Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies – not mine, no money, just for fun.
Please Note - this story is AU!
Thanks again to Sarah for her hard work and to all who are reading this story, as well. Special thanks to those who have reviewed – it really brightens my day (week, month year!) to hear that you are reading and liking – thank you all!
Chapter 2
A Simple Wound
The attack had been sudden. They had had no warning at all. That alone should have raised Gimli's concern for the Elf had been full of dire warning all through their journey. This time, however, he had been caught unawares; taken by surprise just like the rest of them. But Gimli had no time to mull over this interesting circumstance since he was currently fighting off not one, but two Orcs, simultaneously.
They were small, much like the goblins of Moria, but they were fast and seemingly without feeling – Gimli had hewn off one's arm and yet it had barely hesitated before retrieving its weapon with its remaining hand and continuing at once to relentlessly hack away at Gimli's head. Even as he fought, the dwarf listened intently to the sounds around him. Aragorn had shouted that they should each take on the protection of one of the hobbits and that the little folk were to stay safely tucked behind their protectors unless it became absolutely necessary for them to fight. The dwarf wanted to make certain that Merry, his charge, was safe, and that no Orc had snuck up on him while Gimli was otherwise occupied. Merry was, for the most part, quiet however, only an occasional cry of "Good job!" or "Duck!" breaking through the sounds of clanging metal, Orc screeches and grunts that filled the clearing where they fought.
Blood loss finally won out and the one-armed Orc collapsed, leaving Gimli with only a single assailant to contend with, a veritable picnic compared to what he had faced many times in his past. He was making fast work of his opponent when a soft cry caught his attention. Gimli turned from the Orc he fought to quickly check on Merry, even as he assured himself that the cry he had heard was not from a hobbit. Just as he expected, Merry was unharmed. He then chanced a brief glance to his side, where the Elf fought, not twenty paces away, his face a study in concentration as he struck out at his solitary attacker. The sound had not come from that one, for certain. And yet, just as Gimli returned his attention once more to dispatching his Orc, he heard the cry again.
He struck hard at the creature before him, driving him back and glanced again toward the Elf. A thin red line of blood stood out in stark contrast to the pale skin of the Elf's cheek. As the Elf stumbled back, away from the Orc, Gimli got a good look at a terrified Pippin standing now to the side of the staggering Elf, no longer shielded by his protector. A surge of fear gave Gimli renewed strength and he hefted his axe and with lethal force, hewed the Orc before him in two.
With a swift glance at Merry who stood on the ready, little sword clasped tightly in hand, Gimli jumped to Pippin's rescue. The Elf had recovered, somewhat, once again parrying the Orc's thrusts, effectively distracting the creature from Gimli's approach. With one well-placed slice of his axe, the Orc lost its head. Black blood spewed out, striking both Legolas and Pippin. The Elf paused, eyes searching to see if any other took the place of the fallen Orc. It appeared that the fighting had abated; both Boromir and Aragorn striking final blows to the only remaining assailants. Once assured all was safe, Legolas turned to Gimli and glaring, drew his sleeve deliberately across his face, swiping at the Orc blood that dotted his cheek and forehead. Gimli bristled. How dare the prissy-faced Elven idiot act as though Gimli had done nothing more than mar his perfect appearance! Why, if Gimli had not come along when he had, both Elf and hobbit might easily be dead now. But Gimli snapped his mouth shut on the oath he was about to utter and bit back the words he would have flung at the spoiled and ungrateful creature when he saw the sparkling red blood of the Elf mixed with black Orc blood on the Elf's sleeve.
"We must move on, quickly!" Aragorn was calling. "There might be more where those came from." The Elf shot Gimli one last withering look before taking Pippin by the shoulder, coaxing him forward. Gimli glared openly at the Elf's back before following. Oh, how he wanted to say something! But once again, with admirable restraint, he closed his mouth and held his tongue. He would not make Aragorn's life any more difficult if he didn't have to. He swallowed his anger and his angry words and continued on. They would have to rest again, surely…The hobbits could not go on like this much longer; it was obvious that Frodo and Sam both still suffered from their wounds. And so he trudged along, angrily forming in his mind what he would say to the Elf, once they did.
It did not take the Elf long to come up with an excuse to get away from the others once Aragorn had called a halt, announcing, as before, that he would scout the area. Gimli had a more difficult time of it – Aragorn would not allow a fire and so the pretext of gathering firewood would not work this time. He resorted to slipping away when the Ranger was occupied with quieting the hobbits who did not at all like the idea of a cold meal with no tea. He found the Elf easily. Once again the creature was beside the river that still paralleled their path, his hand to the clasps of his tunic. And once again, he was most displeased at being interrupted. He rose swiftly to his feet and rounded on the dwarf, outrage blazing in his eyes, his hands again curled into fists.
"What do you want, Dwarf?" he snarled.
"To talk with you, Master Elf," Gimli said, pushing down his own rising ire and forcing himself to sound as calm and composed as he possibly could.
"I do not wish to talk with you, Dwarf. Leave me!" The Elf took a step forward, glowering threateningly.
"You can talk with me, now, or you can explain yourself to Aragorn. I care not. It is your choice entirely," Gimli answered, keeping his voice even while folding his arms across his chest.
"Aragorn? What has he to do with you stalking me every time I leave camp?"
"I think he would be most interested in hearing what I have to say to you, that is all. In fact, I have been debating whether to say something to Aragorn instead of coming to you myself in his stead. However, I have decided, thus far, to give you first an opportunity to explain. I would not involve him if I don't have to. He has many more important problems to contend with right now than worrying about you."
Legolas cocked his head, confusion and curiosity both warring across his face. Gimli had to stifle a triumphant smile. With a frustrated snort, the Elf pulled back, folding his own arms across his chest.
"Say what you have to say, Dwarf. I don't have all day and I have a job to do."
"One that you almost failed at earlier."
Legolas started forward again, this time not stopping until he was directly in front of Gimli. He leaned close, pushing his face into Gimli's, his eyes boring into the dwarf's own. "You should take care of your own responsibilities, Dwarf,and I will care for mine. You abandoned your charge when you attacked that Orc – you left Merry unprotected!"
"Merry was fine. You, on the other hand, were bested by a goblin, Elf – a single, solitary goblin! I saw you stumble. You were the one to leave your charge unprotected. If I had not arrived when I did, who knows what might have happened? Both you and Pippin might now be lying in a shallow grave!"
"Nonsense!" Legolas shouted, his finger now pointing an inch from the tip of Gimli's nose. "I need no help from you, Dwarf ―"
"You are injured," Gimli broke in, not giving in to the very real desire to step back from the angry Elf. "Otherwise, I'm sure that one little Orc could not trouble you so. Though I do not care for you personally, Elf, I can make no quarrel with your skill as a fighter. Ten Orcs could not best you in normal circumstances. But, as I said, you are hurt." Gimli had stood his ground, albeit shakily, and rushed his words so that they tumbled over each other, not at all certain that the Elf wouldn't grace him with a well-placed punch to the face ere he could finish.
Legolas drew back his finger and straightened, the anger washed from his face by nothing less than shock. Gimli could not be sure if the shock was due to the fact that the dwarf had discovered his secret or that he had complimented the Elf's fighting skills. The archer took several steps back, his mouth still hanging agape in surprise. But he recovered quickly and shook his head. "You do not know what you are talking about," he growled, looking away as he did.
"I saw the blood. I know what I am talking about."
The Elf snapped back around again. "A simple swipe to the cheek is hardly enough to cause me to lose a fight, Dwarf. What - do you think I am frightened by the sight of my own blood?"
"That is not the blood I speak of." Legolas' pale cheeks flushed slightly, a sure sign that if he had not understood before that Gimli knew his secret, he certainly did now.
"I have no other wound," he asserted. But again his eyes wandered and Gimli began to suspect that he was not a good liar and either by device or experience, had developed the distinct habit of not looking at the one he was lying to.
"But you do," Gimli countered.
Legolas' attention was back full force with that comment and the Elf pinned him with a look, harsh, cold and – murderous - that made Gimli shudder. "Are you calling me a liar?" he snarled.
Gimli felt his heartbeat quicken. Once again, it was all he could do not to step back, even though they were now several feet apart. He had heard from others the effect an Elf's gaze could have on the uninitiated but there was little to be said that might prepare one for the reality of it. His embarrassment at his inability to control the shudder that caused his body to tremble and his anger at the flicker of amusement in the Elf's eyes as he recognized the effect he was having, gave the dwarf renewed strength. He would show this pointy-eared son of an Orc! Gimli forced a smile, which grew ten-fold when the glare on the Elf's face faltered and dimmed. "Yes I am," he answered, his voice steady and strong. "Yes, I am calling you a liar."
The Elf did not back down, even a little. "Prove it," he snapped.
Gimli had to wonder at the Elf's insistence. Surely, he must suspect that such proof existed or Gimli would not be standing there. Well, he wouldn't keep the silly creature waiting any longer. "It would be my pleasure," Gimli responded, digging a hand into his pocket and drawing out a tangled mess of soiled linen, covered with black and brown splotches that had, most assuredly been white at one time.
Legolas gave the article in Gimli's hand naught but a quick glance before lifting his chin and soundly ignoring it. This is none of your affair," he shot back. He had obviously, and perhaps desperately, been clinging to the hope that Gimli had merely guessed at the situation and had not known the truth. Or, a more likely scenario, given what Gimli knew of the Elf; the creature was so incredibly, ridiculously thick headed and stubborn, he would never deign to admit that he was wrong.
"I beg to differ," Gimli sniffed, in response. "I'm a member of this Fellowship and depend, at times, on your skills. I have a right to know whether they can be trusted. I have kept quiet out of respect for you as a member of that Fellowship but I will hear now, answers to my questions, or I will tell Aragorn what I know. It is that simple."
Legolas gave the roll of dirty linen another quick glance before looking away, into the trees, his lips stretched into a tight, thin line. A silent moment passed. "You can attempt to ignore me, Elf, for as long as you like – well, until Aragorn calls for us – and then, if you have given me no response or one that I am not satisfied with, then I will give this to him and let him settle this matter."
"What is it you wish to know?" Legolas snapped, still gazing off into the surrounding trees.
"How badly are you hurt? And why did you not say something?"
"It is a simple wound," he said, shrugging his slight shoulders. "I said nothing for just that reason. Aragorn – all of us – have enough worries right now. I know Aragorn. He will obsess over even a simple wound if only because everything else is so muddled. He already feels guilty about Gandalf. He will not risk something happening to me, as well, and so will make this molehill into a mountain. If it were something serious, I would bring it up to him myself."
Gimli could not argue that point; the Elf echoed his own reasons for keeping quiet. He was not yet, however, convinced. "But Aragorn, as our leader, has a right, to know the condition of those he relies upon," Gimli pointed out.
The Elf shrugged again. "I do not disagree with you. But it will only cause him to try to protect me. We do not have resources to allow for that. And - I need no protecting."
Gimli snorted. "Forgive me for once again mentioning, Master Elf, that you were nearly beat by a single, small Orc."
"I dispatched three before that one, Master Dwarf," Legolas retorted, his attention at last brought back around as he glared, once again, at Gimli. "I was fighting four at one time, I might add. You saw only a moment of distraction after dispatching the third when the last remaining took advantage and slashed my cheek. My cheek, dwarf! Hardly an indicator that I cannot be trusted."
"But, you left Pippin unprotected."
"Nonsense, I did no such…" Something flashed in the Elf's eyes and he stopped, mid-retort. Gimli could almost see his mind turning as his brows knitted and his eyes narrowed. After a moment of silence, the archer took a deep breath and said, slowly, carefully, "Aye, I did at that. But it was for only a moment and had naught to do with my injury." Again, he stopped and this time frowned, as though something unpleasant had just occurred to him. He paused, his eyes still gazing into Gimli's but it was evident that his thoughts were no longer on the dwarf.
"Can you be sure of that?" Gimli pursued.
The silent moment drew out until Gimli became most uncomfortable, entertaining the notion that the Elf had slipped into unconsciousness though still standing on his feet. But at last, Legolas drew another deep breath, straightening as he did. "No," he said softly, all anger vanished from his voice. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I cannot be sure." The anger had smoothed from his face as well, replaced by a sadness that was somehow – disquieting – more so than the Elf's anger had been. "And I am not willing to take that chance," he continued. "I will make certain that none of the Fellowship will be put in that position again. You have my word, Gimli."
Gimli was taken aback by the use of his given name, trying to remember another time when the Elf had done so. He couldn't. He shook off his shock, however and considered the distinct possibility that it was, perhaps the Elf's purpose to distract him with just such a manipulation. He agreed wholeheartedly with the idea of keeping this secret from Aragorn, as long as they would not be endangering anyone. He still required more convincing though, to be certain the decision was the right one - so let the Elf convince! "The only way to be sure of that is to tell Aragorn of your injury."
"Nay," Legolas answered without hesitation, shaking his head. "I know him well. He will worry himself to distraction and to the detriment of the Fellowship - over nothing. That will help no one." The Elf quickly gazed off into the trees at a point somewhere over Gimli's head and the dwarf had again an uneasy feeling that the tell-tale mannerism was indicative of an untruth. He had never spent any time at all in the presence of Elves but he possessed, for some reason, unbeknownst to himself, an astonishingly keen ability to read this one. He found it most unnerving to be connected in such an intimate way to someone that he altogether disliked. It made him feel somehow responsible for the addle-brained creature. Well, like it or not, responsibility had its demands. He might agree with what the Elf was saying, but he would have the whole truth and not whatever portion of it the Elf was attempting to placate him with.
"Very well," he answered. "I won't say anything."
The Elf's dark lashes fluttered against his pale skin as he blinked in surprise and turned his attention once again to Gimli. "You won't?" he responded, warily.
"No, I won't." A look of relief shot across the Elf's tense features.
"Only…"
Legolas' eyes at once narrowed with suspicion. "Only what," he snapped, capturing Gimli again in that fierce, unrelenting, Elven glare.
"Only, you must first show me your injury." Gimli returned the look, pleased that he was able to without flinching away this time, even if it had taken everything he had not to do so.
"And what would be the point of that?" Legolas spat, his voice once again filled with venom and anger. "Would you have any idea what you were seeing? Are you a healer? No, you are not - not unless you have chosen to keep an important skill secret from the Fellowship. Even though you are a dwarf, I cannot imagine you would stoop that low."
Gimli's own anger surged again and he was all but ready to hurl back a harsh retort of his own when suddenly, he felt as if a soothing hand had been placed upon his shoulder and he heard again the pleas of a kindly wizard in his ear, begging him to get along with this loathsome creature. Stop, would be the words Gandalf would say to him now – stop and think. And once again, Gimli recognized, quite easily, now that he took the time to stop and think, that he was clearly being manipulated. He suppressed a triumphant smile, realizing that such a thing would not help him accomplish his goal at this moment, far from it in fact, and answered, instead, "I am no healer, but I will see your wound and judge for myself. If I am satisfied with what I see, I will keep my mouth shut. And you, Elf, can shut your own and save yourself any more effort. I will not be dissuaded from this."
They stared at each other in silence, everything else around them forgotten. It was a war of wills, Gimli knew and it was one that he would win, everything being in his favour; Legolas could hardly refuse him. Yet still, the Elf stared, his eyes angry, hot, boring relentlessly into Gimli's. It seemed like hours later before he at last conceded to the obvious. Stubborn, he was indeed, beyond anything Gimli had encountered before, except for perhaps, himself.
"Very well," the Elf said, with a snap of his head. He spun on his heel and moved back to the river, Gimli following slowly. Legolas had no doubt been about to wash the wound, before Gimli had interrupted him, just as he had been doing the last time Gimli had interrupted, contrary to his first thought that the Elf was merely being vain and bathing – the bloody bandage still clutched in Gimli's hand attested to that. He had found it buried in the dirt and a bloody patch had stained the rock the Elf had rested against, the reason for Gimli's further investigation and subsequent discovery of the bandage. The Elf had managed, it seemed, to wash most of the blood from his tunic for Gimli could spot no sign of where Legolas had been injured but he knew, once again by the soiled bandage in his hand, that the Elf had bled. A lot.
Legolas sank heavily onto a rock and turned away, facing out across the gurgling stream. He made no effort to loosen his tunic and kept his back to Gimli. "We don't have much time, Master Elf," Gimli prodded. Legolas continued in his silence. Gimli worried for a moment that the Elf's discomfort with sharing what he would most likely see as a weakness with one he disliked so immensely would be stronger than his desire to keep Aragorn in the dark. But all at once the Elf's shoulders sagged and he sighed, deeply, a sound that took Gimli aback.
"Elf – er Legolas – are you alright?"
"I – I have not been entirely honest with you, Gimli," he answered, his voice so soft it was almost lost in the whisper of the wind in the leaves overhead and the gentle gurgle of the stream. Gimli felt confusion, not anger, not yet, for he had no idea to what the Elf referred.
"What do you mean by 'entirely'," he asked, carefully. He wished the dratted Elf would turn around so he could see the other's face, wondering briefly if Legolas had an idea that he could be read so clearly and so kept his face averted.
There was silence, a long silence broken at last by yet another heavy sigh. "It is not a simple wound that I bear," Legolas said, his voice tinged with what sounded like disappointment.
Gimli should have felt anger then, but instead, fear and dread twisted his stomach. Legolas did not put him in mind of one who complained for naught. "No?"
"I – should have told you the truth but I feared that you would not understand and would insist upon going to Aragorn. It is the truth that he will be worried, Gimli. And - rightfully so." The Elf sighed again before turning, at last, to face the dwarf. He looked ill again, as he had that first time he had escaped into the woods, only more so. Everything was there, plain to see upon his face: hurt; exhaustion; suffering. Pain caused his lips to tremble and his eyes to glaze over. Gimli went down on one knee at the Elf's feet and reached a hand to stay him as he slumped forward.
"Legolas?"
"It is fine, Gimli. I – just need a moment." He raised his head again and gave Gimli a weak smile. "I must apologize for trying to deceive you. It seemed the only thing to do at the time…"
"What happened?" Gimli interrupted. "What sort of wound do you bear?"
Legolas filled his lungs once, twice, before answering. Surprisingly, his voice was clear as he responded, as if the breaths had steadied him and given him strength. "At the Bridge of Khazad Dum. An arrow to my side. I snapped it off until I had time to try to pull it out but, somehow, it got hung up and twisted about my rib when I did. You are not the only one who is not a healer," he said, flashing a sheepish grin. "I have tried to remove it since and have only made the situation worse, I fear." Rather than returning the smile, Gimli's frown deepened. "It is not that bad, Gimli, really," the Elf cajoled.
"I can see how bad it is, Legolas, just by looking at you," Gimli snapped.
"I am just tired," A cool hand closed over Gimli's where it clutched the Elf's arm. "But neither am I well. I will admit that to you. I will make it to Lórien. I must. But if Aragorn finds out about my injury – he has been my dearest friend for a long time now – he will not take the chance that I will survive until then and he will insist upon tending to me. He will try to heal the wound. Yet he cannot; not without rendering me unconscious and useless." Legolas' eyes focused again, all trace of humour vanished and Gimli was once more trapped in that powerful gaze. "I will not be able to travel and he will insist upon leaving someone behind to protect me – you perhaps?"
Me!
Gimli was quite sure that he hadn't given any indication of his alarm but the Elf seemed able to read him quite clearly, too. "That might be reason enough for you to keep my secret, eh, Master Dwarf?"
Gimli snatched his hand away but remained kneeling, his brow furrowed in thought. "That would leave the fellowship down to but two warriors."
"Yes," Legolas agreed. His gaze sharpened and when next he spoke it was with a fierceness that belied any wound or weakness. "I might not be able to fight as well as before, Gimli," he insisted, "but I can fight better than no one at all. We must stay together!"
"Aye." Gimli responded, half-heartedly. He had to agree, the Elf made sense, as much as he might hate to admit it. Not only because he hated the fact that he was agreeing with an Elf either – Legolas could be seriously injured and by agreeing, he was forgoing the possibility of the healer of their group having a chance to attempt to help. He sat back on his haunches and examined the Elf's face carefully. "Would Aragorn be of help to you, if he were told?"
Legolas blinked once before answering. "I – no, not out here. As I said, it is not a simple wound. I would be better served by the Healers in Lórien." The Elf blinked again and looked away. What a poor liar he was! "I will make it to Lórien," he continued, "even if he does nothing. I can do that Gimli, I must!" Even though he did not look in Gimli's direction, this time, Gimli did not doubt the truth of those words, that is, if the Elf had any choice in the matter. He would not have a choice, if Gimli revealed his secret to Aragorn.
And there was yet another consideration, Gimli realized. If he told Aragorn, it would put the man, the Elf's closest friend, in the position that Gimli now found himself – deciding the possible fate of the Elf. Wasn't it better for he himself to be in this situation, someone who found the Elf loathsome, bothersome and altogether irritating rather than someone who actually cared for the creature? He would be able to make the best decision, the right decision for the Fellowship as he would be unaffected by the emotions that would, no doubt, burden Aragorn. It should be an easy decision: What was best for the Fellowship? Simple. The Elf must stay on his feet; they needed to stay together, all of them, until they found safety in Lórien and they needed to reach safety as soon as possible, for all of their sakes. The Elf would be all right until then, Gimli was sure of it. Aragorn should not be told.
Gimli nodded his head. "Very well, Elf. I will keep your secret." The look of relief that washed over the Elf's pained features was quite rewarding. Gimli knew he had done the right thing - as if there had ever really been a question.
"Thank you, Gimli."
But something kept Gimli on his knees, a flutter of worry that tightened his stomach. He had convinced himself that this was the right thing to do but he was the responsible one here and as such, there was something more he should do. He should know just what sort of liability the Elf presented to the Fellowship as they continued. Gimli hesitated, a touch of fear curling through his insides, knowing that the archer would react badly if the dwarf equivocated, yet again. Surely he would think that Gimli was merely toying with him?
"Only…"
Legolas tossed his head back, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth where Gimli had expected him to show the same anger and suspicion as before, if not worse. But no. The crazy creature was smiling. Perhaps he could read Gimli as easily as Gimli could read him?
"Only what?" he chuckled. Gimli gulped.
"Only, you must first show me the wound."
Legolas hesitated only briefly, the smile on his face turning thoughtful, before nodding. "But we must hurry. Aragorn will be wondering where we are."
The wound was not simple. Not at all. It did not help Gimli feel any better about his decision. He was making a terrible mistake, he knew, on one level. Yes, this was what was best for the Fellowship, but this was not what was best for Legolas. The wound looked nasty. And poisoned. It bled unceasingly.
"It looks worse than it is, Gimli. I assure you." Gimli's eyes flicked to the Elf's. Legolas looked away at once and Gimli shuddered. But what else could they do?
"You will promise me Elf, to let me know when you are not able to continue. Or to defend yourself. Promise me!" Gimli demanded. "Look at me and promise!"
Legolas hesitated but at last relented. "I promise," he agreed, his eyes boring steadily into Gimli's own.
And Gimli wondered – was he really telling the truth? Or had he at last realized that the dwarf had learned his telltale trait? Only time would tell, Gimli realized - time, and possibly the sacrifice of a member of the Fellowship.