A/N: Wow. How long has it been since I’ve posted, huh? Sorry about the delay. I’ve been in some sort of weird slump, not unlike in the fall. I have been involved in drama. Rambling. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this! Also, the formatting may be a little off, I am experimenting. It is one of my summer projects to organize my account.

“You are alive,” Lindir said in wonder. His wonderful eyes, smoky gray and clear as glass, took in her face. “I prayed, my lady. Hoped, beyond anything…”

“Yes, I am alive. I heard your prayers. You led me here,” she smiled and squeezed his hand, ignoring the surge of pain that raced through her and burned into her wound.

“Was that you singing, my lady?” he asked, painfully raising himself up. She nodded, gently brushing her fingertips over the raised scar where his forehead had been laid open, bathing his face in blood. Well, that was one less worry at least.

Her gaze drifted back to where she knew the battle was. Just beyond sight, over the rise, her companions and friends had spilt their lifeblood. The screams of the dead grew louder in her mind, rising above the dark melody of her new song. In restless dreams I walked alone, /Through lonely woods that wept and moan'd…

“Is it for this land, Lindir?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The death, the fighting. The pain. Is it for life, or for Middle-earth?” She slowly stood, and Lindir saw a trickle of blood run from her wound. He worked to get his good leg under him.

“Celebrían, are you unwell?”

“I’m so tired, Lindir. Tired of this place, of the evil here. I want to go home.” There was a depth of longing in her voice. She cradled her elbow in one hand and took a wavering step forward.

He only just managed to catch her when she fell. She cried in his arms, hiding her face against his shoulder. Shifting her in his arms, Lindir collapsed back onto the ground, hissing when her weight fell on his bad leg.

“It will be alright, Celebrían. We will be rescued and back in Imladris soon,” he soothed, forgetting propriety and pressing a paternal kiss to her temple.

“Nay, Lindir,” she sighed. “I wish to go…home. Across the sea.”

She fainted before he found his voice.

They danced. Everyone was smiling, laughing, moving. She twirled arms out and head thrown back. The smell of sandalwood was on the air. It was perfect. She felt an all-encompassing feeling of peace.

She could hear him, across the great distance that separated them.

“I love you, my beautiful wife.” His voice was sad and accepting, rich with the mystery of ages past. “I will join you when my work here is done, I promise.”

“I miss you. I need you here to hold me, Elrond,” she told him fervently, but the wind grabbed her words and stole them away.

“Liar,” he corrected gently. “You are turning six shades of green.”

The Elf ladled a helping of the thin soup into a bowl. He set the bowl down on a flat rock, braced his weight on his arms, and scooted away from the fire. Settling beside her, he moved the bowl beside him on the ground.

“I do not have much of an appetite,” she confessed. Lindir fussed over her, pulling the blanket up to cover her wounded shoulder, which had gone as cold as ice. The pain was sharp and intense, as though an icicle had been driven into her.

“You should try to eat something, to keep up your strength,” he said softly, spooning up the watery stew he had thrown together with dried meats and herbs.

The blankets, food, and cooking utensils, as well as the clothing and bandages, had been foraged from the battle site. It was a blessing from the Valar that the saddlebags on the fallen horses had not been pillaged.

“Are you warm enough?” Lindir worried, watching her swallow the brew. She nodded, not daring to speak. Her stomach was churning fiercely, and she was afraid that she was going to vomit.

“I’m fine, Lindir,” she told him finally, when the nausea had passed and she was able to swallow another spoonful. A shiver betrayed her words.

“Such dishonesty, my lady,” he admonished. It was obvious that she was plagued by pain. Her eyes were dark with some hidden knowledge. He feared for her.

“I will be alright, Lindir,” she assured him, settling back. Another swallow of stew went down with only mild protest. “How is your leg?”

“It is better now,” he answered, tightening one of the cloth strips that bound his splint.

He had fallen where she had found him in the early hours of the morning, when his knee gave out. His leg had been broken when he was knocked aside after the battle was lost. The healing power of his blood had started mending the unset bones, a fragile fix that had left his femur twisted. “I imagine I should be back on my feet within a few days, if we can fashion a better splint.”

She tried to focus on his words, but she couldn’t grasp their meaning. Her head was spinning…nay, the very forest was spinning and she was at the center. Black dots began to dance across her vision, and her hands shook so badly that the wooden bowl clattered out of her hands. She covered her face, trying to block out the images in her mind.

Twinkling bright stars shining down. The sand feels cool beneath her back, and the rhythm of the waves is soothing-

The pounding of the waves was not a part of her vision. Beneath them, the very ground was trembling. It was the sound of marching.

“They’re back,” Lindir breathed.