A/N: Thankyou to everyone who urged me to continue! A special mention to
Elfmage, as you added me... you're way too kind... but I do give my
rewards! =) And also to marbienl - there is not lot of 'Estel-pain' in
this chapter, but I promise you it's coming up! Stick with it!
Don't get me wrong, the rest of you are also *much* appreciated and have spurred me on to write this sooner than I have with my other ongoing story - so I now am preparing myself to face the onslaught of rabid Star Wars fans.
The things I do for you folks, honestly... actually, it's not all your fault; I have just this very minute finished slogging through my *huge*, fully-detailed, amazingly boring history essay on the main factors that combined to ensure the economic boom in America reached it's fullest potential in the socially revolutionary and industrially wealthy times of the 1920's... I can see you all sleeping already, imagine what it's like to have been writing it LONGHAND *all night*! Grrrr... I'm not even American! Mind you, English history from around that time is a lot duller... so, I suppose... I am, however, rather impressed with my own self-control and maturity in regards to this coursework and am feeling rather superior - I passed on the chance to go out and have a whole lot of fun tonight, knowing that I would have this to do... mature, no?
Though, had I had the foresight and organised myself, I probably could have done this stupid essay yesterday and early tonight, and then still gone out.... hmmm.... it's amazing how short a time it takes to bring oneself back down to earth, isn't it?
Sorry! Went completely off on a tangent there (= note Maths coursework terms creeping in! I'm losing my mind, seriously!), but felt the need to spout out a rant. All done now...
*Anyways*, here we go, hope you like - bear in mind that it was written with only the leftovers of the mush that is my brain now...
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Aragorn felt as though he were swimming in mud, his mind sluggish along with his body. For some odd reason, nothing would connect with anything else - his mind and his body, his eyes and the world around him - he couldn't piece together the necessary command over himself that he had usually. The only thing that stopped him slipping once more into the peaceful unawarness the mud promised him sweetly was a queer sense of urgency he felt. It twisted his heart and coiled his stomach, wrenching him steadily away from his unconsciousness, back to the cold, harsh reality of the world again, for reasons unknown.
The ranger's eyes shifted beneath their lids as snowflakes fell softly upon them, and he brought a hand up to the back of his dark head before he'd even fully awoken. There was something warm and sticky there which hurt to press. Aragorn frowned, eyes still closed, but he would have been quite happy to disregard this temporarily-bewildering fact and stay in his half- aware world for some time longer, had it not been for the desperate, panicked cry of "Estel!" that reached his ears, a very familiar voice having shouted it.
The ranger's grey eyes immediately snapped open, their black pupils shrinking to mere pin points with the sudden light that assaulted them, but he ignored both this stabbing pain and the throbbing one that exploded at the back of his head, as he heard, "Estel, *help*!!!", confirming the terror that had just flared in his heart.
Legolas. Legolas was in trouble. The Wargs!
"*Estel!*"
This new, terrifying train of thought surged Aragorn unsteadily to his feet along with the yell that was frightened, more so than any of the others had been, and he whirled, desperate to help his best friend. His heart stopped beating for a sudden second: he thought he was too late. All he could see was the Warg's vast back, and beneath it the long legs of Legolas. Then he heard Legolas scream, and that agonising sound, painful for his ears to hear, jolted both his heart to start once more and his body to shift without his mind's command.
In one fluid movement, he picked up his sword from where it had been swatted to the floor earlier, and ran straight at the Warg. He sunk the weapon up to it's ornate hilt into the monster's back and through his chest, finally killing the foul beast - something he would never have been able to do if the wolf had not been so completely intent upon ripping out Legolas' throat.
The Warg slumped heavily on top of the elf, who's screams died to a hoarse groans, the pain of the beast's considerable, full weight pressing down upon his shattered arm steadily becoming too much for him - he wasn't all that far from completely blacking out. Aragorn, meanwhile, immediately began to struggle with the carcass, throwing himself against it to try and budge it and get to his best friend - he succeeded, and the Warg's body began to slide off of the elf trapped beneath it with a sickening squelching sound, the blood still pouring from the sword's entry and exit points, flooding the snow around them, melting it and staining it a gruesome darkest-red, as well as Legolas. But as Aragorn was trying his best to desperately relieve the prince and get to him but, not yet knowing the extent of any injuries his best friend, the ranger unintentionally jarred Legolas' mauled arm. Legolas cried out in sudden, flaring agony and then swiftly lost consciousness, the suffering his wound caused overcoming him, the new surge of pain overtaking him at Estel's accidental hand.
Aragorn, of course, could not know this, and was startled when Legolas screamed afresh and then suddenly went deathly still. It terrified him that he didn't know of the prince's condition - didn't know how serious it could be. He hurled the whole of his body weight against the rough side of the huge, heavy wolf in renewed passion, finally shifting it... had he not been so worried about his best friend, he would have remarked to the air about him the damned Wargs were as much trouble dead as they were alive. As it was, he was at Legolas' side in a bolt of lightening.
His slate-hued eyes widened as soon as he took in the extent of his best friend's injury; the elf was covered in blood, and not only the Warg's blackly-red fluid, for the bright, vivid red blood of Elves was present all about Legolas' unconscious form and in the laying snow about them. But that was not what troubled Aragorn - what worried him greatly, aside from the fact that his best friend had blacked out (something that was highly irregular for him, even with the worst of his injuries... it was an onrunning joke that Aragorn was usually the one who was knocked out), was the state of the top of Legolas' right arm and shoulder. It was completely torn apart, the skin around the wound in tatters, jagged puncture marks in the flesh around the shoulder with the Warg's fangs had gripped and then lacerated the tissue, and the muscles had obviously been ripped cruelly away from where they joined to the bone... and the bone - this is what made Aragorn, for all his healing experience and the things he'd already seen, feel more than a little queasy - the bone in the top of Legolas' arm was jutting out through the wound, clearly visible, a stark white contrasting against the vast amounts of blood there. Splinters of bone were working their way deeper and deeper into the torn muscles about the break, causing even more damage.
Aragorn shook his dark head, heart tightened in anxiousness - they had to leave this place; the smell of blood would surely draw more of the foul Wargs to this dark place, where they would proceed to devour the remains of their brethren. And if Aragorn and Legolas were still there, they would surely be ripped completely apart by more than half a dozen snapping, snarling jaws. They had to shift. Aragorn did not much fancy carrying his best friend, though would certainly do so if he had been his usual self, he only deferred because he was feeling very faint and dizzy himself... he surmised that he probably had a concussion, probably something to do with the force the back of his head connected with the tree he had been slammed into, and the veritable *crack* he had heard. He feared that if he attempted to carry Legolas, he would drop him - and that was entirely what he wished *not* to do.
So instead he tried the simplest thing, though knowing it would not work, and leant over the unconscious elf, laying a hand upon Legolas' pale forehead as if just a mere touch would wake him. He had not even tried to heal his best friend and draw him mentally from the place in his mind where his spirit had fled to, when the prince's brilliant green eyes fluttered open of their own accord. Aragorn's heart leapt, and he snatched his hand away immediately, "Legolas! Are you well, mellon nin?" He realised only after he had spoken the words how ridiculous this question was.
Legolas, despite the waves of pain he was struggling against, managed to shoot him a wry, if weak, grin, which served to ease the ranger's heart immensely. "Estel?" he began groggily, voice unusually patronising, teeth gritted as a defence against the sea of pain he felt himself caught up and tossed about in, "Would you like to rephrase that?"
Aragorn chuckled softly, expression warm; only with that joke and smile had he known Legolas to be alright. "Well, I see... if you can afford to insult me, you must be better than I thought," he grinned, moving to the injured elf's left side and beginning to help him to his unsteady feet. His heart still thumped anxiousness through him with every beat, but at that moment he needed to get both Legolas and himself away from the dangerous site.
"Did you expect any less of me, Estel?" Legolas raised one golden brow, trying to deepen his breath so he was not rasping the short gasps he seemed to be at that moment.
"Not really," the ranger shot back lightly as though not at all concerned, one arm around the elf's slender waist, the other gripping his uninjured shoulder tightly. "We have to distance ourselves from this place... once we get to a safe shelter, I can see to your arm - I believe I have some numbing herbs in my pack, hopefully they will help you slightly... Legolas!" The elf had swayed heavily and leaned into Aragorn's supporting shoulder all of a sudden; when the elf had stood, however gingerly he climbed to his feet and however carefully he carried himself, the weight of his forearm and hand had pulled agonisingly down upon the wound and broken bone in his arm, making brightly-hued spots appear and dance in front of his eyes.
Legolas, recovering himself quickly and living up once more to his proud nature, waved away his best friend's concern with his slender left hand, "I am fine, Estel, do not worry about me... let's get to the shelter, evening is on it's way." Indeed it was, the snow clouds had darkened the skies dramatically, but there was no disguising the fall of a cold night, as this one promised fully to be.
And so the pair ventured forth... had either of them been their usual selves, they would have had a laugh at each other and themselves, at the way they made their way down the snow-hidden path; both leaned fairly heavily upon one another, so they were walking at an almost-diagonally angle, heads together and feet bracing their weight. It was an odd postion, but it worked for both of them, they were both injured and weary and wished to find shelter as soon as possible, so there were no qualms about however they did it.
A thick snow coverlet lay immediately over the footprint's Aragorn's heavy boots had made in the fresh snow, hiding it, and filled in the slight indentation that Legolas' soft-shoe clad feet had pressed into the now- white path, so they left no tracks behind them as they sought a place to spend the night.
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*Please* review... I am both sleep and coffee deprived, and full of usless facts about the American economic boom of the 1920's... and I need something to urge my brain to reassemble itself!
Don't get me wrong, the rest of you are also *much* appreciated and have spurred me on to write this sooner than I have with my other ongoing story - so I now am preparing myself to face the onslaught of rabid Star Wars fans.
The things I do for you folks, honestly... actually, it's not all your fault; I have just this very minute finished slogging through my *huge*, fully-detailed, amazingly boring history essay on the main factors that combined to ensure the economic boom in America reached it's fullest potential in the socially revolutionary and industrially wealthy times of the 1920's... I can see you all sleeping already, imagine what it's like to have been writing it LONGHAND *all night*! Grrrr... I'm not even American! Mind you, English history from around that time is a lot duller... so, I suppose... I am, however, rather impressed with my own self-control and maturity in regards to this coursework and am feeling rather superior - I passed on the chance to go out and have a whole lot of fun tonight, knowing that I would have this to do... mature, no?
Though, had I had the foresight and organised myself, I probably could have done this stupid essay yesterday and early tonight, and then still gone out.... hmmm.... it's amazing how short a time it takes to bring oneself back down to earth, isn't it?
Sorry! Went completely off on a tangent there (= note Maths coursework terms creeping in! I'm losing my mind, seriously!), but felt the need to spout out a rant. All done now...
*Anyways*, here we go, hope you like - bear in mind that it was written with only the leftovers of the mush that is my brain now...
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
Aragorn felt as though he were swimming in mud, his mind sluggish along with his body. For some odd reason, nothing would connect with anything else - his mind and his body, his eyes and the world around him - he couldn't piece together the necessary command over himself that he had usually. The only thing that stopped him slipping once more into the peaceful unawarness the mud promised him sweetly was a queer sense of urgency he felt. It twisted his heart and coiled his stomach, wrenching him steadily away from his unconsciousness, back to the cold, harsh reality of the world again, for reasons unknown.
The ranger's eyes shifted beneath their lids as snowflakes fell softly upon them, and he brought a hand up to the back of his dark head before he'd even fully awoken. There was something warm and sticky there which hurt to press. Aragorn frowned, eyes still closed, but he would have been quite happy to disregard this temporarily-bewildering fact and stay in his half- aware world for some time longer, had it not been for the desperate, panicked cry of "Estel!" that reached his ears, a very familiar voice having shouted it.
The ranger's grey eyes immediately snapped open, their black pupils shrinking to mere pin points with the sudden light that assaulted them, but he ignored both this stabbing pain and the throbbing one that exploded at the back of his head, as he heard, "Estel, *help*!!!", confirming the terror that had just flared in his heart.
Legolas. Legolas was in trouble. The Wargs!
"*Estel!*"
This new, terrifying train of thought surged Aragorn unsteadily to his feet along with the yell that was frightened, more so than any of the others had been, and he whirled, desperate to help his best friend. His heart stopped beating for a sudden second: he thought he was too late. All he could see was the Warg's vast back, and beneath it the long legs of Legolas. Then he heard Legolas scream, and that agonising sound, painful for his ears to hear, jolted both his heart to start once more and his body to shift without his mind's command.
In one fluid movement, he picked up his sword from where it had been swatted to the floor earlier, and ran straight at the Warg. He sunk the weapon up to it's ornate hilt into the monster's back and through his chest, finally killing the foul beast - something he would never have been able to do if the wolf had not been so completely intent upon ripping out Legolas' throat.
The Warg slumped heavily on top of the elf, who's screams died to a hoarse groans, the pain of the beast's considerable, full weight pressing down upon his shattered arm steadily becoming too much for him - he wasn't all that far from completely blacking out. Aragorn, meanwhile, immediately began to struggle with the carcass, throwing himself against it to try and budge it and get to his best friend - he succeeded, and the Warg's body began to slide off of the elf trapped beneath it with a sickening squelching sound, the blood still pouring from the sword's entry and exit points, flooding the snow around them, melting it and staining it a gruesome darkest-red, as well as Legolas. But as Aragorn was trying his best to desperately relieve the prince and get to him but, not yet knowing the extent of any injuries his best friend, the ranger unintentionally jarred Legolas' mauled arm. Legolas cried out in sudden, flaring agony and then swiftly lost consciousness, the suffering his wound caused overcoming him, the new surge of pain overtaking him at Estel's accidental hand.
Aragorn, of course, could not know this, and was startled when Legolas screamed afresh and then suddenly went deathly still. It terrified him that he didn't know of the prince's condition - didn't know how serious it could be. He hurled the whole of his body weight against the rough side of the huge, heavy wolf in renewed passion, finally shifting it... had he not been so worried about his best friend, he would have remarked to the air about him the damned Wargs were as much trouble dead as they were alive. As it was, he was at Legolas' side in a bolt of lightening.
His slate-hued eyes widened as soon as he took in the extent of his best friend's injury; the elf was covered in blood, and not only the Warg's blackly-red fluid, for the bright, vivid red blood of Elves was present all about Legolas' unconscious form and in the laying snow about them. But that was not what troubled Aragorn - what worried him greatly, aside from the fact that his best friend had blacked out (something that was highly irregular for him, even with the worst of his injuries... it was an onrunning joke that Aragorn was usually the one who was knocked out), was the state of the top of Legolas' right arm and shoulder. It was completely torn apart, the skin around the wound in tatters, jagged puncture marks in the flesh around the shoulder with the Warg's fangs had gripped and then lacerated the tissue, and the muscles had obviously been ripped cruelly away from where they joined to the bone... and the bone - this is what made Aragorn, for all his healing experience and the things he'd already seen, feel more than a little queasy - the bone in the top of Legolas' arm was jutting out through the wound, clearly visible, a stark white contrasting against the vast amounts of blood there. Splinters of bone were working their way deeper and deeper into the torn muscles about the break, causing even more damage.
Aragorn shook his dark head, heart tightened in anxiousness - they had to leave this place; the smell of blood would surely draw more of the foul Wargs to this dark place, where they would proceed to devour the remains of their brethren. And if Aragorn and Legolas were still there, they would surely be ripped completely apart by more than half a dozen snapping, snarling jaws. They had to shift. Aragorn did not much fancy carrying his best friend, though would certainly do so if he had been his usual self, he only deferred because he was feeling very faint and dizzy himself... he surmised that he probably had a concussion, probably something to do with the force the back of his head connected with the tree he had been slammed into, and the veritable *crack* he had heard. He feared that if he attempted to carry Legolas, he would drop him - and that was entirely what he wished *not* to do.
So instead he tried the simplest thing, though knowing it would not work, and leant over the unconscious elf, laying a hand upon Legolas' pale forehead as if just a mere touch would wake him. He had not even tried to heal his best friend and draw him mentally from the place in his mind where his spirit had fled to, when the prince's brilliant green eyes fluttered open of their own accord. Aragorn's heart leapt, and he snatched his hand away immediately, "Legolas! Are you well, mellon nin?" He realised only after he had spoken the words how ridiculous this question was.
Legolas, despite the waves of pain he was struggling against, managed to shoot him a wry, if weak, grin, which served to ease the ranger's heart immensely. "Estel?" he began groggily, voice unusually patronising, teeth gritted as a defence against the sea of pain he felt himself caught up and tossed about in, "Would you like to rephrase that?"
Aragorn chuckled softly, expression warm; only with that joke and smile had he known Legolas to be alright. "Well, I see... if you can afford to insult me, you must be better than I thought," he grinned, moving to the injured elf's left side and beginning to help him to his unsteady feet. His heart still thumped anxiousness through him with every beat, but at that moment he needed to get both Legolas and himself away from the dangerous site.
"Did you expect any less of me, Estel?" Legolas raised one golden brow, trying to deepen his breath so he was not rasping the short gasps he seemed to be at that moment.
"Not really," the ranger shot back lightly as though not at all concerned, one arm around the elf's slender waist, the other gripping his uninjured shoulder tightly. "We have to distance ourselves from this place... once we get to a safe shelter, I can see to your arm - I believe I have some numbing herbs in my pack, hopefully they will help you slightly... Legolas!" The elf had swayed heavily and leaned into Aragorn's supporting shoulder all of a sudden; when the elf had stood, however gingerly he climbed to his feet and however carefully he carried himself, the weight of his forearm and hand had pulled agonisingly down upon the wound and broken bone in his arm, making brightly-hued spots appear and dance in front of his eyes.
Legolas, recovering himself quickly and living up once more to his proud nature, waved away his best friend's concern with his slender left hand, "I am fine, Estel, do not worry about me... let's get to the shelter, evening is on it's way." Indeed it was, the snow clouds had darkened the skies dramatically, but there was no disguising the fall of a cold night, as this one promised fully to be.
And so the pair ventured forth... had either of them been their usual selves, they would have had a laugh at each other and themselves, at the way they made their way down the snow-hidden path; both leaned fairly heavily upon one another, so they were walking at an almost-diagonally angle, heads together and feet bracing their weight. It was an odd postion, but it worked for both of them, they were both injured and weary and wished to find shelter as soon as possible, so there were no qualms about however they did it.
A thick snow coverlet lay immediately over the footprint's Aragorn's heavy boots had made in the fresh snow, hiding it, and filled in the slight indentation that Legolas' soft-shoe clad feet had pressed into the now- white path, so they left no tracks behind them as they sought a place to spend the night.
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*Please* review... I am both sleep and coffee deprived, and full of usless facts about the American economic boom of the 1920's... and I need something to urge my brain to reassemble itself!