Hidden beneath a gray cloak confiscated from a now-dead orc, Legolas crept towards the orc sentry. His prey had, thus far, been very cooperative. The orc on watch stood facing Aragorn, which not only put his back to the elf, but also took him upwind as well, depriving the orc of a warning scent. With the distraction of the wind and thunder also working to his advantage, Legolas found himself standing, unnoticed, directly behind his prey. Silently lifting a blade, the elf severed the orc's spinal cord in single, swift stroke.

Catching the falling body, Legolas noiselessly lowered it to the ground and crouched next to it for a moment, surveying the scene. Surprisingly, the orcs seemed quite soundly settled. Legolas guessed that they must've decided that the weather would chase away any would-be prey or hunter; the elf found it a careless assumption on their part, but didn't intend to complain, for it worked to his advantage.

He saw that Aragorn was still tied to the same tree. The ranger's head was bowed, showing that the human was either asleep or unconscious. All of the remaining orcs had chosen their beds between Legolas' current position and Aragorn's. With the sentry eliminated, Legolas hoped to simply melt effortlessly into the trees beyond the ranger, but there was a length of uncovered ground to cover. He considered the possibility that startling Aragorn out of sleep might increase the chances of waking an orc, but then again, they'd move faster if he didn't have to carry Aragorn, and would be able to fight, if it came to that. Legolas had already taken down five orcs, leaving only seven remaining—few enough for him to handle alone if he had to; if Aragorn wasn't hurt badly, the two of them could definitely manage. 

Legolas sighed, weighing his options. He had to reach Aragorn and free him; but to do that, he had to get past the sleeping orcs without waking any. He might yet have the misfortune to fight them alone, and didn't relish the thought. He didn't doubt his abilities, but Aragorn's position made the ranger an easy target; Legolas would have to protect the man while watching his own back—not an easy thing to do when outnumbered…

********************

Aragorn increased his concentration on the ropes as a throbbing ache nagged at his wrist. He'd had to twist it into an unnatural position in order to cut his bindings out of plain slight of the orcs. The awkward angle increased the difficulty of his chore, but it would be worth it if he could slip away unnoticed, instead of having to fight his way out—especially since the latter method had not proven successful earlier in the day.  

Aragorn abruptly paused, his eye catching a slight movement from the direction of the sleeping orcs. Attempting to get a better look without noticeably raising his head, the ranger spotted a lone, dark shape moving toward him. A flash of lightning revealed a cloaked and hooded creature, but the blackness quickly returned, obscuring greater detail. Aragorn didn't need light to know that obviously one of his enemies approached. Certain that, with his luck, it had to be the orc so eager to kill him, the ranger urgently resumed sawing at the ropes. Only a few more strands and he'd be free… 

The last of Aragorn's bindings slackened just as the 'orc' reached him. The ranger nearly grinned; it seemed that his day's bad luck had suddenly shifted.

Ignoring the protests of his overworked wrist, Aragorn twisted it around and lunged for his captor in one smooth, quick motion. To his delight, the blade of his dagger found its mark, burying itself deeply in his opponent.

Legolas was caught unprepared, as his senses had been tuned to the orcs behind him. He barely had time to flinch when he felt the searing agony of a sharp blade slice into his flesh. The shock of the unexpected pain stole the breath from his lungs, preventing even a startled gasp from escaping his lips as his eyes locked onto his assailant. His hands clutched desperately at the hilt of the knife, which was being cruelly twisted deeper into his gut, while his blood gushed over his hands and the ones belonging to the human.

Aragorn sneered at the 'orc' clinging to his hands, even as its legs gave way beneath it. Brutally yanking the knife free, he caught the limp body and started to noiselessly ease it to the ground.

The ranger suddenly frowned at how strangely light and thin his enemy was; he knew orcs to be much heavier. Another flash of lightning gave him the chance to better see his victim, and Aragorn's arms suddenly froze an inch off the ground. 

"Legolas?!" he choked out in utter shock, whispered because of his sudden breathlessness, rather than fear of rousing the forgotten sleeping orcs.

Legolas' mouth opened as if to answer, but no words came. His eyes, meeting the ranger's, screamed of bewildered agony, before abruptly closing as consciousness slipped away. 

Aragorn was snapped from his stupor when the last bit of tension left his friend's body. Brushing away the tears that had unknowingly streamed down his cheeks, Aragorn inhaled deeply, trying to still his trembling. He had to get Legolas away from the orcs before he could do anything about the wound…the horrible wound that he himself had inflicted.

His brain remained too stunned to consider that there might be little left to do for the seemingly lifeless elf in his arms.  

Lifting his friend gently, Aragorn pushed himself to his feet, using the tree to steady himself. His own pain was forgotten as he looked around, relieved to see that none of the orcs had awoken despite what went on around them. Aragorn knew that he had the thunder to thank for it.

Not wasting any time, Aragorn quickly ran away from the orc's campsite, again thanking the strangely rainless storm. The ranger didn't know how long or how far he ran before coming to a sudden stop, knowing that his friend's wound needed to be tended to before he bled to death.

Laying Legolas under a tree, Aragorn felt a chill go down his spine at the amount of blood that covered his friend. His hands shook terribly as he opened the elf's tunic, desperately hoping that he hadn't stabbed his friend in a vital area.

When the wound was uncovered, Aragorn saw that the blade had entered the right side of Legolas' midsection, just to the right of his navel.

Aragorn shivered with dread, quickly removing his cloak and wadding it up, pressing it tightly against the wound to try to stop the bleeding.

Looking into his friend's face, Aragorn found that the elf's eyes were closed, as he lay completely limp, deeply unconscious. It unnerved Aragorn to see Legolas with his eyes shut, as elves always slept with their eyes open. They only closed them when they were utterly exhausted, or injured.

The wind suddenly increased in speed, chilling Aragorn nearly to the bone. It was winter in parts of Middle Earth, and though it didn't often snow in Rivendell, it was definitely currently colder than it should be.

Lightning suddenly flashed, and Aragorn again found it odd that it still had yet to rain. He was glad for it; it was a blessing, as he had enough to deal with at the moment.

"Oh, Legolas…" he suddenly said, aloud. "What have I done?! Why did you not say something, to let me know that it was you?" He sighed deeply, not knowing that Legolas had been silent because he'd believed the ranger unconscious.

Carefully removing the bloody material, Aragorn saw that the wound was still bleeding very heavily. Unwrapping the cloak, he quickly rolled it up again, pressing a dry section against the injury as he reached for his friend's wrist to check his pulse; the elf's heart was beating too fast.

Aragorn sighed, shakily running a hand through his dark hair. An injury of this sort could quickly induce shock, and he knew that there was no way for him to prevent it in Legolas.

Ripping a long strip from the cloak, Aragorn tied it around his friend to hold the wadded-up cloak in place before gently lifting him again and walking on. As badly as they needed shelter from the storm, Legolas needed medical aid even more, for Aragorn feared that he was dying. Dying…Legolas is dying, by my hand!