For the Greater Good

by Elillierose

With a horde of orcs hot on their trail, Aragorn and Legolas take matters into their own hands and are willing to make the sacrifices needed in order to protect the ring bearer. The duo stay behind in an attempt to buy the rest of the fellowship some time to reach Lothlorien. Legolas whump!

Beta read by: SinikkavonWolperting and Bagpipes5k2

Gift fic for: Markofthemoros

Let me just say, first of all, this story was not meant to be this long...at all. I got carried away, and a I realized after the fact that this was too much to do in one chapter. In retrospect, I probably should have done it in more than one chapter, but ah well, what can ya do. Anyway, this is my first Lord of the Rings fic. Always been a huge fan of it and can basically recite the movie from memory. XD I apologize if there is any pacing issues, again, it went on longer than expected and I need to wrap it up.

No idea how accurate the Elvish is either, I found translators and winged it. Hope it's close enough. ;w; I tried though.

I definitely want to do more Legolas-centric fics, so please let me know what you think. Also, this is only my second time writing in present tense, most of what I write is past tense, and future stories will likely be in past. So, I apologize ahead of time for slip ups.

---

Aragorn takes a deep breath and he trails one of his dirt-stained hands through filthy hair. "Three days," he mutters, wearily. "They have been no more than half a day's trek behind us for three days."

"Aye," Legolas agrees, mirroring his friend's forlorn tone. Even he, as unyielding as the elves' endurance may be, is beginning to feel exhaustion's grasp. "Never had I thought I'd see the day that a horde of orcs could give you a hard time." He says this in a light tone, humorous almost, but with a quick glance, the ranger can see through to the worry underneath.

The brunet says nothing and his gaze passes his fair comrade to the rest of the fellowship, all worse for wear. They can't continue like this. One look at the hobbit and he's sure they'll be dead after just a few more days of this. There has to be something else, something to get the horde off their trail. There is a thought that crosses his mind, one that he swiftly shakes away. No way, there is no way they would be splitting up. But...

Aragorn sighs heavily and drops his attention to the ground.

"Something on your mind?" Legolas asks, low enough to be unheard by the others.

What choice is there? They're running out of options and they lack the luxury of time to formulate anything better. "We need to get them off our trail. If not, I fear they will follow us 'til the end of days," he mutters, looking to the other to meet his gaze. "What do you say to a revisit to our reckless days?"

Legolas' brows knit subtly at this and he cuts his eyes to the others, who are now beginning to catch up. "Aragorn, I don't think that to be wise. You know as well as I do, if not better, those were naive and foolish times. I thought the lessons would still be fresh in your mind as they are mine." The slight upturn of the corner of his mouth betrays the words being spoken and a flash of mischief crosses his expression. Had it been anyone other than Aragorn, it would have been missed entirely.

"What bright, and might I add careless, plan do you have in mind?"

The human takes a deep breath and stand up straighter as the rest of the fellowship finally pause, out of breath, next to him. He gives Legolas another glance before speaking. "We need to split up," he says without delay. Straight to the point as always.

In an instant, all eyes are on him. Some wide and filled with disbelief, and others understanding with an inkling of fear. Boromir open and closes his mouth a couple of times, debating with himself on what he should say, what he should ask. But, unsurprisingly, Gimli beats him to it.

"Are you crazy?!" he nearly spits. He's practically radiating with reddened anger. "We run from those vermin for days, and your solution is for us to split up. Do you have a death wish, lad?" He takes a moment to huff in frustration, looking to the others for a bit of backup on this.

"I think mister Gimli is right, Strider," Sam speaks up, lowly. He keeps his head slightly bowed as he takes a few steps forward. "There are a lot of them...and I think sticking together is the best chance we have should they catch up." He raises his attention to look the man in the eyes.

Aragorn nods slowly, taking in everyone's words and opinions. He knew not all would be on board from the start. "And how about you, Ring Bearer, what is your say in this? In the end, it is your word, your say. Just know, if we do nothing, if we carry on, they will catch up, and when they do, I cannot promise we will be in fighting condition. As it stands now, we will barely be able to stand by the time cold steel touches the backs of our necks."

Frodo swallows thickly at the imagery and shudders at the phantom chill that runs down the length of his spine. "I-I think we should trust Strider," he finally stammers out. Sure, he wasn't too keen on the idea of separating either, but this was Aragorn. If he said this was for the best, then he had full faith that it was. He had the experience to know what he's talking about. "We split up," he repeats, still sounding unsure of himself. He knew it showed, knew there was an uncertain tremble in his voice. He stood straighter regardless of that and gave the man a firm nod.

"So what, then?" asks Boromir. "Half goes one way and half the other, how do we know which they will follow. What if they follow the group with the ring?" His voice is growing louder, impatient and almost accusing.

A dirty hand raises to silence his onslaught of questions.

"Do not concern yourself about those things," the ranger replies, his hand falling to grip the other's shoulder. "We won't be dividing in half, most will be sticking together, to ensure the Ring Bearer's protection." A shared look of bewilderment crosses their faces.

"Surely," Pippin starts, shoving through the others to stand before the larger man, "you don't intend on going alone." There it is, that look of worry, the threat of protest slipping onto the hobbit's features.

Aragorn simply shakes his head and moves his free hand to rest upon the curly locks. "No, I won't be alone."

"I'll be with him," Legolas speaks up, giving no others a chance to say anything. He moves to stand by his long-time friend's side, an air of confidence about him. "There is no need to worry about him, I've managed to keep him out of trouble a number of times."

Aragorn couldn't keep from rolling his eyes. "Indeed, yet you've gotten into an equal amount of trouble yourself." Still, the others didn't appear to be any more at ease than they were. "We don't intend to confront them unless there is a need to. We will allow your group to get a headstart, and we will wait here, give the enemy enough time to gain some ground. Enough so until we are spotted, and we will lead them astray," he explains, hoping this would be enough to calm their nerves. Though, he's convinced he's only making it worse.

"What if they catch you?" Merry asks, trying to keep his voice steady as his heart hammered in his chest.

"Then we fight and hold them off as long as we can."

None of them liked the sound of that, 'as long as they can.' A heavy air drapes over them and a thick silence envelopes them.

"Are you sure about this?" The question came from Boromir, his tone serious and unwavering. "Are you willing to take such risks, both of you? We all know how foul those creatures are, how they will stop at nothing to get their grimy little hands on what they want. If they do catch you..." He trails off. There was no need for him to finish, the others' imaginations could easily fill in the blanks whether they want them to or not.

For a moment, Aragorn doesn't reply and he slightly tilts his head downward. "It's the best chance we have right now. I have no intentions of dying out here," he assures. He lifts his attention back up and takes a deep breath. "We'll meet back up at Lothlorian." It is a statement of fact, as if there is not an ounce of doubt in his soul.

Now it's the heir of Gondor's turn to nod. "Very well, we will wait for you there." His own hand raises to mirrors Aragorn's own gesture and gives his shoulder a light squeeze. "Try not to keep us waiting too long."

"You have my word."

At once, they remove their grasps and Boromir passes the both of them, not looking back. Slowly, Gimli follows and pauses for only a split second to offer both of them a fleeting glance and a tight smile. Even the elf. "Don't get yourselves killed, laddies." Then he looks pointedly at Legolas. "If you don't return, then I win." There was no humor, no light-heartedness, almost a warning.

Next are the hobbits, none of which say a word, none who knows what to say. But they all offered their own nods and looks of concern and thanks. One or two looked upon the both of them with admiration. It's not until Frodo that one of them stopped to speak.

"Please, I beg both of you...meet us there. I don't want to be the reason more of us have to meet the same fate as..." He averts his gaze.

"We would not think of it," Aragorn promises as he crouches to eye level. "We made a promise to protect the ring and its carrier, and we swore to see this through 'til the end. 'Til the day this is all over, Sauron is no more and Middle Earth is back at peace, we will not be going anywhere."

Frodo visibly relaxes at the man's words, releasing a breath of relief. He gives one last fleeting smile before turning to trail after the others. As they walk, not a single one turns back, all are silent, and all keep their eyes forward, some cast downward. The pair of comrades stand in wait, neither uttering a word of their own until the fellowship are both out of earshot and out of sight. Within an hour, it's just the two of them and not another sound other than the birds and rustling foliage. All else is quiet, the calm before the storm, they feel.

"Half a day," Legolas sighs, letting his shoulders sag for the first time since they were aware of the enemy's presence.

"Half a day," Aragorn repeats with an exhale of his own. "We will give them a full day. If that passes with no sign, we can assume they lost our trail."

"They haven't," the elf assures instantly. "They're still as close as they have been, closer." His mouth tightened and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "There is still a great deal of distance between us, but they are quickening their step. I fear it will be less time than we expected before they are upon us."

---

Aragorn wishes, with everything he could muster, that his comrade was wrong. He wanted nothing more than for the first time, for Legolas to have been wrong. As the footsteps travel through the earth and up his legs, he repeats to himself, like a mantra, 'Keep them off the others' trail as long as possible.'

As their cries of battle, anger and bloodlust reach them, Legolas draws his bow. The piece of wood is grasped tightly in his hand as his thumb slides gently along its grain. "We must run. Now!" he commands, giving his human companion no say in the matter. Without hesitation, the ranger follows the other's lead, staying close behind as the blond runs for the forest. Quickly, they disappear within the trees' protection.

"Not too fast," Legolas calls back. "We must make sure we don't outrun them, we have to keep them interested in us, and must not give them reason to look for us elsewhere."

"They're gaining," Aragorn warns with a quick check back. That's an understatement. At this point, it will take no more than ten minutes for them to catch up. Perhaps less than that. Luckily, for both of them, traversing through thick forest is not new to them. For orcs, however, it would prove to be a challenge. As long as they kedpt to the forest, and never let the orcs get in striking distance, they have the upper hand. It's now a matter of making sure they stay following them and never veer from that path.

Aragorn believes, until the blond before him halted in his tracks. The ranger nearly runs into him as he barely stops in time. "What's wrong, mellon nin?" he whispers, eyes darting to either side.

"There is another group...three," Legolas replies. "They've split up, they are approaching from multiple sides." His breaths increase ever so slightly. "The others, they are near. I'm sorry, Aragorn, I should have heard them sooner, I was careless and-"

The man claps a heavy hand on the elf's shoulder and shakes his head. "No, do not speak as such, neither of us expected them to come from other angles." He checks around them once more before adding, "Keep moving."

That's all Legolas needs to heed the man's words. With the news fresh in their minds, the fairer of the two increases their speed. Their time is cut in half if they were being generous. The idea of getting out of this without blood being shed in one way or another is becoming less and less likely. Aragorn's worst fears are only confirmed when an arrow, blackened as an orc's blood, pierces a tree no more than a foot from his nose. He halts, in shock, and turns in the direction from which it flew.

Just as quickly as one arrow was fired from the enemy's side, another is shot in their direction. Before Aragorn knows what's happening, an agonized, inhuman cry sounds out. "I don't believe running is any longer an option," Legolas says lowly, letting another arrow fly from his fingertips. Just as the first, this one finds its mark with ease.

Aragorn wastes no time in following the other's example and pulls out his own bow. Barely a second passes before an arrow is notched and released. Just as Legolas', his, too, finds sanctuary in an orc. It isn't long before he loses count, unaware of how many arrows had been lost until he reaches into an empty quiver. From the look of things, Legolas ran out just before him as he already has his twin blades drawn, one clutched in each fist. The sun flickers off the edge of one, signalling the brunet of his friend's movement. There is no chance for speaking, zero opportunity for planning or discussions.

There is no longer a choice; they must fight, kill as many as they can and make an opening for them to run. He draws his sword and falls instantly next to the other, prepared to fight for as long as need.

"I hope you're ready," Legolas mutters with a sparing glance. "And let us pray it not be our last stand," he adds, quieter.

"Until the ring is destroyed," is all the ranger replies with.

The blond offers nothing more than a half smile, one that is gone in the blink of an eye before he charges, knives at the ready and they cleanly slice through the nearest abomination's throat. The orc goes down, darkened blood spewing, droplets sprinkling the immortal's tunic. One after another, they fall at the edge of his weapons. The same is mimicked on the mortal's side and the bodies start to pile up. Though, despite the numbers dropping at their feet, their army never seems to thin. Slowly, the two of them are starting to be pushed back.

Aragorn jolts when his back presses against a trunk; the bark scratches the back of his neck. A moment later, he draws his head back, reeling away from the hot and putrid breath that blows over his face. If it isn't for the threat before him, he would be gagging at the odor. If that isn't enough to push him over the edge, then the downpour of black goo spraying over him is damn near close.

"I owe you," he breathes out as Legolas yanks a tinted blade from the beast's neck. He just got himself off the tree when his heart stops and drops like lead all the way down to the pit of his stomach. There isn't time to react, he can only watch in morbid horror as a rusted blade is falling fast. In a split second, it is digging into the elf's side, forcing him to drop to his knees at the same time.

The name tingles on the tip of Aragorn's tongue, but not a sound can pass over. It gets caught in his dried throat and scratches against its sides. It doesn't matter, the word doesn't have time to be called out before more tainted metal points directly at the blond's throat.

"Don't move," comes one of the gravel-filled voices. It's low, like a growl, consumed by frustration and a hint of satisfaction. "Take a step, and we'll bleed 'em dry."

Aragorn holds his breath, afraid that the slightest of exhales would set them off and throw them into a frenzy. He makes eye contact with Legolas, never looks away, never blinks. He just stares, hoping the other can see each unsaid message swirling around in his head. 'Do as they say,' he wants to say, to plead. Slowly, the ranger flicks his attention to what he assumes is their leader, who nods with his head, gesturing for Aragorn to lower his weapons. Begrudgingly, and with grit teeth, the man does as he's instructed. As his sword is laid upon the ground, he can feel a sense of dread start to seep into his veins.

"We don't wish for any toubl-," he tries to reason, but his statement is cut short when a thin trail of blood ran down Legolas' neck. A small nick rests just under one of the blades. His breath shudders out and he raises both hands with his head slightly bowed.

"On your knees!" the orc spits, and Aragorn winces as a few drops of rancid spittle sprinkle his features. Yellowed teeth beam at him and the blade in his hand presses deeper into the fair flesh. "Where is it?" he asks, smile vanishing and replaced with a piercing and demanding gaze. His eyes are right on the man.

"Aragorn, don't tel-"

Legolas let out a hiss, clawed fingers grip his hair and yank his head back. "Shut it!" one of the others demand. "Where is it, where is the ring?!" he yells, finally taking the blade away from the elf's neck. The relief is short-lived when it's instead thrusted directly into Legolas' right shoulder. There is no holding back his cry of agony as the hook finds its mark and buries itself deep.

"I don't know!" Aragorn blurts out without hesitation. "I don't know what that is, what ring?" he asks, breaths coming out fast and hefty. "We know nothing," he adds, lower, almost as a whisper as his dark stare hovers on the fresh wound. His gaze is wide, fearful.

To his surprise, the orc laughs, a humorless and sickening noise. If it can even be called laughing, it's more like the scraping of tetanus-coated metals against one another.

"We'll see about that. Tie 'em up!"

The ranger feels more than one grimy pair of hands grasp at his arms and shoulders and force him to fall to his knees in the same fashion as Legolas. He says nothing, does nothing to fight back. And, he refuses to do anything as long as the other's life is threatened. The best he can do now is comply and hope to play this out. As long as they don't say anything, they'll be needed. But, at the same time, he knows that if the orcs believe they really know nothing, then there will be no use for them any longer.

A rough material tightens around his wrists before he's pulled, with force, to lean against a tree. Just as tightly, more rope is bound snugly around him. It digs into his arms already. He can feel it cutting off circulation. The fact that they aren't doing the same to Legolas sends a chill down his spine. He's still in the same position he's been in. Down, blades pointed at his neck and his deep breaths are plain to see through his tunic. Other than that minor detail, one only Aragorn notices, the fair being appears to be composed. But, on the inside, it's clear he's panicking. His mind is racing, Aragorn knows.

The leader orc rounds to stand between the two comrades, completely obscuring the brunet's view. Slowly, the rotten being crouches to make eye contact. "I'm going to get answers. I know you know where the hobbit is. You were with them, I saw you. You give me the answers I want, or we get screams." There it is again, that foul and gag-inducing scent of the beast's breath as he shows his teeth.

He steps aside, and with a snap of his fingers, one of the others wraps their fingers around the weapon still plunged in Legolas' shoulder. And, without delay, he rips it away, eliciting another cry from the immortal. Cheers follow suit, full of jovial entertainment. Aragorn can't restrain from wincing at the sound and closing his eyes. Thankfully, the sound ends, sounding as though it's forcibly stopped. Slowly, Aragorn cracks his eyes back open, attention already on his friend. It's odd, the sight of the slight sheen on the fair features. It's from the pain, he's sure. Still, it's so out of place.

Legolas meets his gaze, and slowly, subtly, he shakes his head.

Albeit against his better judgement, Aragorn replies with a nod. Right, no matter what, he mustn't utter a single word. This is for the betterment of the fellowship and the future of Middle Earth. This is for the greater good. If they must suffer, or even die, then it will have been worth it if it means the others can get away and they can carry on with the task. As long as the ring reaches Mordor and is destroyed, the sacrifices matter not. They will endure, and they will give the enemy nothing.

"Have it yer way," the leader replies. It's not until now, and when Aragorn finally looks up, that he realizes just how large this one is. Despite the position he's in, he knows were he standing, the creature would still have a few inches on him. "Give me my whip!"

If possible, the elf pales marginally at the command, and his eyes widen a small amount, barely enough to be noticeable. His bright eyes dart to the corner and watch as another orc steps forward, said weapon in hands as he offers it over. He can pay attention to nothing else other than the barbs that adorn the length of the leather strips. They are twisted crudely, patches of rust all over them. There is no doubt in his mind this is going to be far worse than a normal whip. Legolas grits his teeth and sets his jaw tight. He won't do it, he won't give any of them the screams they desire. Not as long as he can help it.

The large orc unravels as the tip falls to the ground, a puff of dust erupts from the impact. Slowly, drawing out the anticipation, he steps closer to the elf, very aware that every movement is being watched. He drags the whip behind him and allows it to leave a trail in his wake.

Now that it's closer, Legolas can see the remnants of dried blood along it. From the looks of it, it's been frequently used. He swallows thickly, the saliva struggles to get past the lump forming in the base of his throat. Swiftly, a small and near begging glance is cast in Aragorn's direction. But, he knows, neither of them can do a thing, they must let this play out. They said they would buy the others time, and if this is what it meant…

They were aware of the risks before they decided upon this.

"No!" Aragorn yells out, causing everyone to freeze in place.

"What was that?" the orc growls, looking over his shoulder. His face is still a mask of amusement. "You wish to take his place then?" he questions. It makes the man's skin crawl. Somehow, the words are mocking, condescending. He turns and points the whip towards the man, as if it's tempting to strike him now.

Without allowing the creature to get an inch closer, Legolas quickly gets his attention back. "That would be unwise," he calls out, voice thin.

"And why is that?"

The elf takes a deep breath and looks to the other. "He's human...humans are fragile beings. Get too rough...and he dies. If he dies, no one gets anything, do they?" He raises his eyebrows and gives the enemy time to consider his words. Orcs weren't known for being the brightest of things, but surely this is enough for them to comprehend. He releases a soft sigh when the orc slowly turns back around.

The blond doesn't miss the sharp look given by his companion. Obviously the man is annoyed, perhaps even betrayed, but he doesn't care. It's better this way. He's an elf, he can endure more, he will heal quicker. Aragorn, on the other hand, it is as he said, humans are fragile. And, as rough as these kind can be, there is more of a chance than he cares to admit that their methods could end him.

He hopes the small nod will be enough to convey these thoughts to the ranger. He believes it must have with the way Aragorn merely shakes his head and offers a weak and understanding smile. Still doesn't seem at all too pleased about it.

"Where is the ring?" the orc asks, turning to ask the human the question. It's clear that Legolas is nothing more than a tool to him right now. Nothing but leverage.

"I do not know."

Clawed fingers raise and snap in a split second. As if on queue, practiced, the one wielding the elf's hair shoves forward, forcing him onto his hands. Without hesitation, the main one pulls the whip back. The next sounds Aragorn hears is the 'snap' and the echoing cry. The pattern repeats itself. The amount of times this happens is lost to both of them, everything is lost in the elf's agonized screams.

'Stop,' the ranger pleads to himself, internally. It takes everything he has not to demand the end of this, or to beg to take Legolas' place. It takes all of his mental strength to stay silent. It pains him to hear such sounds coming from such a fair being, but there's nothing he can do for him right now. He's strong though, Legolas is tough, he can make it through this. He's made it through worse, this is nothing. Aragorn keeps reminding himself of the other's strength, it's the only thing keeping him from going into a rage-fueled spree right now. That and the ropes, but he's sure if it came down to it, he'd manage to get himself broken free if he had to go to the other's aid.

Soon, to the relief of them both, the 'cracks' cease and the cries die down into a soft whimpering. It takes more willpower than Aragorn cares to admit to drag his attention to the scene before him.

He has to clench his teeth to keep himself from cursing every last one of them. Just from the sight, a thin film of moisture forms over his gaze.

"Legolas…"

Said man doesn't reply. From the looks of things, it's taking everything he has not to collapse where he is. Even from the angle he's at, Aragorn sees the crimson dripping to the ground beneath. The immortal holds himself on trembling arms, and every breath is raked in and uneven. After a few somewhat deep and careful breaths, Legolas looks to the future king. There's a look in his eyes, something Aragorn can't quite place. Something akin to surprising clarity. After all that, he is still thinking straight.

"I'm a-alright, Aragorn," he mutters. It's low, possibly so the orcs can't hear him speak. He gives a small nod and forces a partial smile. All is going to be alright, he is determined to make sure of that. "Ceri- ú- ped- a peth. Ped- ú- -o Frodo ben i echor (Do not say a word. Speak not of Frodo or the ring)."

"Dorth- polodren, mellon nin. Ceri- ú- dab- hain na haru cín mán. (Stay strong, my friend. Do not allow them to wound your spirit)."

Legolas nods, for once a genuine expression on his face. An expression that is instantly swatted away as a hand slaps, hard, across his cheek. "Stop that vile speech before I tear your tongue out," the orc spits. His fingers slowly curl into a fist and shakes. He struggles not to strike his captive again. "Utter another sound that's not a scream and I'll make well on that promise, got it?" He leans down just as Legolas cuts his eyes away. He refuses to look his tormentor in the face.

"I asked, 'got it?'" The creature unfurls his fingers to grab the elf by the chin and jerks his head to face him. "You answer me when I speak to you." His point is accentuated with sharp and jagged nails digging into either side of his jaw.

"Understood," the blond finally grinds out under his breath. His brow furrows and he's now staring the other straight in the eyes. Challenging. Before the orc can release him, he jerks his head away and forces the claws from his skin. It stings, and he can feel droplets welling up, but he ignores it. Legolas does not let his discomfort or disgust obvious. Despite this, despite his cool facade, his head is spinning and the effects of blood loss are starting to make themselves known. He glances down at his thigh, distraught to see fresh blood still steadily streaming from the wound. It's not a lot, but it's concerning nonetheless.

He's lightheaded, and the first bit of nausea is starting to surface. Something else he's sure is from the lack of the precious liquid. They need to get out of this. As formidable as his race is, there are still limits to just how much they can take. Given all the energy they spent over the last few days fleeing from this group, he wasn't exactly in top condition before they got their hands on him.

Still, he takes a shaky breath and shoves all his concerns for his well-being down. He'd never thought about it before, but now that he's in this situation, he can't help but think how unfortunate it would be for it all to end in a place like this, in the hands of things like them.

"Feel like talking yet?"

Legolas' thoughts are torn from him as the orc speaks again, to Aragorn this time.

"Still want to be stubborn? Shall we try something else then? How much does this vermin mean to you?" he asks, stepping to the side to point at the immortal being. "Or, do you really not care if he dies, if we kill him. You know, we have gone a while without a fresh meal," he says, low and grunting. At those words, the rest of the horde pipe up in desire. Some take a step forward, as if preparing to tear the elf limb from limb at a moment's notice.

Lucky for Legolas though, the leader holds up a hand to stop them. "Not yet," he warns through rotting teeth. "No one touches either of them without my permission. And no one gets that until I get what I want."

Instantly, the rest back off, exchanging fearful looks with one another, A few whines sound out, but nothing more. It's clear who's in charge if it wasn't before this.

"You interfere with me, you interfere with Saruman," he calls out, loud enough for all to hear perfectly clear. "No one touches the elf but me unless I command you to do so!"

The two comrades share a look. Neither are sure whether or not they should be relieved by this statement or not. From the sound of it, he wants to drag this out as long as possible, wear them down until they have no other choice but to relay what that know regardless of their will to do so.

The leader turns back to Legolas with a sadistic twinkle in his eye. "Ya hear that? I'm not through just yet. Either you two give me what I want, or I'll keep on until ya can no longer speak. It's your choice which it is."

Gradually, the fair being lifts his head to gaze up at his tormentor. His eyebrows are knit in determination, and his lips pressed firmly together. "We've already told you...we know nothing." The last word is spat as he give the hands holding him a surprisingly strong tug. The force is enough to cause them to stumble. None of them seem to have expected the elf to still contain such strength. There is no mistaking the slight smirk of satisfaction at the sight of their surprised expression. He leaves it at that, knowing full well that minor act of rebellion is already going to piss them off more than they currently are.

As expected, in a split moment, a tainted blade presses firmly against his throat.

"Try that again, and it will be off with your head. Understood?"

"Perfectly," Legolas whispered. The smallest of vibrations causes the edge to become more acquainted with his flesh. He winces at the sting and tries to stay as still as possible.

The orc nods and slowly pulls the weapon away. "Good. Next time, there will be no warning, and there will be no stopping the rest of them from doing with you as they wish. They are just itching for a taste, and my patience is running out." There are those disgusting fangs again. "Now, where were we?" he asks, turning his back to Legolas.

Aragorn forces himself to meet that dark gaze.

"Answer me, where is the hobbit and the ring!" he shouts. His breaths are getting faster, fingers clench the handle of the whip tighter before he strikes it against the ground. The man doesn't miss the flinch it elicits from the elf. A quick look at him, and it's clear just how much paler he is, and there is a small glaze veiling his bright stare.

They need to get themselves out of this. And soon.

"I've already told you, we don't know what you're talking about. We are alone, we came here with no one." He hates how desperate his replies are becoming. They've lost so much of the initial indifference. He's afraid too much of his emotion is shining through now. "If I knew something, I would have told you by now. I do not wish to see one of my own comrades suffer so. If there was anything I could say to make it end, don't you believe I would have?" His own exhales are heavy now, and it's almost like no air is reaching his lungs. His chest aches and he can hear his own heart throbbing deep in his ears.

"Please…" Aragorn breathes out and lets his head drop, "we know nothing, you are merely wasting your time on your ignorance."

In less than the blink of an eye, he hears Legolas' agonized wail once more, preceding something that sounded an awful lot like a dull 'snap'. On queue, his attention jerks up and his eyes land right on where he assumes the sound to have come from. His breath catches painfully in his chest, and his jaw tightens until his teeth feel as though they're on the verge of chipping from the force. He can't be sure if he's seeing through the haze clear enough to be sure if the arm he's looking at is at a possible angle or not.

"Stop…"

There is a chorus of laughter, or a sound that can only be described as jovial. They still have a secure hold on the blond, despite the fact that now it looks as though he can't escape no matter how strong the want may be.

Legolas' face is hanging downward. If it wasn't for the shudders and stuttering breaths, Aragorn would assume him to be freed of his consciousness. Though, he isn't sure if him still being awake is a blessing or a curse. But this time, he isn't attempting to look back to his friend. That, or he purely lacks the energy to do so anymore. And then there is the third option, the one that seems the most likely given the being's pride. Aragorn knows, he doesn't want the mortal to see him in such a humiliating position: broken, beaten, unable to fight back. The ranger can't say he's ever seen a member of such an enchanting race knocked down so low.

"Im'm t-tríw. (I'm fine)."

It's faint, but Aragorn is sure he heard it. No one else reacts to the whisper. He isn't sure of no one else heard it, or it they simply ignore it. Now that he thinks about it, he's not quite sure if it was spoken to him at all.

"E-Ech- ha dár. B-Bui i elena, ech- ha m-meth. (Make it stop. By the stars, make it end)." Now Aragorn is convinced the words aren't directed to him. "Dár. Im'm tríw. Im tur- e-ech- ha trí hi. I-Im tur- guin- t-trí i naeg an en c-coe. (Stop. I'm fine. I can make it through this. I can live through the pain for Middle Earth)."

Aragorn swallows thickly at the tone the elf carries. He's rambling to himself, trying to convince himself and talk himself through all this. After that last uttering, the elf's words trail off, becoming no more than a breath over his lips.

"Legolas?" the ranger calls out, no longer caring how much desperation seeps into his voice. "Legolas!" He needs to get to his friend's side, but the rope digs into his arms, refusing to allow him to move even an inch. Teeth grit together, he beckons once more.

To his relief, a twitch enters the other's fingers followed by a few dry coughs. Finally, the human is graced with those blue arbs again. However, the glassiness and unfocused appearance to them only grip at his core. He may still be aware of his surroundings, but that is slipping away as swiftly as his blood. There is no more he can take, for either of them. He's determined to get Legolas out of here. He looks to the blond for a few moments and a new fear clouds his mind as he takes in each mark and injury. Particularly the one in his thigh.

He likely isn't able to walk on that, let alone run.

Maybe they wouldn't have to run...if he plays his cards right, but he will have to be careful about his wording and his actions. He takes a deep breath, already regretting what he's about to say, pondering if he's about to make a huge mistake. But, one more look at Legolas, and his mind is made up. He can't take much more, they have every intention of killing the both of them regardless of if they get answers or not.

Nothing to lose.

"Very well," Aragorn sighs. It's silent, but it draws in every orc's attention. "I'll show you where the hobbit and the ring are."

"Aragorn," the elf lowly warns, a moment of awareness washes over him. His focus shifts from him to the orcs. "He lies! He knows nothing, neither of us know-" Again, a solid strike whips his head to the side and cuts his plea short.

The human tries his best to ignore it and keeps his stare on the leader. "Untie me, and bring no more harm to the elf, and I will show you the way," he bargains. A few seconds pass with no replies. The king-to-be holds his breath, his heart at a standstill. 'Please,' he thinks to himself. He has no plan beyond this should they agree, but it's the best he can think of. His mind is too preoccupied, too tunneled in on his companion's condition and well-being for his thoughts to function properly.

"You have 'til nightfall," the orc announces. There is a hint of mischief in his tone.

Aragorn shudders as a chill runs through him, and he's sure his face blanches at the time limit. That's only a few hours...there's no way they can get out of this in such a short amount of time. But, he has to try. He looks back to the blond, and it's settled.

"He can't walk on his own," he assumes, looking to the orcs expectantly.

"Then you will carry him."

The human has no complaints there. In fact, that's the preferred way he wants to do this. The moment his bonds are stripped away, he staggers to his feet. It takes him only a few seconds to regain his balance and for full feeling to return to his limbs. Slowly, so as not to startle the horde, he strolls closer to Legolas' side and crouches next to the trembling being.

"Are you alright? Can you stand?" he asks, voice hushed.

The elf carefully nods. He lifts his gaze to meet the other's eyes, his own are brimming with sheltered appreciation. Finally, the hands, the only things still holding the immortal up, draw away. If it weren't for the human, Legolas is sure he would have collapsed right on the ground. Luckily, a new pair of hands, more gentle ones, are there in an instant to catch him.

The ranger wants nothing more than to take his time and give Legolas as long as he needed to compose himself. Unfortunately, that is a luxury they simply don't have. So, with his help, and it's still a tedious process, the fairer man is helped to his feet. The majority of his weight is leaned against Aragorn, who has never been more thankful for the elves' lightweight nature.

"Can you walk?"

The hesitation is all the answer he needs. "Alright," Aragorn sighs, "you're not going to like this, but please, try to bear with me." During the process of hefting the blond into his arms, mindful of the injuries, Aragorn mutters constant, quiet words of encouragement. All in the elf's native tongue, hoping it will help soothe the man, even if only marginally. It seems to be effective enough as Legolas relaxes a bit more against him and allows the man to take completely over. His eyes are closed, but it's obvious he's still awake. Looking more closely for the first time since getting into this mess, Aragorn now sees just how exhausted the other appears. Lines of discomfort decorate his features, all of which are stiff.

"Aragorn." It's strained, but said man has no trouble making out the words. "You mustn't...tell them a-anything."

The ranger offers a weak smile. "Worry not, friend. They won't get their hands on the ring, nor Frodo and the others." It's a promise. "I'm going to get us away from them, but I just need a bit of time." His grip unconsciously tightens around the elf, and he inwardly cringes at the warm sensation of blood soaking into his attire. Legolas takes a deep breath and holds it, presumably in an attempt to keep the full extent of his suffering to himself. Sometimes the pride of the elves is something more of a frustration than an admiration.

Legolas only nods and allows his eyes to slide back shut. He's exhausted, doesn't even have the energy to reply or give any sort of input. His breaths are still coming out in labored pants, each one like a struggle to get past his lips. Aragorn is literally shoved from his thoughts as a hand pushes into his back, forcing him to stumble forward to keep from toppling over.

"Get moving," he growls. There is a foot between the two of them, but Aragorn still stifles a gag at the scent of its putrid breath.

It's a struggle to keep his gripes and remarks to himself as he staggers along. Almost protectively, the brunet hunches slightly over the frail-appearing man, as if to shield him from more potential harm. There is no longer a doubt in his mind, one way or another, he's going to get them out of here and to Lothlorien.

"They went this way," Aragorn announces as he slowly begins his trek into the thick of the forest. This is a risky move, he's painfully aware, all it will take is one wrong step, one slip, just one hair out of place. He keeps his pace slow, slow enough to buy him more time. Thankfully the rest of the fellowship is long gone by now. Even if he were to truly lead the horde to them, it would take longer than nightfall to reach them. As badly as he wants to book it, he restrains himself. He has to keep his walk steady, keep the horde at the same speed.

He's not sure how long they had been walking for. It's hard to say, and with the canopy shielding most of the rays from them, it's even more troubling. Though, if the hue is anything to go by, then it is safe to say that it's already nearing the end of the day. His mouth is suddenly dry, the grumbles and growls behind him are growing more impatient, and it's only a matter of time before they decide they've had enough of playing these games.

"How much farther?" one whines from the back.

"They should be just up ahead," Aragorn informs. He desperately needs them to hang on just a little longer. It shouldn't be much farther, maybe a mile at the most. If he remembers the layout like he thinks he does, it's near. All it takes is a few more minutes and his ears pick up on the sweet, sweet sound...flowing water.

He keeps this to himself and acts as though nothing is out of the ordinary. He slightly veers, keeping his movements steady and as natural as he can until he's near the source of the river. He glances downward, instantly catching sight of the subtle sparkle of the rushing waters beneath. It's still a ways down, but perhaps it's better this way, easier for them to get away without being followed. His only concern now is Legolas and the fact that his consciousness is still slowly escaping him. Dark eyes scan the flow of the water, watching it wash away and his heart mimics the crashing of it against the banks. Farther down, there didn't appear to be a way for the orcs to follow without getting snatched away as well. But, that also entails that they are at risk of being stuck in it for a time.

'Better than dying at their hands.'

He stops thinking about it, shoves all doubts and concerns down. He knows the longer he thinks about it, the longer it will be delayed and the more danger they will be in. It's now or never.

"Díhen- nin, Legolas. (Forgive me, Legolas)."

Aragorn pulls the elf firmly against him and presses the blond head into his shoulder in a futile attempt to guard his face from what's about to come. Closing his eyes tight, Aragorn jumps. He's in the air for a lifetime before the chill of the roaring currents envelops him. He can still hear the cries of the orcs, obviously distraught at having lost their meal or their captors.

The waters are rougher than the human had initially anticipated. He struggles to get his head above the surface. The fact that he's having this hard of a time just makes it more clear that Legolas is in an even worse situation than himself. He uses this as fuel, as motivation to push himself to the top and shove both of their faces above the veil of moisture. He gulps in a deep breath, and is unaware if the elf does the same or not. He can't hear anything over the rushing cascades.

It's not long before the cries of their pursuers are lost to him, a dying buzz in the back of his head. He can only assume he's lost them for the time being. Now is the harder part...finding a spot where he could climb out. This is only made more difficult as his head is constantly shoved back down into oblivion over and over. By now, the blond is limp in his hold and he can only guess that the immortal is out cold. He can only hope he isn't inhaling any of the water.

He almost misses it, an opportunity.

Aragorn removes one arm from Legolas' form, grabbing more firmly with the other, and reaches out for a root protruding into the river. The moment his hand wraps around it, the water pulls at him, causing the bark to dig painfully in his palm. But, he ignores it, this may be his only chance to get them out of here before the currents batter them to death.

The ranger grits his teeth and tugs at his lifeline. Silently, he prays to himself that the root doesn't snap or rip from place. He pulls himself closer, and the moment he's close enough, he tries his best to swing the elf around. With everything he has, he shoves until he feels the other's weight leave him and land on the shore.

The hard part is over, and without the worry of losing his grasp, he can now pull his own way onto solid ground. He crawls a few feet until he's next to the blond and momentarily collapses on the spot. He can't stay for long though. As much as he wishes to take his time and catch his breath, he cannot risk the horde following their trail. He's unsure how far they drifted, but they can't be far behind.

He takes a deep breath and pushes himself up to his knees. His whole body is screaming out him to lie back down. Every movement is like a jolt of aches through every muscle. He drags his way over to Legolas and gently places a hand on the man's chest. A soft sigh passes over partly separated lips at the slight rise and fall of his chest. He's still alive. But, the breaths are slow. At least they're even; that's probably the best he can ask for.

"Sorrui, mín tur-'t post hi. (Sorry, we cannot rest now)," Aragorn mutters. Once more, he slips his arms under the limp form and carefully hefts the light figure up.

Despite his prone posture and lack of awareness, the blond whimpers softly at the sudden movement. As Aragorn adjusts and comfortably gets the elf in his arms, he utters small apologies in elvish. By the time he's standing upright, the immortal is stirring, mumbling incoherently. The human pauses as two bright orbs reveal themselves to him.

"Legolas, can you hear me?" he asks, using one of his hands to pat gently on the blond's upper arm. Slowly, he nods up at his friend. The movement is sluggish and forced, but it's more than the human can ask for. "Don't worry, we're in the clear for the time being, but we have to keep moving, alright?" Again, the immortal nods. "It may get more than a little uncomfortable. Once we are back to safety, you will be allowed to rest as you need."

Legolas' gaze slips back away and a phrase is breathed out.

"Thank you, Estel."

"There is no need for thanks, my friend." It's clear the elf doesn't lose consciousness again; he's fully awake and aware now. A little out of it, obviously, from blood loss and exhaustion, but he's back in the living world. "It will be about a day's travel, less if I make haste."

---

Hours have passed, the sun long since descended below the horizon. Aragorn's breaths are coming out in pants and a thin veil of perspiration is coating his forehead. He's tired, his entire body is begging for a break, and his arms are starting to tremble from the strain of carrying another over such a long distance. Legolas is heavy by no means, but even that is beginning to wear on the man. He's pushing himself, but he doesn't allow himself to give in to his body's pleas. He can't, not now. Not when he has no idea how far behind the horde is.

"Rest, Estel," comes the blond's soft tone.

Aragorn doesn't reply, he continues to push forward.

"Aragorn…" Legolas says in a much more authoritative tone. "You're...exhausting yourself. You need t-to stop." Again, the man says nothing, doesn't look down, doesn't acknowledge anything is said. Grinding his teeth together, the immortal struggles against the other's hold, enough so to get the ranger's attention.

"Stay still, you'll only aggravate your wounds," he warns in a warm tone.

"I'll stop when you do."

Aragorn rolls his eyes. "Like a stubborn child," he mutters. Seeing as the elf is staying true to his words, the human at last slows down. "We can't stop now, we have to get to Lothlorien. The enemy is still on our trail, as I'm sure even in your current state, you can sense it."

"Aye," the elf agrees. "I can...but, they are far… We can spare a m-moment." He swallows thickly, trying to quell his nausea. "If you collapse...then what?" he asks, meeting the other man's eyes. He has him with that one, and Aragorn knows he can't argue with it. Still, he stands for a moment more to consider his options. It doesn't take long for him to make up his mind, and slowly, he begins to lower Legolas down, earning a few hisses and grunts from the distraught elf in the process.

"How are you holding up?" Aragorn asks, already crouching to look the other over before he has the chance to reply.

"I'll live."

The ranger has no doubt about that, but the fresh blood on both the immortal's thigh and shoulder aren't making him feel any better about his condition. It should have stopped bleeding by now, or at least started healing. But no, they both still appear as fresh as when they first were inflicted.

Cursing under his breath, Aragon slips his herb pouch off and drops it to the ground. He also needs to take a look at the arm, but he must check for poison first. That is his new priority. He curses himself for not considering the possibility earlier. These were orcs they were talking about, they were known for their foul poisons and salves. That could be why the elf isn't healing, and it makes too much sense, and his hands are shaking as he digs through the bag's contents. "Legolas, I need you to be completely honest with me when I ask this. How are you feeling?"

He looks to the pale features, his eyes demanding truth and warning against any holding of information. Surprisingly, the blond considers this carefully, long enough for the human to notice the slight red tint to his cheeks and the subtle bleariness in his eyes. There is something definitely out of place.

As if knowing it is as obvious as it is, Legolas sighs in defeat. "Hot," he replies. The single word leaves a foul taste in his mouth. Saying this is admitting a weakness as far as he's concerned.

"I imagine so," Aragorn responds lightly and presses the back of his hand against the elf's forehead. There is no doubt some degree of a fever, and with the fact that elves don't succumb to illness, there's no arguing the use of poison. The man shakes his head and carefully peels away the piece of legging covering the thigh wound. Legolas holds his breath as the material tugs lightly on the edges of the gash. The man has to stifle a cringe of his own at the reddened flesh surrounding the jagged cut. There is telltale blackened tendrils indicating the threatening components.

He should have something to at least slow the progression until they make it to Lothlorien. There, the healers can take over. He pulls out a bunch of leaves and hands them over. "Chew on these, it'll help ease the pain." He's going to need it.

The elf instantly does as he's told, very aware that the next few minutes aren't going to be enjoyable in the slightest. After just a few chews, he can feel his muscles relaxing slightly. And though the full extent of the burning and stinging doesn't subside, it does take the edge off. Every prod and poke from Aragorn causes the elf to flinch. As the man works on cleaning the wound to the best of his ability, Legolas tries to focus on his breathing and less on the pain. He's not very successful, especially when the ranger applies the salve he mocked up. It's cooling, yes, but that doesn't make up for the sharp stinging it brings forth.

"Sorry," Aragorn mumbles as a reflex.

The immortal says nothing. It's taking all of his concentration not to pass out again. What lasts for minutes drags on for hours in his muddled mind until, at last, the man finishes up and binds the wound securely. He can't relish in the relief for long knowing there is still his shoulder and arm to look at, and possibly his back as well. Hopefully, he prays, those won't be as bad. But, that hope is instantly stripped away the moment fingers trace his shoulder.

If anything, this one is more sensitive to his rough handling. He grits his teeth and sucks in air sharply through them.

"I'm going as fast as I can," the brunet assures.

"I-I know."

This wound is cleaned and covered slightly sooner than the first, but that isn't saying much as far as Legolas is concerned. By the time it's done, he's out of breath, faint and wishing with all he has that this would just be over with already. It takes him a few moments, he's unsure of the exact time, for him to realize words are being spoken to him. It's warped, but he knows exactly who it is.

"-egolas?"

"Hmm?" the immortal manages to slur out and crack an eye open.

Aragorn nods to the arm he has cradled to his chest. Hesitantly, Legolas eases it over for the man to take. It's weird, but somehow the broken limb doesn't seem to bother him nearly as much as the other two injuries did. He watches through a blur as the ranger looks the appendage over, and he can only assume he's making sure it's lined up as it should be. He spends little time on splinting it up. It's the best he can do in the middle of the forest, but it will hold until Legolas can receive better treatment.

"I'm almost done. I just want to take a look at your back to make sure those are healing properly," he explains, hands held at the ready should his assistance be required. Stubbornly, and he's positive this is solely thanks to the pride of the elves, Legolas leans forward and turns to the side on his own, exposing his back completely. The back of his tunic is torn to shreds, showing glimpses of the damage that lies beneath. As he expected, none of the lacerations appear to be laced with toxins, and all seem to be starting to heal. None are bleeding. Satisfied as he can be, he decides to leave them be, no reason to treat them now.

Regardless of the lack of request, Aragorn still helps the blond to lean back against the trunk of the tree and offers him a drink of his water before taking a generous sip himself.

"In a few minutes, we should be moving again."

"Is that enough time for you...to catch your breath?"

Aragorn gives him a hard look. "I'm alright, better off than you, I might add." Legolas doesn't miss the man's eyes flicker to his thigh. "That poison isn't something to be laughed at. You're lucky for such resilient blood, or you'd be feeling it's effects a lot more by now. It's still a threat though, and until you get it dealt with by healers with the right medicines, it's only going to get worse. We mustn't waste time."

Just as promised, they linger for only a little while more, and despite the elf's best efforts, Aragorn is back on his feet. He's determined that he's fine to continue. Legolas has no choice but to believe the man, he's seen first hand just how much he can endure and for how long he can go on for without rest. That, and he is starting to become far too tired to argue with him anymore.

This time, when Aragorn goes to help the ailing elf up, Legolas holds up a hand, refusing.

"I can walk," he declares. Regardless, he still accepts a hand in getting to his feet. It takes a few seconds for him to gain some sort of purchase, but once he does, it's almost like nothing is wrong.

Almost.

He's still pale, eyes still hazy, and there is a subtle uneasiness about his entire frame. Small tremors run throughout his legs, but at first glance, it's not noticeable. Once he's sure he has his balance, he looks to the ranger and nods once. The gesture is returned, and the human, again, takes the lead. Which neither object to.

Contrary to his fears, the immortal is keeping up fairly well. There is the occasional stumble here and there and a more than obvious limp, but he's right behind. Though, with every trip or mishap, Aragorn has to force himself not to step in unless his help is requested. The farther they walk, the more Legolas' breaths come out in heavy exhales and the more uneven they become.

He can't take it anymore, he just can't keep walking while his friend is forcing himself to suffer in silence behind him like that. He stops, dead in his tracks, and turns to face the blond. "Please, just let me help you," he borderline pleads, holding out an offering hand.

"I'm well enough to walk," the elf bites out stubbornly.

"That pride will be the death of you," Aragorn replies, the words slipping out a bit harsher than he intends. "You're barely keeping up, I think it will be better for both of us if yo-"

"You mean we'll be faster if you carry me?" Legolas asks flatly. There is no sting to his tone, simply factual. And, the ranger isn't sure, but there seems to be a touch of shame lying underneath. "You've done enough, Estel, I'm perfectly capable of walking the rest of the way myself. I-I can feel it, the poison, that is. Let me carry myself for as long as I am able," he requests, and now Aragorn understood.

The man gestures for the other to continue forth then, and for some time, not a word is spoken between the two of them. They manage to go on for a few more hours, but the next time they come to a stop isn't of Aragorn's volition. He turns to look the other over, who's slightly hunched over, struggling to catch his own breath now. His legs are no visible shaking and there are a few beads of sweat rolling down either side of his face.

"I just...need a moment," he wheezes out, one pale hand pressed firmly against a tree. His fingers curl and, nails dig into the bark. "Just...a few-" His words are cut off as violent hacking takes over. He doubles over as his hand is torn away from the tree and instead wraps around his abdomen.

"Legolas," Aragorn gasps, on his knees and by the elf's side in less than a second. He wraps a supportive arm around him and inwardly winces at the heat wafting off the shuddering form.

The ranger doesn't ask for permission before scooping the blond up the moment the coughing subsides. And the immortal doesn't try to fight the man off. Night is already upon them, and though he prefers to settle down somewhere until the sun rises again, it isn't something he's willing to risk. They need to get back. He glances down at the figure in his hold as he picks up his pace. From the looks of it, that toxin is spreading faster than he first thought. Legolas shouldn't be this bad yet, he shouldn't be affected by it this much. The fact that he underestimated the potency of the poison grips at his core.

Legolas' face is drawn, scrunched in discomfort as small whimpers periodically slip out. "Rac hain (Curse them)," he whispers out. "To think, such foul creatures, capable of things so heinous." He pries open his eyes to offer the man a humorous smile.

There is nothing remotely humorous about this situation.

"We'll be in Lothlorien by morning," the ranger mutters, ignoring all attempts made by the elf to stay light-hearted. "You should have said something sooner if you weren't feeling up to continuing on your own," he adds, lecturing.

"I said I would...until I couldn't."

Aragorn says nothing. Sure, that's what the man had said, but… But he still isn't willing to accept it. "That you did, but I did not think you to mean it as you did. I expected a sort of warning, not you nearly collapsing. Though, I suppose with you, I should not have thought anything different."

Legolas chuckles lightly at that, stopping the second the sound causes a couple more light coughs. His hand moves to his chest where it stays, pressing firmly against it.

"Post easui, nin mellon. Mín n- ennas tul- erin (Rest easy, my friend. We will be there come morning)," Aragorn says quietly. As if on queue, the blond relaxes in the man's hold, and for the first time, it appears as though he is genuinely taking it easy of his own accord. Though, there is no question that the poison is giving him more than a little bit of motivation for doing so.

Aragorn doesn't know for certain how many miles or hours they have ahead of him, but he does know that at the speed he's currently at, they will be arriving earlier than anticipated. They soon arrive at the thick of the forest, where his footsteps are drowned out by the sounds of wildlife and his heart is finally left to be free from the worries of enemies. He isn't sure if it's true, or if it's just the aura of this forest, but he's thankful for it.

The blond stirs subtly in his arms, like the life around them is offering some of its energy straight to him. His eyes partially open and he seems to be vaguely aware of their surroundings.

"How are you feeling?" the ranger asks, step never faltering.

"As well...as can be expected," Legolas replies softly.

He takes a deep breath, or as deep a one as his body allows. At least it doesn't end in another coughing fit again, and that's the best either of them can ask for. He's obviously not any better than he is, but he doesn't appear to be getting worse. If anything his condition has plateaued.

"I believe that river took us closer than I thought," Aragorn thinks aloud as it becomes clear how near they are to the elven civilization.

No sooner have the words exited his mouth did he freeze on the spot, sensing as opposed to seeing that he's surrounded. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as the danger and threat are clear. He swallows hard and glances to his left where he now sees the glint of an arrowhead.

"We need help," Aragorn starts. He nods his head towards the blond, "This is Legolas, son of Thranduil, prince of Mirkwood. He's injured, poisoned by orcs. We are members of the Fellowship, they should have passed through here earlier." He pauses, waiting for them to process the new information and consider his words. Though, the moment he mentions Legolas' lineage, the atmosphere seems to shift.

At last, one steps forward, "Welcome to Lothlorien." He lowers his bow and gestures for the others to follow suit. Even with weapons lowered and the air lighter, there is still the ever present tension about them. Despite their words, the human still doesn't feel as though he is completely welcomed in this forest. If it weren't for his connection with Legolas and the Fellowship, he's certain he wouldn't have been able to get as far as he has.

The walk is a long one, but somehow it goes by quicker, more easily. Maybe it's the security he feels knowing they're finally in the clear, or maybe it's the fact that he knows Legolas will be fine now. He doesn't know which it is or if it's perhaps a third option, but all the worries and concerns finally flee his mind. His load feels lighter and his feet feel as though they hover over the ground with every step. So, this is what is meant by the enchantments of this place.

"It's just up ahead," the Lothlorien elf announces, coming to a pause as he waves for Aragorn to continue forth. "The rest of your comrades are here, waiting." Before the ranger can get too far, he holds out a hand. "You can hand him over to us now, and we will bring him to our healers."

"I'm going with you then."

"No, I'm sorry, but I cannot allow that," the seemingly glowing being declares. "There is no need for you to accompany him. All will be taken care of and well. You need to go to the rest of the Fellowship. I will send for you when we deem his condition well enough for such."

He doesn't like it, but the man nods firmly once.

Soon after the others take Legolas from his hold, who is reluctantly handed over, he is led a ways deeper into the forest. He sees them in the distance, the members all gathered together, sitting around, more than a few of them appearing distraught. Their heads are bowed, none of them spotting the man for a time until one of the little ones, Pippin, glances up and does a double take.

"Strider?" he gasps, beckoning the others to raise their attention as well. They all look around, looking for another that isn't there.

Before any of them has the chance to ask, Aragorn steps forward. "Do not fret, Legolas is alive. He's...with the healers," he chokes out, unable to keep the flashes of earlier events from entering his head. "He's alright and well though," he lies. The others relax marginally at the news, but it doesn't quite chase away the lines of distress from their foreheads.

It's now that Gimli notices the dark stains on the man's front and arms. He's practically coated in the crimson substance. The dwarf forces the unexpected lump in his throat down. "That doesn't look like orc blood," he mumbles and looks to the ranger's eyes for answers.

"I-It's not."

"Is it the elf's?"

Aragorn takes a shaky breath; that's answer enough for them all."They caught us," he explains as he took a seat nearby. "They demanded answers, but we told them nothing. We were lucky and managed to get away before they could take their interrogation methods further." His voice trails, thinning out and vanishing by the time he finishes filling the rest of the members in. "It's as I said though, he will be fine, he's with the healers, and elves heal fast. In no time, he'll be back to proper condition and we can be on our way."

They fall silent, how are they supposed to respond to that? Is it good news, bad, a bit of both? It's hard to say. On one hand, they are relieved that all are alive, but at the same time, they got where they are when they did at the cost and potential loss of one of their own.

For what feels like hours, they sit there, trying to keep up a conversation, but all of them end in awkward silence.

Once more, the stiff silence is broken when Boromir claps his hands together and gets to his feet. "It's getting rather late," he says in a forced positive tone and looks pointedly at the hobbits. "I'm sure we're all exhausted, and we can all do with some rest. We are safe here, and we are all in good hands, I say we take this opportunity to get a proper night's sleep." There are a few mumbles of agreement from the others and he waves his hand for all of them to get moving. They are slow to move, sluggish and a tad on the unwilling side, but one by one, the fellowship find themselves a few spots to settle down for the night.

All except for Aragorn, who does move, but farther away from the group. He instead finds himself a stump to sit upon and stares into the vastness of the outside forest.

"I couldn't do anything," he mutters at the feeling of a presence lingering behind him.

There is a deep breath, confirming it is indeed the heir of Gondor that's taking a seat next to him. "You're both here and alive, clearly something was done right," he tries to reason.

Aragorn sighs. He knows it's a miracle in and of itself that they actually made it here, but for some reason that isn't enough. It was his plan that got them into such a mess. It was his idea that nearly got his friend killed before his eyes. "It wasn't supposed to play out the way it did," he says, finally turning to face the other man.

"Nothing ever does," Boromir replies, taking a quick glance around. "I never saw myself heading for Mordor or surrounded by trees and elves in the middle of a forest."

"I know." The ranger breathes out and runs a hand through filthy locks. His touch catches on a few matted ones, and it disgusts him that he can't tell just whose blood it is. Orc or elf. "It was a foolish plan, I know that now."

Boromir lands a heavy hand on the other's shoulder. "You make mistakes and you learn. Nothing you can do but move on and make sure you come back more experienced and a better man." He removes his hand as the two of them fall into a bit of a comfortable silence. They listen to the calm snores and breath of the other members, and the life bustling in the night air. All of it gives an air of relaxation, of calmness, and Aragorn closes his eyes to relish in it, and lets it carry him away to a more easy mindset.

Then, there is a third presence, and Aragorn is on his feet and turns around before they have the chance to say anything.

"How is he?" the ranger demands, assuming that's what this man is here for. What other reason would there be for one for them to approach him so late into the night.

The elf says nothing and instead waves a hand for Aragorn, and Aragorn alone, to follow. The brunet stays close behind, his eyes never leaving the path before him as his hands clench at his sides. His heart is again racing and his mind buzzing. The noises encompassing the place begin to diminish as he enters a more enclosed area. There's a different vibe to this area, a more peaceful and tranquil one.

He doesn't have time to consider exactly why that is before his eyes seek what he is subconsciously searching for.

"Legolas," he mouths, not a single sound escaping. He doesn't wait for any permission and strolls forward to his comrade's side. For the first time in what feels like forever, the elf looks at him with complete clarity.

"Estel," the blond croaks. He still doesn't sound as though he has all his strength back. He tries to sit up, but the human is there in an instant with a strong hand on his chest to push him back into the silken sheets. He grunts lightly as his shoulder is jostled, but it doesn't appear to bother him too much, or not as much as it was earlier. He definitely looks much better than he had as well.

Aragorn looks him over to see every visible wound is bound skillfully. The crude splint on his arm has been discarded and replaced with a sling instead, something he's sure is much more comfortable. And he's sure the bone has already begun to mend.

"Cin eithel (Are you well)?" he asks as he sits on the edge of the bed and places a hand over the immortal's pale one.

"Yes, I will be in due time," the blond answers softly with a warm and reassuring smile. "And the others?"

The human raises a hand. "All fine, they are asleep. They made it here without incident." He exhales heavily and removes his hand to place it in his lap and crosses the other over it. "We managed to buy them enough time to reach this place and escape harm." The blond is instantly put at ease at that news. That is all he can ask for. "But…" he perks at the added word, "I cannot help but question whether it was a necessary sacrifice and risk for us to take, for you to take." Legolas notices the man's dark gaze glance towards where his wounds are. They don't linger for long, but they are taken into consideration.

"I told you, I was willing to put my life on the line for the Ring Bearer to make it out unscathed. I knew very well what it entailed." He takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. "If you've come to tell me how it's your fault any of this happened, then you can leave."

Aragorn shakes his head at this. Of course. "Take it easy and rest while you can, mellon nin. As soon as you are well, we will be on our way. This may be the only chance for a while we get such an opportunity."

"I fear you may be right for a change," the elf lightly jokes. Though, they both feel in their hearts how true the statement is. "You, as well, should finally get a proper sleep. You may be in more need of it than myself." With the way his body still aches and his eyes struggle to stay open, he thinks the immortal to be right about that one. Legolas then looks down at his own body. "From the look of it, you should have at least a couple more nights to catch up on rest. As you said, that toxin was a fairly competent one."

Aragorn give his friend one last warm smile before pushing himself back up. "But nothing you cannot handle, am I right?"

"Aye."

The ranger gives the other one last pat on his good shoulder and slowly turns around. He doesn't want to leave his side, but Legolas is right, they both need to take it easy and get some real rest. He'd be able to come back first thing in the morning, as soon as he woke up.

"Post easui (Rest easy)."

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Anyway, hope you enjoyed, and let me know if anyone would like more Legolas fics in the future. ^-^