Relief flooded the diminutive dwarf as he rolled the dead man over. It was not Aragorn. But it was the captain of the Gondor's guard. After muttering a few words for the dead in his native language, Gimli pushed himself to his feet, clutching Anduril tightly in his hand. The sword was heavy, awkward, in his grip but Gimli would bear it until he found its rightful owner.
Bodies littered the shore, many maimed and mutilated by the Titan, the blood staining the dark sand nearly more than Gimli could bear. He doubled over as his head began to spin and gazed down the shoreline in an effort to clear his head.
He blinked several times, trying to un-blur his vision. A richly decorated red tunic caught his eyes, nearly glowing as the sun beat down on it. He pushed himself to his feet with a loud grunt and jogged as quickly as his short, tired legs would carry him. As he got closer, Gimli could see the gold threads edging the tunic, and knew he had found the man for whom he'd been looking.
The Dwarf fell to his knees behind the un-moving man, setting the blade beside its fallen master, and reached for the torn and bloodied tunic. The fabric was soft in his hands, even in its destroyed state. Gimli was careful as he touched the man's shoulder, seeing and feeling as if the unconscious man would break at the mearest touch. With a nervous sigh, he slid his hand to the back of Aragorn's head to support it as he rolled his friend onto his back.
Blood matted the King's dark hair to his face and Gimli winced. Aragorn's body was cold, deathly so, and his skin was pale and clammy. A close once-over revealed a gash across his temple – undoubtedly the cause for his unconscious state. Gimli reached for the pulse point and breathed a huge sigh of relief as he felt the faint beating of the King's heart.
"Aragorn?" Gimli didn't dare shake his friend, uncertain if he harbored any unseen injuries. On the outside, Aragorn seemed relatively uninjured, but Gimli would not let such appearances deceive him. He'd seen Aragorn knocked over the side of the ship by a flailing Titan arm. He knew there had to be some internal injuries, but Aragorn needed to wake for him to ascertain just exactly what they were.
Tearing a piece of his own tunic, Gimli reached down into the water lapping at Aragorn's feet and wet the material. He carefully brushed away the sand and dried blood from his friend's face, hoping that the cool water would be enough to wake Aragorn.
"Come on, Aragorn." Gimli huffed, squeezing the excess water out onto his friend's face in an effort to wake him. "Sleep not here. It is cold and I have not the strength to drag you out of this water!"
Aragorn groaned in response, and Gimli continued to squeeze droplets of water out of his torn tunic. "Wake! Do not test my patience, King of the West! The elf vexes me enough, I need not another to do the same!"
Parched lips parted to suck in a deep, shuddering breath, and only on the hissing exhale did Gimli hear his name.
"Yes, yes, I've been sitting here for Eru knows how long trying to wake you." Gimli tried in vain to break the tension, hearing all the while the struggling breath coming from his friend's lips. He leaned over as Aragorn slowly opened his eyes. "I know it hurts. Tell me where."
"It might be..easier…to tell you….where…it…doesn't hurt…" Aragorn breathed, gritting his teeth against the pain.
He coughed, his entire body shaking with the effort. Gimli rolled him onto his side, making the painful exertion a bit easier on his friend. The dwarf noticed the trickle of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth and winced as Aragorn closed his eyes in pain. "You have internal injuries, Aragorn." Gimli said slowly, realizing that his friend could very possibly die before his very eyes.
"I know, Gimli." Came the breathless response.
"You need to help me get you out of this water. You'll catch a chill," Gimli stood and began to look for a way to make the task easier.
"A chill……. is the least….. of my worries," Aragorn whispered.
"I will not let you die, Aragorn. You need to help me!"
"You may have…. no choice…my friend," Aragorn coughed again and this time Gimli could hear the gurgling of blood in his lungs.
------------------------------------------
"Estel!" Arwen sat bolt upright, eyes wide with terror. Her hair was mussed and her fingers clutched the crude blankets so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her muscles violently protested the quick movement and she groaned, leaning back into the tattered blankets that had been made into a makeshift bed for her.
Celeborn was beside her in an instant and carefully helped her to lie back onto the makeshift bed. "You must rest."
The Chamberlain stood quickly and limped on his bound and injured leg, to his Queen. "May I help?"
Celeborn shook his head quickly to dissuade the Chamberlain from interfering. Arwen obviously had a very disturbing dream, one that involved her still-missing husband, and the elven Lord would need as much peace and quiet as he could get to calm his frightened granddaughter.
Arwen stared wide-eyed at her grandfather, unblinking, dark eyes searching for the answer to an unspoken question. Her husband's name, a mere breath on her lips, was stolen by a small jolt of pain that ripped through her stomach. She gripped her abdomen and winced, her body trembling from the shock and cold that had settled into her bones from her very unwelcome bath at Sea.
Celeborn slid a gentle hand across her stomach, feeling carefully for any signs that would indicate an event he dare not even think. He wrapped tighter around her shoulders, the make-shift rags that served as blankets, and turned to stoke the fire to a louder roar. "Be still. Rest."
"I must know." Arwen leaned heavily against the tattered blankets, what little strength she had giving out.
Cirdan glanced quickly at his friend as Celeborn procured a crude cup filled with water from one of the nearby guards and lifted it to Arwen's lips. "Drink."
She took a few sips, swallowing heavily as the cool liquid slid through parched lips and down her throat. She coughed a few times and glanced around the small camp. In a low voice, she asked. "Where is Estel?"
Cirdan and Celeborn exchanged a worried look. "I don't know, child." Celeborn pushed the mug to her lips and bade her to drink, his other hand sliding to cup one side of her cheek. "We have not found any other than who sit with us now. As soon as dawn breaks, we will begin our search anew."
Arwen remained silent as she lifted her gaze toward the stars twinkling in the night sky. After a few moments, she whispered. "He is out there."
-------------------------------
Gimli pressed his hand against Aragorn's forehead for what must have been the hundredth time. Beside them, the fire crackled brightly, providing much needed warmth to the two companions. The King's skin was clammy, and regardless of what Gimli did to make him more comfortable, the man continuously coughed and trembled.
The sun had set not long ago, and Gimli had been forced to call off his search for other survivors. The one that did survive, who was probably the most important man on that ship, was lying here beside him in grave need of attention. And there wasn't a damn thing Gimli could do to assist his friend.
"Aragorn, you must stay awake!" Gimli huffed, shaking his friend's shoulders.
The Dwarf was rewarded by a muffled groan in response. He pressed a small fruit-like orb to Aragorn's lips. "Drink this. It's quite tasty and you are in need of liquid."
"You-are a good friend, Gimli," Aragorn breathed and Gimli could hear the strain in the
man's voice as he spoke. "Thank you - for everything."
Gimli could feel his charge relax into the sand which brought the Dwarf to his knees immediately. A loud slab against the King's face garnered no response from the now unconscious man and Gimli cursed loudly. "Aule's soul, Aragorn! You are not going to die in my care!"
A snap to his right brought Gimli to his feet immediately. He procured the only weapon he had been able to hold in the deep water - his small handaxe. "Show yourself or prepare to feel my wrath!"
"Gimli?" A voice sounded from behind him and the dwarf whirled, his axe at the ready.
"Legolas!" Relief flooded the Dwarf's voice as he stalked toward the elf. "How foolish of you to sneak up on me like that! I could have taken your head off without a second thought!"
A pale eyebrow raised in amusement. "That, I very seriously doubt, my friend."
Two figures appeared from the trees, immediately rushing to the side of the unmoving King.
"How long has he been unconscious?" Elladan asked as Elrohir pressed long fingers to the man's temples.
"A few minutes." Gimli and Legolas joined the twins. Legolas knelt at his friend's feet, eyes searching for the injuries he knew the man harbored beneath the skin. "He's hurt badly, Legolas." The effort it took to admit his failure to heal his friend could be heard plainly in the strain of his voice. "I haven't been much help to him."
"He's still alive, isn't he?" Elladan opened Aragorn's mouth and poured a foul-smelling liquid down his throat.
"Well-yes, but-"
"Then you have done all you could," Elladan interrupted as the sting of his hand connecting with the King's bearded chin echoed through those gathered around the unconscious man.
"Wake, Estel!"
"We cannot move him," Elrohir said with a sigh.
"I know. We must make a litter-"
"I began work on one," Gimli turned to Legolas and pointed to a pile of long, crudely-cut branches. "Darkness fell and he was in need of attention so I was forced to stop."
"Well done, Gimli!" Elrohir cried and nodded to Legolas and the two
elves began to finish the work Gimli had begun. "It is the only way we
will be able to transport him to our camp."
"You have many with you?" Gimli followed, leaving Aragorn in Elladan's capable hands.
"A few. Not many compared to the numbers that were aboard the ship when it sank." Legolas answered as they worked.
"No sign of my sister, Lord Celeborn or Cirdan." Elrohir tore at a large mast that had been piled on top of the poles. "I refuse to believe they perished in the Sea."
They talked quietly as they worked, making short work in finishing the litter. A sickening cough drew their attention and the elves drew the litter with them as they knelt beside the King.
"Aragorn," Elladan positioned himself at his foster-brother's head. "We are going to lift you onto the litter so we can carry you to our camp." He received only a muffled groan in response and he nodded to Elrohir who gripped his brother's legs tightly. Legolas and Gimli stood ready at Aragorn's side, to provide what support they could as the elves moved their kin.
Aragorn's scream of pain echoed across the silent sand as he was lifted into the litter. The only answer to his cry was the splashing of waves against the shore.