Disclaimer: The usual. I am not a professor or a philologist or a member of the Inklings. Alas, I have never been to England nor was I born in South Africa. So apart from a love of beauty and an admiration for Old English and medieval stories I have nothing in common with the writer of The Lord of the Rings. Ergo, any recognizable characters are his not mine. I but vainly hope to add a few threads in the great tapestry of Middle Earth.
Hands of a Prince
Three elves and a dwarf stood looking over the stricken field. About them lay the unnumbered fallen, foe and friend alike.
"There must be something we can do to aid them now that the field in ours" sighed the golden haired elf.
"We are all three trained to give healing as well as in dealing out death" replied one of the dark haired elves "we should seek out the wounded and give them what aid we may."
The third elf, dark haired and identical in form and feature to his brother shook his head sadly "I know not if they will accept the healing of the elves. Many have forgotten the old alliances and know not that our people fight their own battles, they see us a dangerous and aloof."
"You fear that they may not accept our aid" returned Legolas "That may well be, but we should be just as foolish if we did not at least offer it to them."
Elladan nodded "The men of Gondor have some memory of the children of Eärendil, perhaps they will open their hearts to us."
Legolas smiled "Though kin we are from afar, I am not of that line, but the men of Rohan have seen me fight among them, perhaps that will ease their fears." He turned towards the dwarf "Have you any skill in healing, Gloinion?"
Gimli scowled at the elven nickname and shook his head "But I may be of use elsewhere" he said thoughtfully "there are no doubt many wounded among the fallen, I will seek out those that still live and bring them to where they may receive healing."
The three elves looked at him amazed.
"Well-spoken, Gimli son of Gloin, foolish are those who say that dwarves are witless and uncaring. May you aid many upon your errand." said Elrohir.
Legolas looked upon him smiling affectionately "May our little game continue friend dwarf, only now will shall count those who live, a far merrier undertaking!"
And so the four went their various ways, the sons of Elrond, valiant and tall strode towards the ruined gate of the white city. The dwarf, gruff, with heart of gold beneath his battle-grimed armor walked resolutely among the fallen. And the merry, kind-hearted prince made his way to the tents of the Rohirrim.
Eomer was pacing unhappily among the wounded, still slightly dazed with the shock of passing from the third marshal to king within the space of a few weeks. He gazed sadly upon the men, his men anxious to do help in some way though untrained in the art of healing.
His heart lightened slightly at the sight of the golden-haired elf. Legolas he had noticed seemed to have that effect upon people. Strange that upon their first meeting they had nearly come to blows and now the mere sight of the elf cheered him.
Legolas inclined his head, acknowledging his new rank.
"Eomer King" he began "I would ask a favor of you."
Eomer looked at him curiously "Glad am I to be of assistance to you, sword-brother. How can be of help?"
To his surprise the elf blushed ever so slightly "I am skilled in healing among my people I wished to offer my assistance to your wounded but I fear that they may reject the aid of an elf. Would you stand by me and reassure them" he smiled "unless of course you have other tasks that call for your attention."
Eomer inwardly blessed the day that he had first laid eyes upon the elf for now he could aid his suffering folk without being run out by the healers.
"I have now such tasks" he said eagerly "Tell how to assist you and I shall do your bidding for I would aid my folk, in any way that I may."
They entered the largest tent together, the new king and the unrevealed prince. Legolas glanced over the somber assemblage and went speedily to one in the most need.
"I will need water and bandages" he said to the king "Also, ask the healers if they have any kingsfoil, it is also called Westmen's Weed." Eomer left as Legolas laid a slender hand upon the man's forehead, he had not quite the power of his father but he was a son of kings and elven lords of old and what he had would be sufficient.
When the king returned the man was breathing easily and the great gaping slash across his chest had ceased bleeding. Eomer looked on him with wonder as he handed over the bandages and hot water. The elf cleansed the wound swiftly and efficiently singing softly under his breath.
"The kingsfoil?" he asked as they turned to the next patient. "Only one had heard the name, he sent to the Gondorians to fetch some." Legolas nodded looking down upon the patient.
The man moaned in misery, for an orc blade had all but severed his leg and he had been told that he would ride among the horselords no longer. Grievous indeed did this doom seem to him and seeing the elf standing shining and seemingly uninjured he turned his frustration upon Legolas.
As the prince leant forward to examine the wound he lashed out with one hand catching the elf across the face so that he stumbled back against the wall, jarring his injured arm and broken ribs. Legolas' face paled and he bit back a cry of pain. Eomer and the wounded man stared equally horrified at the prince's face twisted in agony for they perceived that he had been hiding his wounds.
Legolas straightened and pushed himself resolutely forward ignoring Eomer's concern. The wounded rider had quickly repented of his ill-temper and gasped out his apologies. The prince smiled and accepted them, his face once again pain-free and merry for he had been expecting worse reactions than a slap across the face.
He laid his hands upon the wounded limb and again the wound ceased bleeding and the pain lessened to the rider's surprise. Legolas sutured it with sure fingers assuring the man that he should make a full recovery. Happily, the incident was silently told among the Rohirrim and he had no more trouble on that account.
They were near the edge of the great tent when Legolas caught sight of Gimli staggering under the weight of a wounded rider. Eomer ran forward and held the man, bringing him within and laying him gently upon one of the pallets. Legolas smiled at his friend.
"What is your count, Master Dwarf?" he asked in teasing voice.
"Forty, O Legolas of Mirkwood" replied Gimli "What can you say for yourself?"
"That I have surpassed you, Gloinion, for my count is in the sixties."
"Then I must needs return" laughed the dwarf "least it be said that elves are more merciful and kindly than dwarves." His stocky form vanished into the growing twilight and the elf turned back towards one of the smaller tents.
They labored long into the night and hardy though elves and dwarves were the four were worn and weary as they meet Aragorn in the camp. He too had labored long among his people, healing the worst of their ills. Dark shadows lay under his eyes as the four swooped down upon him and carried him protesting into a tent.
Swiftly the three elves cleaned and bandaged their wounds for the elven twins had a sword cut apiece and Legolas a cut across his arm and several broken ribs. Aragorn scowled angrily at the trio and complained about their lack of concern for their health.
"They were not serious" Legolas said soothingly "There was no need for us to waste the time until more grievous injuries were cared for."
"We are elves" said Elladan with mock haughtiness.
"Mortal wounds for mortals do not greatly affect us" continued Elrohir nonchalantly.
"Really, Estel, we would have sought aid if we were in any danger, we are not foolish." finished Legolas as he held his hand to the weary human's head "The hands of the king give healing, but the hands of the prince command sleep." and he smiled mischievously as Aragorn's face relaxed falling into a dreamless sleep.
The three elves and the dwarf laughed together as they flung themselves down upon the ground still dressed and booted to seek a few hours of sleep. It was thus Eomer founded them scattered about on the ground when he came to check on Legolas, for the elf's uncared for wounds had prayed upon his mind.
He smiled as he saw the prince sprawled upon the ground looking unbelievably young as he lay curled in elvish slumber, his hands crossed on his chest and his golden hair falling messily about the ground.
He noticed with relief that his arm had been bandaged and cared for and left quietly as he had come to check on his sister's health.
Yes, I know I owe chapters for several other stories but this idea came and so it was seized upon. They are coming...they are coming... (the chapters not orcs...)
May a little gap-filler bring ease to more minds them my own.
Everyone just assumes that Aragorn has great healing powers (and he does) but Elladan and Elrohir are both close kin (very close) to Elrond and Legolas is of a line of kings. It is the elven blood that gives Aragorn his power so it stands to reason that all three would have been gifted as well (in my opinion at least).
Shire Rose