As she was pitched off the side of the cliff, the eyes that had caught his heart and ensnared it for all time were upon him.

With lightning reflexes and uncanny judgement, as was his birthright, he hurled himself forward and seized her hand as she disappeared over the side. His grip was strong and sure and she was stopped from falling to her death. He leant over the cliff's edge and grabbed her arm with his other hand in a more secure grip. As he looked over the edge, her tear-streaked face gazed upon him with relief and love shining in her eyes.

He pulled her slowly back up to him and set her down on shaky legs. She gripped his shoulders, the last vestiges of her terror ebbing away, knowing in his arms she was beyond harm and fear. They embraced, knowing this day marked the beginning of the rest of their lives together. He would never let her out of his sight and she would never stray from his side.

Then, with the dawn, Aragorn would be thrust rudely back into the world where he had missed.

Aragorn sat up in bed and attempted to relieve his eyes of the grit that had accumulated over the past night by rubbing them vigorously. He rose from the threadbare mattress and shuffled over to the table that was the only other piece of furniture in the sparse room he had occupied for the past twelve months.

Ever since he had missed.

He reached for the bottle of liquor that had become his constant companion and took a swallow. The vile liquid burned a path down his throat and settled into an uncomfortable ball in the pit of his stomach. He fought the urge to throw it straight back up again and leaned, bracing himself on the table, until the first waves of dizziness passed.

He looked up and realised there was another person in the room, standing at the other end of his table. He blinked, looked down and then glanced back up, expecting the person to have disappeared, expecting them to be the product of an alcohol-induced hallucination. He was mildly surprised to discover the person had not obliged him by vanishing.

"Who are you?" He demanded.

The person moved out of the shadows and could now be seen clearly. It was a man, tall and gaunt, but entirely unexceptional looking. Aragorn found he would forget the man's features every time he looked away.

"I have heard your nightly plea. Your pain tolls through all the worlds. I have come to put it to an end."

"My nightly plea?" Aragorn wasn't quite sure what was going on yet, but he didn't know if he liked the sound of it.

"Your dreams. You save her, but not that day. You couldn't save her that day, so you save her every night. You think of different ways you could have reacted, how you could have been quicker, smarter, stronger. The thousands of diverse ways you could have saved her life. You're doing a kind of penance for something you had no control over."

"What do you mean no control? I failed." The man's words had overruled any surprise Aragorn might have felt at his knowledge.

"It was her time." The man stated simply.

Aragorn gripped the bottle he had in his hand, shattering it. He didn't notice the shards of glass digging deeper and deeper into his palm as he clenched his fist in white-hot fury. "What do you mean her time? She was supposed to be eternal! She was the one who should have buried me. I should not have known what life was like without her! Who the hell are you?" He demanded.

"Ah, that is unimportant. What is important is what I am here to offer you." The man stated flatly. Aragorn fought the urge to throw the remains of the destroyed bottle in this man's face, morbid curiosity urging him to find out where this insanity was leading.

"A life for a life my friend. Those I serve have deemed you worthy, but the choice is yours." Aragorn's mouth dropped open. "We take you back to that day, you die instead of the Lady. Simple as that." He explained further.

Aragorn did not hesitate.

"I'll do it."

He blinked, and in that split second he was moved. He opened his eyes and he was back on that cliff-top, one year ago. The weight he had piled on from doing nothing but sleeping and drinking was gone. He was wearing the self-same armour and had his sword, the sword he had broken over his knee in despair. He looked up and the sight before him made his heart stop.

His beloved Arwen was standing on the cliff edge, her dark hair whipping in the wind. Before her stood the man who had killed her, Naviarn. He was an Elf who had always been in love with Arwen, but had been driven mad by his desire and had resolved that she would belong to no man. Aragorn saw from his vantage Naviarn reach forward to grasp the woman he loved. In another moment, Naviarn would pick her up and pitch her off the side.

With a scream, Aragorn ran forward, knowing what he had to do. It was at this point, the last time he had seen this act played out, that he had hesitated, disbelieving what he was seeing. Now, the surprise was gone. He had seen this scene played out hundreds of times in all different ways, every time he had shut his eyes, every day afterward.

His yell saved Arwen's life. Naviarn stopped and turned toward the noise, Arwen took one step away from the madman and Aragorn ploughed into him. His momentum carried both men over the side. Naviarn plunged to his death, but Aragorn, driven by instinct rather than thought, threw one hand out and grasped onto a small outcropping of rock. His hand found purchase and he hung, suspended by one hand.

"Aragorn!" Arwen screamed, lying flat on her stomach attempting to reach down to her beloved. Aragorn, a beatific smile on his face, reached up one hand so that he could brush her fingertips. At that moment, the outcropping gave way and Aragorn fell to his death, followed by the shrieks of Arwen.

* * *

With dawn, came the waking that would thrust Arwen rudely into the world where she had missed. Twelve months had passed since she had lost her beloved, but not a night passed where her dreams did not revolve around how she could have, would have, done something differently. In these dreams she was quicker, smarter, faster. She always knew she would lose him, but had always believed time would be the instrument of his death, not she.

Never she.

She sat up in bed and noticed she was not alone in the room. She gathered the blankets up to her chest and watched the figure with narrowed eyes.

"Who are you?"

The person moved out of the shadows and could now be seen clearly. It was a man, tall and gaunt, but entirely unexceptional looking. Arwen found she would forget the man's features, every time she looked away.

"I have heard your nightly plea. Your pain tolls through all the worlds. I have come to put it at an end."