Title: Ambush
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: it doesn't belong to me, but to some guy named JRR Tolkien, or his estate, or whatev.
Summary: AU version of Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli's flight to save Pippin and Merry. Includes a confrontation with urk-hai, in which none of them come out un-scathed. Also feature Eomer.
Author's Note: Well, lets just say that I was bored-but not bored enough to have the energy to come up with an actual plot or anything ( . I know Eomer and Aragorn meet for the first time in TT, but, for some strange reason, I have them here as old buddies. Eh, just exercising my artistic license.
Oh yeah, and if anyone can think of a better title, tell me, cos this one sucks!
Gimli welcomed the pause. If it wasn't for the excessive pride that came with all dwarves, he would have given up by now, or at least slowed down. His body was aching and he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand. And he was supposed to be the hardy one! It was Aragorn who led them on, a man. Gimli would not let himself be outdone by such a creature, albeit King upon men. Or an elf, for that matter.
Up ahead Aragorn had stopped the endless sprint though the night for a moment to put his head to the ground. Legolas kneeled beside the king, also straining to hear for any clue to their friends' whereabouts.
"I hear them," the elf said.
"The orcs," said Aragorn, "they are coming."
"How long, how many?" Asked Gimli, sighing. He hadn't the energy. Everything had taken on a rather fatalistic view point for him.
"Now."
It was the last word Legolas was able to utter before the first orc became visible through the trees in the night. It lunged for the elf, who managed to get up his bow in time. A soft twang sounded form his weapon, and the orc fell to the dirt. But the orcs were closing in and the range was not right. Legolas had to abandon his weapon of choice for the two elven blades of his long-knives. He met his second head on in the semi- darkness. He slashed him across the neck, cutting open arteries and the wind pipe, leaving the creature as good as dead on the ground. Another orc came at him, and he proceeded to fight it like he did the first, going for the vulnerable spots in the armor: the head, neck, and lower abdomen.
They kept on coming, one or two at a time, sometimes three. In a brief pause, he glanced to his right and saw his companions fighting fiercely. Aragorn was slick with sweat, and he realized that the man did not have the advantages as he, an immortal elf, had. This was not the first time he had seen the king of men in battle, but his skill never ceased to amaze Legolas. He was as graceful as an elf, seeming to dance with death, and yet he surpassed most of the elves he knew in swordsman ship.
Legolas snapped back to attention as he found himself in a group of orcs, being attacked from all sides. He felt brief pain as one of their crudely made swords grazed his back. Ignoring it, he fought on. He had no trouble seeing in the shadow, but even with his elven skill, he could not defend every onrush of the uruks. He saw Gimli approach to help him, but he was too late. Legolas felt a burning pain in his gut, and looked down to see a stain of blood on his tunic, small, but growing. He had been slashed.
With alarm, Gimli saw his friend clutch his side in pain. But Legolas was soon back up and fighting, as if he was not wounded. With increased fury, Gimli spun on the attackers, some three times his size, and cut them down with his ax.
"How many more are there??" The dwarf asked in desperation as yet another wave came surging in to meet the trio. Aragorn was not given time to answer. As he was engaged with one orc, another managed to strike with his sword, aiming for his head. Aragorn saw it just in time and jumped back, but the uruk already switched tactics and landed and punch square in his face. Aragorn felt his nose break, and felt the blood pour forth. Before he could recover, another uruk brought its sword up in an arc and prepared to bring it smashing down on the man. Aragorn raised his arm to defend himself just in time. He dodged the blade, but the hilt of the weapon smashed painfully into his forearm. He felt the bone snap, and stumbled back, quickly recovering. He knew the damage was not serious, but it took effort to ignore the pain as he fought on.
Legolas bit his cheek and kept on fighting. If not for himself, he knew that his friends needed his help, and he couldn't let them down. A skillful warrior with centuries of years experience, fighting was second nature-he didn't even have to think of how he was moving. Even he, an elf, was starting to grow weary. Though they had been fighting for no more than fifteen minutes, it was a long time in battle. Especially as intense at it was, with orcs on every side and just yourself and two companions, he thought. Things were beginning to look desperate. With catlike, fluid grace, he flashed his deadly blades.
Gimli, the only one of the three wearing armor, was protected from most of the crude, orc blades. It was only when one of the uruk-hai landed a heavy blow to his head that he stumbled and finally fell to the ground. Luck was with him, though, for in the darkness, the uruks could not see his small, unconscious form, and let him be.
Legolas panicked as he lost track of Gimli. But he had no further time to think of it. He heard the call of horns cut through the night air, and was filled hope for he recognized the horns of Rohan. Help had arrived. The orcs recognized it too, but they did not retreat just yet. Instead, in the distance, the elf saw the silhouette sof at least ten more. Suddenly, he felt the air rush by him as an arrow just missed his arm. Orc archers! He tried to warn his companions but it was too late. With his sharp eyes he saw a flash of black as an arrow hit Aragorn.
"Aragorn!" he cried out in alarm.
The man stumbled backwards under the impact, his eyes blurring with sweat and blood. Luckily, the adrenaline covered the pain, and Aragorn gritted his teeth and kept fighting. With a last trust of his sword he finished the orc, and looked up, prepared to fight til his death. But there were no more orcs. The ones that were not killed had fled.
The man sighed in relief, and, suddenly feeling a blinding pain in his leg, leaned backward against a tree, supporting himself. His eyes crossed and he felt dizzy and faint. With great effort, he managed to sheath his sword. Only then did he look down at what was causing the throbbing in his left thigh. A black shaft protruded from deep inside the leg. His trousers were already soaked in blood, and he could feel more trickling down the inside of his calf and ankle. He did not fail to notice that the shaft thicker than both his thumbs put together. He cupped his hands around the shaft, trying to stop the flow of blood. Even that little pressure caused him unbearable pain. He could feel the blood warm and bubbling, seeping from between his fingers. His life, draining away.
Legolas, clutching his side and heaving in pain, saw Gimli stagger up from the ground, holding his head. Both quickly checking each other, making sure that neither were in any danger of dying just yet, they rushed to the side of their injured companion.
He was resting his back against the trunk of a tree, and slowly sliding down. Legolas caught him just before he fell, and lowered him down carefully to the ground, so he was still leaning against the tree with his injured leg stretched out in front of him.
"Ahh," he moaned.
"How badly are you injured?" Legolas asked, unable to hide the concern from his features. The man moaned again.
"It is deep, I can feel it, and bleeding much. Mayhap it nicked an artery."
"The riders of Rohan are approaching," said Gimli, "and not too soon! They will stop here and help us."
"Yes," answered Legolas, as he inspected Aragorn's wounded leg. The blood was not clotting and if it kept that way, his friend would surly die from loss of the vital fluid before long. He gently ran his fingers down the sides of the shaft, amazed at its thickness. It was more like a spear than an arrow. He bit his tongue as he felt a brief pain on the tips of his fingers, and he realized that there were sharp thorn-like stingers jutting out from the shaft. The arrow was barbed! The barbs, though no longer that the last joint of the pinky finger, were used by some of the more brutal tribes of orcs and goblins so that even if the arrow did not kill the recipient, it made the wound incredibly painful and almost impossible to extract from the body. The man winced as he realized his situation, wrinkling his nose.
Legolas could hear the hoof beats slowing as the riders approached them. "Aragorn," he said, "I'm not a healer. Tell me what I should do."
The man tried to focus, and it was apparently difficult. At last, he spoke: "Reach down, undo my belt and take it off." After it was done, he took the belt and started wrapped it twice around his leg, right above where the arrow had hit. His hands were slick with blood and shaking. Legolas, seeing what he was doing, took over, fastening it like a tourniquet.
"It must be tighter, as tight as you can make it, to stop the flow of blood," he told his friend. "Put you foot on my knee, there, hold my leg down." Legolas did as he was told. "On the count of three, press down with you boot and tighten the belt as much as so can. Do it swift, it will be painful."
Legolas winced inwardly, imagining the pain. Yet another reason why he had never become a healer; too much blood, too much hurt. He could not stand the sight of it, especially on a friend so dear.
"One," he began counting, "two," in a quick and strong motion he tightened the belt as much as he could. The man cried out in agony. He quickly tied the belt, making sure it was tight enough. The blood flowing from the wound had slowed, now it was little more than a trickle. Aragorn was breathing heavily, his eyes shut tight. He opened them and looked at his leg. Abruptly, he turned to the side and vomited.
Legolas, forgetting his own wound, looked up to see the riders of Rohan had entered the clearing and paused, bows drawn at the unlucky trio. He stood up, showing the palms of his hands as a gesture of peace, but still the archers remained as they were. "Peace," he said. "We are not your enemies. We were looking for our friends when we were attacked by orcs. I am Legolas, elf of Mirkwood, this is Gimli, dwarf of-" before he could finish what he was saying or get to Aragorn, he was cut off by the leader of the riders.
"An elf and a dwarf together in company?" and some of the soldiers laughed nervously. "Nay, I was jesting. You fought the orcs, you say? Well by the looks of it, you succeeded." He was looking at the piles of the dead orcs the three had slain.
Aragorn had recovered enough to study what was going on. His eyes widened slightly as he recognized the man talking. "Eomer?"
The man called Eomer paused, stunned. He could not make out who or what the creature that called his name was in the dark. Everyone was still and quite as he cautiously approached the figure. As he got closer he could tell from the way it was leaning against the tree that it was injured. Unexpectedly, a cloud shifted and a moonlight beam crossed against the creature's face. Despite the bloody face and broken nose that marred the man's rugged face, he recognized his old friend at once.
"Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Lord of the Dunedan!" he said and immediately kneeled by his friends side. "Heir of Isilder and rightful King of Gondor and Arnor," he whispered closer to the man's ear so that only he could hear.
"Quiet, my dear friend, there are some things better left unsaid," the man replied, matching the volume of the words. They embraced like old friends, and Eomer couldn't help but notice his old friend wince.
"Are you injured badly?" he asked.
The other man paused. "I fear so," he said, and pointed to the arrow.
Eomer sighed. He could tell the wound was grievous and that Aragorn, though he struggled to keep from showing it, was fading fast.
Aragorn's vision blurred even more and it became a struggle to remain upright. Vaguely, he heard more voices above his head, but they were droned out as his head lost focus. He closed his eyes and lost consciousness.
*~*
I already have a little more written.but I might not post it. I guess it depends on how well received the first part is. SO, if you want more, you gotta review!! Will Aragorn survive? Will Legolas ignore his own injuries until it's too late? Will Gimli be completely forgotten about, or will he play a greater role in the chapter(s) to come?
Find out next week on mbali's wondrous fanfiction---I mean, review, and you might get more!! 8-)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: it doesn't belong to me, but to some guy named JRR Tolkien, or his estate, or whatev.
Summary: AU version of Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli's flight to save Pippin and Merry. Includes a confrontation with urk-hai, in which none of them come out un-scathed. Also feature Eomer.
Author's Note: Well, lets just say that I was bored-but not bored enough to have the energy to come up with an actual plot or anything ( . I know Eomer and Aragorn meet for the first time in TT, but, for some strange reason, I have them here as old buddies. Eh, just exercising my artistic license.
Oh yeah, and if anyone can think of a better title, tell me, cos this one sucks!
Gimli welcomed the pause. If it wasn't for the excessive pride that came with all dwarves, he would have given up by now, or at least slowed down. His body was aching and he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand. And he was supposed to be the hardy one! It was Aragorn who led them on, a man. Gimli would not let himself be outdone by such a creature, albeit King upon men. Or an elf, for that matter.
Up ahead Aragorn had stopped the endless sprint though the night for a moment to put his head to the ground. Legolas kneeled beside the king, also straining to hear for any clue to their friends' whereabouts.
"I hear them," the elf said.
"The orcs," said Aragorn, "they are coming."
"How long, how many?" Asked Gimli, sighing. He hadn't the energy. Everything had taken on a rather fatalistic view point for him.
"Now."
It was the last word Legolas was able to utter before the first orc became visible through the trees in the night. It lunged for the elf, who managed to get up his bow in time. A soft twang sounded form his weapon, and the orc fell to the dirt. But the orcs were closing in and the range was not right. Legolas had to abandon his weapon of choice for the two elven blades of his long-knives. He met his second head on in the semi- darkness. He slashed him across the neck, cutting open arteries and the wind pipe, leaving the creature as good as dead on the ground. Another orc came at him, and he proceeded to fight it like he did the first, going for the vulnerable spots in the armor: the head, neck, and lower abdomen.
They kept on coming, one or two at a time, sometimes three. In a brief pause, he glanced to his right and saw his companions fighting fiercely. Aragorn was slick with sweat, and he realized that the man did not have the advantages as he, an immortal elf, had. This was not the first time he had seen the king of men in battle, but his skill never ceased to amaze Legolas. He was as graceful as an elf, seeming to dance with death, and yet he surpassed most of the elves he knew in swordsman ship.
Legolas snapped back to attention as he found himself in a group of orcs, being attacked from all sides. He felt brief pain as one of their crudely made swords grazed his back. Ignoring it, he fought on. He had no trouble seeing in the shadow, but even with his elven skill, he could not defend every onrush of the uruks. He saw Gimli approach to help him, but he was too late. Legolas felt a burning pain in his gut, and looked down to see a stain of blood on his tunic, small, but growing. He had been slashed.
With alarm, Gimli saw his friend clutch his side in pain. But Legolas was soon back up and fighting, as if he was not wounded. With increased fury, Gimli spun on the attackers, some three times his size, and cut them down with his ax.
"How many more are there??" The dwarf asked in desperation as yet another wave came surging in to meet the trio. Aragorn was not given time to answer. As he was engaged with one orc, another managed to strike with his sword, aiming for his head. Aragorn saw it just in time and jumped back, but the uruk already switched tactics and landed and punch square in his face. Aragorn felt his nose break, and felt the blood pour forth. Before he could recover, another uruk brought its sword up in an arc and prepared to bring it smashing down on the man. Aragorn raised his arm to defend himself just in time. He dodged the blade, but the hilt of the weapon smashed painfully into his forearm. He felt the bone snap, and stumbled back, quickly recovering. He knew the damage was not serious, but it took effort to ignore the pain as he fought on.
Legolas bit his cheek and kept on fighting. If not for himself, he knew that his friends needed his help, and he couldn't let them down. A skillful warrior with centuries of years experience, fighting was second nature-he didn't even have to think of how he was moving. Even he, an elf, was starting to grow weary. Though they had been fighting for no more than fifteen minutes, it was a long time in battle. Especially as intense at it was, with orcs on every side and just yourself and two companions, he thought. Things were beginning to look desperate. With catlike, fluid grace, he flashed his deadly blades.
Gimli, the only one of the three wearing armor, was protected from most of the crude, orc blades. It was only when one of the uruk-hai landed a heavy blow to his head that he stumbled and finally fell to the ground. Luck was with him, though, for in the darkness, the uruks could not see his small, unconscious form, and let him be.
Legolas panicked as he lost track of Gimli. But he had no further time to think of it. He heard the call of horns cut through the night air, and was filled hope for he recognized the horns of Rohan. Help had arrived. The orcs recognized it too, but they did not retreat just yet. Instead, in the distance, the elf saw the silhouette sof at least ten more. Suddenly, he felt the air rush by him as an arrow just missed his arm. Orc archers! He tried to warn his companions but it was too late. With his sharp eyes he saw a flash of black as an arrow hit Aragorn.
"Aragorn!" he cried out in alarm.
The man stumbled backwards under the impact, his eyes blurring with sweat and blood. Luckily, the adrenaline covered the pain, and Aragorn gritted his teeth and kept fighting. With a last trust of his sword he finished the orc, and looked up, prepared to fight til his death. But there were no more orcs. The ones that were not killed had fled.
The man sighed in relief, and, suddenly feeling a blinding pain in his leg, leaned backward against a tree, supporting himself. His eyes crossed and he felt dizzy and faint. With great effort, he managed to sheath his sword. Only then did he look down at what was causing the throbbing in his left thigh. A black shaft protruded from deep inside the leg. His trousers were already soaked in blood, and he could feel more trickling down the inside of his calf and ankle. He did not fail to notice that the shaft thicker than both his thumbs put together. He cupped his hands around the shaft, trying to stop the flow of blood. Even that little pressure caused him unbearable pain. He could feel the blood warm and bubbling, seeping from between his fingers. His life, draining away.
Legolas, clutching his side and heaving in pain, saw Gimli stagger up from the ground, holding his head. Both quickly checking each other, making sure that neither were in any danger of dying just yet, they rushed to the side of their injured companion.
He was resting his back against the trunk of a tree, and slowly sliding down. Legolas caught him just before he fell, and lowered him down carefully to the ground, so he was still leaning against the tree with his injured leg stretched out in front of him.
"Ahh," he moaned.
"How badly are you injured?" Legolas asked, unable to hide the concern from his features. The man moaned again.
"It is deep, I can feel it, and bleeding much. Mayhap it nicked an artery."
"The riders of Rohan are approaching," said Gimli, "and not too soon! They will stop here and help us."
"Yes," answered Legolas, as he inspected Aragorn's wounded leg. The blood was not clotting and if it kept that way, his friend would surly die from loss of the vital fluid before long. He gently ran his fingers down the sides of the shaft, amazed at its thickness. It was more like a spear than an arrow. He bit his tongue as he felt a brief pain on the tips of his fingers, and he realized that there were sharp thorn-like stingers jutting out from the shaft. The arrow was barbed! The barbs, though no longer that the last joint of the pinky finger, were used by some of the more brutal tribes of orcs and goblins so that even if the arrow did not kill the recipient, it made the wound incredibly painful and almost impossible to extract from the body. The man winced as he realized his situation, wrinkling his nose.
Legolas could hear the hoof beats slowing as the riders approached them. "Aragorn," he said, "I'm not a healer. Tell me what I should do."
The man tried to focus, and it was apparently difficult. At last, he spoke: "Reach down, undo my belt and take it off." After it was done, he took the belt and started wrapped it twice around his leg, right above where the arrow had hit. His hands were slick with blood and shaking. Legolas, seeing what he was doing, took over, fastening it like a tourniquet.
"It must be tighter, as tight as you can make it, to stop the flow of blood," he told his friend. "Put you foot on my knee, there, hold my leg down." Legolas did as he was told. "On the count of three, press down with you boot and tighten the belt as much as so can. Do it swift, it will be painful."
Legolas winced inwardly, imagining the pain. Yet another reason why he had never become a healer; too much blood, too much hurt. He could not stand the sight of it, especially on a friend so dear.
"One," he began counting, "two," in a quick and strong motion he tightened the belt as much as he could. The man cried out in agony. He quickly tied the belt, making sure it was tight enough. The blood flowing from the wound had slowed, now it was little more than a trickle. Aragorn was breathing heavily, his eyes shut tight. He opened them and looked at his leg. Abruptly, he turned to the side and vomited.
Legolas, forgetting his own wound, looked up to see the riders of Rohan had entered the clearing and paused, bows drawn at the unlucky trio. He stood up, showing the palms of his hands as a gesture of peace, but still the archers remained as they were. "Peace," he said. "We are not your enemies. We were looking for our friends when we were attacked by orcs. I am Legolas, elf of Mirkwood, this is Gimli, dwarf of-" before he could finish what he was saying or get to Aragorn, he was cut off by the leader of the riders.
"An elf and a dwarf together in company?" and some of the soldiers laughed nervously. "Nay, I was jesting. You fought the orcs, you say? Well by the looks of it, you succeeded." He was looking at the piles of the dead orcs the three had slain.
Aragorn had recovered enough to study what was going on. His eyes widened slightly as he recognized the man talking. "Eomer?"
The man called Eomer paused, stunned. He could not make out who or what the creature that called his name was in the dark. Everyone was still and quite as he cautiously approached the figure. As he got closer he could tell from the way it was leaning against the tree that it was injured. Unexpectedly, a cloud shifted and a moonlight beam crossed against the creature's face. Despite the bloody face and broken nose that marred the man's rugged face, he recognized his old friend at once.
"Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Lord of the Dunedan!" he said and immediately kneeled by his friends side. "Heir of Isilder and rightful King of Gondor and Arnor," he whispered closer to the man's ear so that only he could hear.
"Quiet, my dear friend, there are some things better left unsaid," the man replied, matching the volume of the words. They embraced like old friends, and Eomer couldn't help but notice his old friend wince.
"Are you injured badly?" he asked.
The other man paused. "I fear so," he said, and pointed to the arrow.
Eomer sighed. He could tell the wound was grievous and that Aragorn, though he struggled to keep from showing it, was fading fast.
Aragorn's vision blurred even more and it became a struggle to remain upright. Vaguely, he heard more voices above his head, but they were droned out as his head lost focus. He closed his eyes and lost consciousness.
*~*
I already have a little more written.but I might not post it. I guess it depends on how well received the first part is. SO, if you want more, you gotta review!! Will Aragorn survive? Will Legolas ignore his own injuries until it's too late? Will Gimli be completely forgotten about, or will he play a greater role in the chapter(s) to come?
Find out next week on mbali's wondrous fanfiction---I mean, review, and you might get more!! 8-)
