Disclaimer: This story was written for enjoyment only. I do not own any of Tolkien's characters.
Author's note: WIP. This story is most likely AU though it is set during the time before the War of the Ring and Tolkien's trilogy. From the title, Relesen, the Middle English word for release, I have chosen to use creative license with the subject matter presented and a few other details from the trilogy. Neither in the books nor from the movies have I ever come across mention or witnessed anything other than complete accurate intent springing forth from Legolas's bow. I have chosen to explore otherwise, hence this story, which has been done before in many differing mediums. The story, Relesen (Release) explores the varying implications of that one word- to set free from restraint, confinement, or servitude, to relieve from something that confines, burdens, or oppresses and relief or deliverance from sorrow, suffering, or trouble. It is my hope that you will enjoy what follows. :)
RELESEN- Chapter One
His fingers drew tautly upon the bowstring once again as he positioned yet another arrow upon his bow in preparation for a quick release as another foul creature moved within his sights. During the past few minutes, he had fired off a rapid succession of similar projectiles into the relentless crowd of orcs, who had gained vantage over their makeshift camp mere minutes before, and though he had killed many, their numbers seemed not to dwindle. His eyes searched the mayhem surrounding him seeking to ascertain the condition of his fellow companion.
What his eyes came in contact with made his blood run cold. The enemy had Aragorn flushed against a closely grown stance of trees and scrub, the thorns of the latter impeding his mobility as they grasped like claws to inhibit the swing of his broad sword. Many of the enemy lay slain at his feet, but more were quickly closing in upon him to take their place. The duration of their fighting thus far had not proven extensive, but the intensity of it was fast becoming exhausting, and Legolas noted the increasing strain that shown upon the young Dunedan's countenance. Quickly he released another arrow advantageously taking down not one, but two of their foe as the missile swiftly passed through the first before embedding itself within the second. Reaching back once more to his quiver to claim another, he was unsettled to find the number of his supply was rapidly diminishing. If there proved not to be a break in their fighting soon or some unseen release from their burden, he was certain that the two of them would not be able to wrest themselves from this situation surrounding them unscathed.
Rapidly he released another and another of his projectiles into the throng about him, each attaining its goal, but starkly making a dent in the tumultuous circumstance that enveloped them. He had little time to react and even less to reason as he fought with all he had in him. He positioned yet another arrow upon his bowstring as a cry of anguish broke through the melee surrounding them, and though his eyes darted quickly in the direction of its sound in his heart he knew that the voice filled with pain was none other than that of his friend. Frantically as his eyes came in contact with the one he sought out, he witnessed a rapidly growing crimson stain spreading across the left flank of Aragorn's tunic beneath his overcoat. His friend had sustained a glancing blow from an orc scimitar. Fear coursed through the elf as he watched his friend first stumble then lose balance as the legs beneath him gave way and he sunk down upon the ground below only to be immediately overtaken by the swarm of orcs surrounding him.
A cry of fury rose in Legolas's throat echoing throughout the forest that encompassed them, and using the brief respite he had gained from the offenders encircling him, he reacted boldly with a hail of arrows into the crowd around his companion. Perhaps it was the emotion of the moment that prompted the rashness of his action, he would never know , but the outcome it wrought would forever hence live to haunt him. The many arrows he let loose into the mobbing marauders found their mark felling the foul creatures with great intensity, but as the last of its kind let loose from his bow cutting a whistling path through the heavy air around it, Legolas was horrified to see Aragorn once again trying to regain his footing. His friend rose and wrested himself free of the arms of his closest attacker in a sudden burst of energy, his hasty action couldn't have proven more precipitous or costly as the projectile that had been released to aid him now made contact with the flesh of Men instead of the hide of orcs, penetrating tissue and sinew before coming to a final halt against bone.
A strangled, "Noooooo!" ripped through Legolas as he watched in horror as the last of the arrows he let loose impacted with friend instead of foe, throwing the young Human backwards but not before the Sylvan elf caught the look of startled realization that reach his friend's eyes.
Another choked "Noooo!" resounded through the air around the fighting as a quick rush of blood pumped through the veins of the immortal archer and the burning of tears hastened to blur his vision. He could not allow emotion to rule the moment, not while his friend's welfare remained in such a precarious state. He would not allow his friend to suffer anymore at the hands of these foul beast, not while he still drew breath and throwing his now useless bow down upon the ground beside him, he swiftly withdrew his Elven daggers, and leaving caution behind, he began an all out assault forward with only one goal in mind that of saving Aragorn or to die trying.
In a blaze of relentless fury he struck out against their assailants taking down one after the other, the sharpened blades in his hands severing and slashing through the primitive orc flesh. He felt nothing as he carried out this offensive, if orc weaponry either pierced him or scored a blow, he knew not as he moved onward his arms flowing in unfailing motion brandishing the now bloodied blades as his hands ceaselessly continued moving forward to plunge, stab, and kill. Many moments later he stood dazed heaving in breath as he took in the carnage surrounding him. Orc bodies littered the ground below, their black blood flowing in rivulets to form gathering pools beneath them. Panting hard he allowed the previous motility of his limbs to still, doubling over in his effort, as his hair and clothes now hung in the state of great disarray, fouled by the same black blood that was soaking the landscape below him. Not an orc was left standing, though a few still drew breath if only for a brief moment as the final death gurgles of many seemed to rattle through the air around him. Several had cowardly abandoned their companions to the avenging onslaught of this elf and had made their escape into the tree cloaked surroundings. He had almost fled after them in pursuit until his mind gained precedence once again. Wiping a shaky hand across his brow, he was dazed momentarily as he drew it back before him to find it covered with blood, not the precious life giving liquid that flowed through the veins of his high elven brethren , but the loathsome inky fluid that somehow circulated through the cold, hard vessels of the beasts now laying either dead or dying before him. It streaked his face much in the same way as the tales told of the Wild Men, who roamed near the feet of the White Mountains, used nature's gifts to adorn their features. He suddenly felt the bile rise within the back of his throat as the reality of the moment finally struck him and the stench of foul blood from the corpses below him rose up to meet him. Swallowing hard, he shook his head to clear his thoughts, his own blood still pumping hard within his veins. Finally an articulate cry escaped from his lips as he realized his final goal had been achieved and allowing his daggers to fall to the ground below him, he frantically began to make search for his friend among the littered dead.
It did not take him long to discern Aragorn's wounded body among those of their now deceased aggressors. His brown overcoat and moss green tunic stood out among the coarse garments of the slain, but it was the yellow fletchings, waving like a banner upon a battlefield, that protruded from the shaft buried deep within the human's right shoulder that heralded Legolas forward. Sinking to his knees beside his friend, he gently cupped the man's face within his hands, tears springing afresh within the depths of his troubled blue eyes. Aragorn's face was slack, his coloring now chalky, and his eyes now tightly shut to all that was around him. Moving a shaky hand from Aragorn's face to the crook of his neck he felt for a pulse unable to contain the trembling in his fingers, their obvious tension interfering in his struggle to ascertain whether the beat of life still coursed through his friend's body. The impatience of anxiety gaining the better of him, he let his hand stray even further towards the injured laden torso of the young Dunedan until his hand rested just above Aragorn's heart. A cry of relief escaped his lips as he acknowledged that indeed the Human's heart still beat within his breast, and that his friend's body still sought the breath of life from this world.
Immediately he took in the graveness of Aragorn's injuries. The violence wrought from the orc scimitar had left a deep and gagged cut from breast bone till it met the resistance of rib down the side of the Man's left flank. It still bled freely, saturating the torn garments surrounding the wound, but it was the arrow, his arrow, that protruded from the Human's right shoulder that tormented him most. Its downward angle of entry and the depth of the shaft engulfed within the Human's flesh could only mean that his friend had sustained extensive and perhaps irreparable internal damage, all at his own hand. A sob tore through the elf as he reached forward to clasp the shaft wanting the tear it from his friend's body in a desperate attempt to assuage the wrong he had committed, but keen insight won out over his worn state. While the arrow remained within his body, its presence acted to staunch any further loss of blood Aragorn might experience from its removal. He needed to tend to the gash first before he could put his young friend in any further peril that blood loss from removing it might cause him though his mind screamed within him reminding him how he wanted nothing more than to remove any reminder of his part in the Aragorn's grave condition.
The dimness of "aduial" was quickly serving to cloak the landscape in darkness, and the air about them grew chill as Legolas unclasped his cloak before searching the ground for his discarded daggers. Finding one, he used the garment to wipe the foul blood from its blade before realizing that a fair percentage of his outer mantle was also covered in the same black dampness. Desperately he sought to find a still unsullied length to tear into bandages and wrap Aragorn's wounds. Accomplishing this task, he went about as gently as he could in their remote location to cleanse the wound before lifting his friend and wrapping it. When he was satisfied that the wound was bound sufficiently, his focus rested again upon the damage of his doing, praying that the trajectory of his arrow had not dealt Aragorn a deadly blow. Moving his hands back around the shaft, his intention was to remove the lethal violation from his friend's flesh as swiftly and as painlessly as possible, but as his hands moved to grasp the shaft more firmly they brushed against the fletchings and the ramifications of his earlier actions cut at his heart once more and acted toward taunting him that he should be the cause of his friend's present circumstance. Emotion overwhelmed him and he could no longer hold it at bay only serving to increase the self-recrimination he now felt. Blinking back the tears that formed once again he violently railed against himself. "This is not doing him any good! You must help him instead of thinking of yourself! It's your fault that he lies so near death! This your fault... your doing!"
Brushing away the sentiment that he perceived as weakness, his hands once again clasped the shaft firmly, but he did not further his action until he looked down into the vulnerable face of his injured friend. "Forgive me, Estel." He whispered and with a quick outward tug, he sought to remove the offending projectile once and for all. His efforts were for naught for as he worked toward aiding his friend, the extrication of the arrow from flesh did not proceed smoothly. The young Human was startled by the elf's actions and struggled beneath him bucking in defense against the pain Legolas caused within him, upsetting the elf's precious attempt to remain focused and balanced. But it was the burst of adrenaline that coursed through the Human, a constant companion to Man's inborn nature of fight or flight, that knocked the elf off balance, inhibiting his efforts at aid, and snapping the shaft in two, mere inches above the ranger's flesh as the length of it still remained engulfed within Aragorn's prone body.
"No, Aragorn!" came Legolas startled cry of distress as he realized what the actions of the Man had precipitated. The ranger's inarticulate cry of pain in response had the elf immediately back upon his feet and at his side. "Estel?" He breathed in fear while his hand traveled forward to soothe and brush the hair away from Aragorn's now damp brow before moving down to cup his face in comfort, watching as Aragorn's eyes fluttered open and shut as he tried to focus on the world swirling above him. It took mere moments but finally the confusion that previously masked reality faded and the world that spun around him came into focus. "Legolas?" He croaked, his voice weakened from pain, thirst, and exhaustion. "What happened?"
Legolas was startled by his question and he opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came forth. How could he tell Estel, his closest friend, that he now lay in great peril due to a wound he sustained at his own hands? He tried to think of a way to soothe his friend in explanation, but with his hesitation he found the cloak of confusion had resettled upon him as Aragorn's eyelids began to flutter once more with increased rapidity before his eye's rolled back and his head lolled toward the side.
"ESTEL?" Legolas cried out in fear, unsure if the soul that inhabited Aragorn's body had chanced to flee. "Estel?" He called out again in anguish as his hands caressed the brow of his companion before him. "Do not leave me nin mellon! Do not leave me! I'm sorry, so sorry!" He trembled. " Please do not leave me Estel!" The elf implored finally allowing his emotion to rule and he gathered the Man within his arms bringing him to rest against him while sobbing mournfully, his tears falling to wet the brow, face and hair of his friend. "I'm sorry...so sorry...Please do not die on me, my friend....."
As if the Valar had heard his petition and was granting appeal, Aragorn stirred within his arms though he did not regain consciousness. Staring back down at the friend, the elf swallowed gratefully before looking toward the heavens with supplication momentarily then cradled the Man even closer to him as a ragged whisper filled Aragorn's ear. "Yes, Estel, yes! Do not forsake the light, my friend! Stay with me! I will get you through this, I promise! If I have to use all that I have within me to draw you back toward the light, I will! I will see you through this nin mellon! You will live, Estel! You will live! I swear this on my life!"