What can she possibly say in response to that? Galadriel buries her face against his chest, her arms still wrapped around him; her hand still pressed to his wound, sticky with his blood.

She sobs into his tunic. He is so certain of her. Still. After all he has seen, today and over the years, he asks no questions, expresses no doubts. She did not deserve him, truly.

It is in his arms that the dream fades into blackness, the blissful nothingness of sleep. And it is also in his arms that she will find herself when she finally awakens.