and medicines to Elladan.

 

The party surrounded the King and the rest of the injured, treating them as best they could with the crude materials they had brought with them. "We must get him back to the ship. We have better instruments there to tend his injuries."

 

"We can't move him," Elladan said gravely. "Not without much pain."

 

Imrahil trembled as he touched his King, feeling the frail body beneath his hand. "Aragorn, we must move you. We must get you to the ship. Can you stand the journey?"

 

A dark head lolled to the side, the normally bright crystal eyes now pale and glossy. Imrahil's presence barely registered in Aragorn's consciousness and Imrahil stood immediately, making the decision. "Move him. Carefully. We've brought litter's with us to carry the injured."

 

Imrahil turned to one of the men. "Pad well one litter with cloaks and anything soft you can find. We will set the King in it to move him."

 

Guards moved immediately to obey his command as Imrahil turned back to the twins. "He must be moved to a secure location and examined thoroughly. We must do that aboard the ship."

 

"He has internal injuries that cannot be seen," Elladan informed Imrahil, who merely nodded.

 

As if to reinforce his brother's comment, Aragorn coughed and blood began to drip from the corner of his mouth. Elrohir immediately wiped the blood away and helped his brother onto his side as his body convulsed from the strain.

 

Imrahil stared at his King, eyes widening with fear as he finally understood just how severe were Aragorn's injuries. "We must hurry. Where is that litter?!" Immediately, it was brought and laid behind the King. Easily the injured man was laid onto it and lifted into the steady arms of the Swan Knights.

 

Two others were carried similarly as the troupe made its way back down the beach to where the small elven boats were moored.

 

 

------------------------

 

 

“Arwen.” The name came in a breathless gasp as Elladan carefully cared for his brother. He rubbed a special salve into every cut, broken bones were set with as much precision as possible. But Aragorn’s fever still raged, pushing him further and further into delirious muttering. Always it was the same name. Always was it the same thought.

 

“She will see you when you are well,” Elladan continued to lie and Elrohir winced. “She must protect that heir of yours so she rests elsewhere.”

 

“Arwen.” Aragorn muttered again, his voice straining with emotion.

 

When Elladan turned to take a mug of medicated tea from his brother, Elrohir grasped the other elf’s hand and whispered, “He will only accept our excuses for so long.”

 

“It will be enough,” Elladan moved to sit beside his brother and lifted his head to pour warm liquid down his throat.

 

Aragorn coughed, and tried to gulp as much of the liquid as he could swallow. Elladan slowed his brother, advising caution.

 

Elrohir sighed and walked to the door, leaving his brother to tend to Aragorn. He needed to find Imrahil, and see how the man was faring with his continued search for the Queen and the rest of his kin.

 

Elladan set the mug aside and flattened his hand across Aragorn’s sweat-soaked brow. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, as if trying to force some of his life into his injured brother.

 

When Aragorn’s breath hitched in his throat, Elladan’s eyes snapped open in fear.

 

Aragorn began to cough, his body trembling with the effort. His breath rasped from his lips, as if he were gasping for air and Elladan immediately shoved an arm behind his brother’s back to lift him up. Aragorn’s head lolled onto Elladan’s shoulder and his body went slack in Elladan’s arms.

 

“Aragorn, no!” Elladan cried. He lay he brother flat and leaned over him, feeling for a pulse.

 

He found none.

 

 

 

 

------------------------

 

 

Imrahil stood gazing out over the calm sea, his carefully contained emotions threatening to burst through his chest like a tidal wave. When Elrohir stepped beside the man and rested a comforting hand on his shoulder, Imrahil nearly came out of his boots.

 

“Peace, it is only I,” Elrohir said slowly.

 

“What news?”

 

“His condition has not changed. But he is comfortable now.”

 

Imrahil closed his eyes. It had only been a few hours since his injured King had been brought aboard, he shouldn’t expect a miracle in so short a time.

 

“Will it change? Will he heal?” Imrahil heard his voice ask the question and steeled himself for an unfavorable response.

 

When an answer was not immediately forthcoming, Imrahil sighed and turned to Elrohir. “How long does he have then?”

 

“I will heal him or I will die trying,” the elf proclaimed with a quiet ferocity. “My father was the best healer in Middle-Earth, my brother and I learned much from him. We will not let him die.”

 

The two fell silent for a time as the bustling work continued on the remaining elven ship and parties docked and left in search of the still missing Queen.

 

“Are they out there?” Imrahil asked, to no one in particular. “Will we find them? Or will we lose everything we have gained in the last few years in one fell swoop.”

 

“Do not despair,” Legolas stepped beside Imrahil and glanced quickly at Elrohir, who nodded slowly. “Their story is long, and has been filled with more trials than you could count in a lifetime. I do not, will not, believe it is to end this way.”

 

Imrahil turned bright eyes, wet with unshed tears, on the woodland elf. “It is hard to have hope when my King lies near death and his queen, pregnant with the only royal heir, is missing.”

 

“Your King may lie near death but hope lies there also. The Valar will not permit him to die, not yet.” Elrohir turned his gaze toward a far away island. Elrohir’s eyes narrowed and Legolas’ eyes followed toward that island so far in the distance the eyes of men could not see but a speck of it. “There is-”

 

“Smoke,” Legolas finished and both elves turned to Imrahil. “There!” Elrohir pointed toward what elf eyes alone could see. “Smoke rises. There are inhabitants there. We must go!”

 

Imrahil’s eyes narrowed. “I can see nothing. The sun is near setting and-”

 

“Do not doubt elven eyes! Recall your men and set for that island!” The urgency in Elrohir’s voice spurred the Prince of Dol Amroth to action and he called out orders to recall his men from the nearby shores.

 

“Are you certain?” Imrahil cursed himself for doubting them but he had to voice his concern. “Could there be survivors so far apart?”

 

“Arwen , Celeborn and Cirdan jumped far before we did,” Legolas advised. “It is possible the rough current put so much distance between us.”

 

Imrahil nodded. “Aye, agreed. Forgive me for doubting.”

 

“There is nothing to forgive. Just get this ship there as fast as possible.”

 

 

-----------------------

 

 

“Something comes,” Cirdan stood at the shoreline, the water lapping at his feet as he stared out over the dark sea. His eyes narrowed, straining with elven sight to make out the image on the water. When the banners of the Reunited Kingdom flapped into sight, Cirdan rushed back to the camp.

 

“Wind the fires. Burn them higher, brighter!” Celeborn looked up from where he was assisting his granddaughter with some food, eyes narrowing with an unspoken question.

 

“The Kings Banners!” Cirdan pushed the men able to move into throwing more wood onto the fire. “The other ship is intact. I can see it in the distance!”

 

“Fan the fires!” Celeborn commanded, glancing at the slow-moving men and elves, his tone leaving no room for argument.

 

Arwen pushed herself into a seated position, her eyes straining across the Sea. When the image came to her eyes, she launched herself to her feet – and promptly fell over.

 

Celeborn was beside her in an instant, anticipating her inability to stand easily. But as she gained her bearings, she was able to remain on her feet, grimacing at the pain in her abdomen but ignoring it as the elven ship sailed ever closer.

 

They stood at the water’s edge, waiting, and time seemed to slow. Arwen fidgeted anxiously , eyes scanning the approaching ship. Celeborn wrapped a secure arm around her waist, containing his joy at their rescue until he, too, could get a clear view of those waiting along the rail.

 

When the ship was close enough, they could see the boats disembarking, and a flurry of activity on the ship itself to prepare to bring aboard more survivors. Arwen’s eyes searched the bow, looking for her husband – to no avail.

 

Celeborn felt Arwen’s shoulders slump and he pulled her gently against his side. “He’s there, granddaughter. We just haven’t yet seen him.” He masked his fear, allowing only Cirdan, who stood next to him, to see the unwritten question in his eyes.

Where was Aragorn? Why was he not on the bow directing the rescue boats?

 

They could plainly see that Imrahil was giving the orders and their breath hitched in their throats wondering why it was not the King issuing the commands.

 

“Estel,” Arwen whispered, her heart sinking into her stomach. She knew something was wrong, terribly wrong if Imrahil was issuing orders instead of Aragorn.

 

Arwen’s hands flew to her stomach, cradling the growing babe within, and prayed to the Valar that they keep her husband safe – wherever he was.