Disclaimer: All characters and facts related to Tolkien's works are his.
Summary: Legolas gets beaten up badly after a run in with orcs and Aragorn contemplates just how much others have given up for him. A two part angsty piece.
The Duty of Brothers
Part I
Legolas' trembling arm muscles twitched as he pulled back the string of the unfamiliar bow. The orc's bow was crudely made, but it would serve his purpose. His hold on the bow was made slippery by blood which trickled from his torn and bloodied wrists.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he took aim. He was just about to let loose the arrow into his target, when a coughing fit over took him. The bow fell onto the dirt with a clutter, as he dropped to his knees in pain, his arms wrapped tightly around his ribs. Unconsciousness threatened to claim him. His eyes fell on the still form of the ranger nearby, Aragorn needs me... his mind screamed while his ribs protested harshly against his heart's wishes.
Shakily, he forced himself upwards. He felt extremely guilty about Aragorn's head injury. He had, for the most part, managed to protect the ranger from serious harm while they were held captive by the orcs, but the ranger had struggled violently against their captors while the elf was... otherwise occupied and had received a few well aimed hits to his head. It was for this reason that he now lay at unawares at the elf's side.
Their escape attempt had brought the entire group of the foul beasts upon their heads. The monsters would catch up soon; it was only a matter of time. Legolas could already see them in the distance. He picked up the bow again determinedly, his shaking hands barely able to secure a firm grip on the stolen weapon.
Beside him, Aragorn stirred and moaned softly. The soft sound sent a jolt of pain through Legolas' heart and his grip on the bow tightened. He would kill as many as he was able while he still breathed.
He shot arrow after arrow into the orcs at the front of the group and smiled grimly to himself as they fell dead to the ground and were trampled on by their own companions. Every pull on the bowstring made his hurting back prickle with pain and his bruised muscles clench with the strain, but he continued steadfastly in his self imposed duty. Protect Aragorn. It didn't matter if he gave up his immortal life for the man.
This man was special. He was the heir to the throne of Gondor, but Legolas would have risked his own life for him even if the ranger was the son of a stable hand. To the loyal elf, he was something more. He was his friend.
His strength was fading fast and Legolas knew he was near spent. The quiver full of arrows, which he had stolen from the orcs, was almost empty. The orcs were almost upon them.
He notched the last arrow and sent it into the head of a particularly ugly looking orc. Then he collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. There was nothing else he could do. He crawled over to Aragorn's side and was relieved to see the ranger showing signs of waking.
As the last threads of consciousness slipped from his grasp, he saw a single elven arrow burst from the woods and implant itself into the heart of an orc which had finally caught up with pair. Help was here.
Legolas' last thoughts were that of great relief as he lost his hold on the last threads of consciousness.
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Hushed voices over his head guided Aragorn slowly back to consciousness.
Hope he will be alright...Grievously wounded... terrible hurts...
Aragorn wondered vaguely who they were talking about. It couldn't be him. All he felt was a slight pounding in his head. His other body parts seemed unhurt. Cautiously, he shifted his arms and then his legs. But if they won't talking about him... fear spiked through his heart as he realized who they must be referring to. He opened his eyes hurriedly and blinked rapidly to clear his hazy vision.
The worried faces of his brother came into view.
"You are finally awake.," said a voice full of relief.
"Where is Legolas?" Aragorn rasped out through his dry throat.
A water skin met his lips and he gulped down some must needed water before repeating his question.
"He is... will be, fine."
But Aragorn caught the worry that laced the assurance. He closed his eyes in fatigue as he recalled what his friend had been through.
Legolas was tied firmly between two rough stakes. He sagged in his bonds, his head falling to rest on his chest. His blonde hair was dirty and tangled and blood matted it in some places. His tunic hung in tatters about him; the once green fabric now turned rust colored.
His breath came in short shallow gasps as he struggled to take in air with his broken ribs. There was only so much an elf could take and three days of abuse in the hands of orcs – the masters in the art of torture – was almost more then he could bear.
Legolas swallowed painfully through his sore throat. His lips were dry and cracked and bleeding where he had bit it. He desperately craved water. With the quantity of blood he had lost, and the meager rations of water, he was beginning to feel extremely dizzy and weak. He lifted his eyelids slightly and his gaze fell on the ground before him. He felt his stomach churn at the sight of his own blood staining the ground.
At least, he thought with some measure of relief, they had not touched Aragorn yet, and he intended to keep it that way...
Why? Aragorn thought. Why were others always so keen to protect him? Why were others always willing to let their blood be spilled, rather then let his mortal blood taint the ground? He pushed these questions to the back of his mind for now. His main concern at the moment was finding out how Legolas was doing.
As he listened carefully to the sounds of the hastily set up camp, he thought he heard a few half quenched whimpers of distress. He sat up and tried to ignore the spinning of his head. His eyes sought out the source of the sound.
A firm hand helped him stand and the man sent a grateful glance to his brother. He had to see how Legolas was faring.
Elladan helped his foster brother gently down onto the ground next to the fallen woodland elf. There was a look of gut wrenching guilt on Aragorn's face as he watched Elrohir tenderly care for Legolas' hurts.
Some of the welts on Legolas' back broke open as Elrohir ran a clean cloth over them to clean off the dirt and blood that encrusted the ugly wounds. Blood flowed down the Prince of Mirkwood's back and onto the ground.
The injured elf's lips were very white. He had lost too much blood and he was shivering as though with cold. His eyes were disconcertingly closed. They all knew it was something more than temperature that plagued the elf. He was falling into shock.
They had to get him back to Imladris as soon as possible.
"I'm sorry we weren't there sooner."
Aragorn hastily brushed his brother's soft apology aside. He felt Elladan place a comforting hand on his shoulder. They both hoped that Legolas would be alright.
TBC...
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