A/N: Aha, you're all belting and I do adore the lot of you! It was a
relatively mini-cliff, not a patch on the previous one, I thought.
You're gonna be seeing Legolas' family for the rest of the fic, I reckon.
Apologies if you don't like them (cheers to all of you who let me know you
did) - but I adore them all, and made up their characters and personalities
etc. all by me onesies... they come straight from the heart and so how can
I not love them? Plus, it could possibly interest you to know that a fair
few are based upon mates and family members of mine... dead sneaky, no?
Sorry this has been a long time coming - I'm doing history coursework AGAIN! Hurrah! Now I have six essay question on ten sources about, wait for it.... *prohibition*. I am being run into the ground over history of a country which is not my own! I believe that's a tad unfair. Mind you, the stuff about Al Capone's pretty belting, and we did get to watch the original of 'Scarface', which is class, so perhaps it's not all bad. However, I am taking my mind from comparing sources by writing to you lovely people, and also looking forward to going out to see this mint band called 'King Adora', which is the only reason I'm doing this coursework now, so that I don't have to do it before going to see them!
Jebb: That's a truly inspired idea! I so didn't think of that at all! We'll see... that's if they ever get back to the palace in one piece. Perhaps they'll be too injured...
Gwyn: I am proud to be a member of the '*Anti-Evil! Thranduil Campaign*'! He may be stern on the outside, but he loves his children to bits... plus, I love writing his character, I have so much fun with it. You'll definately see him in later chapters - I can;t keep away from him!
Nikki1: No way is Legolas spoilt rotten! He may be the youngest, but I was trying to put across the idea that the royal family of Mirkwood prefer to do things for themselves, and not have servents wait on them all that much. That's why four of the sons are warriors [Legolas, Arianduil, Andariun and Fienngil] and one of them is a elfling tutor [Niandias - those of you who've read 'Bathtime' like I suggested will know this! See, it pays to take my advice!]. Legolas has to hold his own in such an enviroment, you know!
Shauna: Your last three reviews have been very aggressive towards poor Aragorn. Give him a break, he's knackered! He fell in a freezing lake - I reckon you'd be pretty exhausted and all! Lol. Your reviews amuse me a lot. Oh, we know they are going to live, do we? *raises eyebrow* I've got a good mind to kill them off just for your cheek, miss! Lol.
Templa Otmena: *blushes* That's far too nice. When it comes to reviews you can never go overboard! Thankyou so very much for such appreciative reviews.
Anyway, enough of this nonsense! On with the show!
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
Fienngil Morningstar tried not to let his heart race as he rode through the snow-ladden forest, but he could not help his mind from drifting through dark possibilities of whatever could have happened to his brother and friend as he traveled through the driving snow.
Once it had been affirmed that Legolas and Estel were nowhere in the palace or surrounding woods - sleeping off a hangover or secretly making nuisances of themselves - companies of guards and individual warriors had been sent out with the intention of scouring Mirkwood until the lost souls were found. The twins were riding in one, and even Ithilmir and Esladiya (who were not warriors in the least) had insisted they joined the parties, bringing along Legolas' three hounds - Blaith, Aklar and Silme [Spirit, Glory and Light], who knew the scent of their master without qualm.
Sadly, neither the King or Tusinduil were able to get away from the palace, something which the Crown Prince regretted deeply and Thranduil had been irate over until Fienngil had promised him they would return with their brother and guest safe and sound. Aricelsa was still maintaining that there would be nothing to worry about, and though Niandias wished dearly to aide her siblings, she could not come away from teaching her elflings. Nevertheless, at least two dozen warriors and guards had been dispatched.
Now, however, the difficulty of their task had dawned on them - trying to find two beings in the vastness of Eryn Lasgalen was like trying to find a needle in a particularly large and vengeful haystack, and if the two beings were incapacitated in some way...
Fienngil shook his head firmly, loose light-brown hair flying in front of his face - he would not permit himself to think of such a thing. But wait... when Fienngil had quietened the thoughts whirling in his head, his sharp ears had caught a whisper of something. He could not quite figure out what it was, and he pulled on the reins, bringing his horse Thalion [Dauntless] to a halt whilst he strained to listen to the voices of the wood. Doubtless, Eryn Lasgalen had darkened and grown intentionally trecherous from it's long years in danger and under seige from the black forces growing steadily within it, killing the goodness of the forest from the inside out - and the majority of old trees had cruel, spiting spirits, the evil having gotten them and twisted their hearts into foul things - but if one listened carefully, the spirit of The Great Greenwood could still be heard faintly, struggling to breathe and sing within the confines of the darkness encroached upon it, calling out softly to it's children, the Wood Elves, who strove to preserve this last memory of the glorious forest of Greenwood and who had taught it to speak and sing in the first place.
It was such a voice that Fienngil heard - or thought he heard - calling to him softly, that of the few good trees still growing in Mirkwood. When Thalion stilled, he held his breath and listened once more... There it was! He *had* heard it, there was a voice! Now, if only he could understand what it was saying... the grand, snow-covered trees around him creaked and swayed in the blustery snow that still fell from the heavens above - though it seemed to be coming to it's end - their bare branches almost seeming to whisper of a fallen prince in the heart.
Tusinduil started visibly - A fallen prince in the heart? He urged Thalion forwards on the path he had been going down. A sudden roar swelled around him and he glanced up, alarmed, at the branches of the trees which had all seemed to scrape together as the wind picked up without warning. It was as though a thousand angry voices were calling at him to turn round. Fienngil felt frustrated, he knew the trees were trying to tell him where to go, but he could barely understand what they wanted of him! So he closed his eyes, calmed his mind, leaving his heart to lead him. He felt the urge to move off the path to the right, and into the heart of the forest. Thalion hesitantly stepped forward, deep brown eyes wide, as though expecting another chide from the trees - but the forest was silent. Fienngil tool this to mean he was on the right track, and so set off at a gallop, snow fair-near blinding him. He wished so desperately to find his brother and friend, to find them safe and whole.
He rode until he was nearing the heart of the forest, and Thalion was beginning to tire and slow down, the terrain far more difficult than normal. The warrior elf was thinking of returning back to the palace and then setting out once more, when his sharp, grey-blue eyes caught on something. Several yards away, was a large mound of snow - something which would have been entirely normal of a Mirkwood's winter, had it not been for the fact that the land surrounding this mound was completely flat, having been the spot of a large bonfire a few months ago. Fienngil dropped lightly from Thalion's back and left the horse as a pitch-black speck upon an unblemished backdrop, striding quickly towards the mound. When he reached it, he swiftly knelt in the snow and brushed back the snow on the surface of the mound. His fingers met fabric and his heart leapt. He had found them!
He straightened and, filling his lungs with the icy air around him, bellowed to the white sky, "Dentor! Aie teno let! [Here! I have found them!]" Fienngil hoped at least some of the others would have heard him, and would come to help him. He fell to his knees once more, and quickly scrabbled to get the rest of the snow off his brother and friend, revealing their previously hidden, completely still forms, not caring for the coldness of his fingers. It confused him for a moment when he uncovered some golden hair - he had thought till then that he was dealing with Aragorn: the clothes had seemed to suggest it so, but he discovered his brother was wearing his best friend's clothes, and vice-versa for some reason.
The warrior elf pulled Legolas from off of Aragorn, and lay him gently beside the ranger, and tried to assess the damage. "Oh, Valar," he murmured to himself, and his grey-blue eyes widened as he looked upon the wretched creatures, heart burning.
The pair were breathing, at least, but that was all Fienngil could say. Aragorn's face was deathly pale, and it seemed almost as though blue dye had seeped into his lips, eyelids and nose - he looked so young suddenly, much younger than he seemed and behaved usually. He seemed more of an appirition or ghost than something solid and whole. It frightened Fienngil that he could barely see the ranger's chest rise, and as he ran his hands along the man's limbs, looking for breaks and other injuries, it felt as though he were handling blocks of ice. As the warrior pressed his lips to the man's wrists to feel a life-pulse - as weak and thready as it was, it was still present - his mouth came away almost numb from the complete lack of heat it had been met with. Aragorn was dangerously cold, even the spot where Legolas had been lain over him - presumably to conserve heat - on the man's chest was not warm because the elf was also freezing to touch. Fienngil had been educated a lot in the way of humans since he had first met Aragorn, and was continually surprised by them (Aragorn in particular), but he was still unsure as to what their limitations were - and though he knew from numerous past instances that the heir of Isildur was worth his metal, and he would not buckle under pressure nor fade with pain, the state Aragorn was in now, Fienngil could not help but hold deepest worry within his heart.
He looked to Legolas, and found his findings even graver than he had with Aragorn. His youngest brother was in a terrible way, and it physically hurt his heart to see it. The most pressing worry for Fienngil was the vast wound that encompassed the archer's right shoulder and upper arm - and he could not even bear to look at it harder, for he thought his stomach would churn at the sight of stark-white bone piercing blood red muscle and flesh. From the ragged looks of it, the younger warrior and his best friend had had a run in with a Warg. Legolas had obviously lost a lot of blood from this gaping hole in his body - he was ashen, face grey in it's foreboding hue - dark against the pure snow his head rested on - and his skin was as cold as marble to touch, all warmth having been drawn from the limp, unresisting body through the wound in his shoulder. The small amount of breath the archer drew was harsh, a wheezing breath that pulled at Fienngil's stomach everytime Legolas struggled with his own, failing body to inhale. With every torturous inhale then exhale, the small amount of breath Legolas had gained smoked in the freezing air as it wound it's way out through his partially open, pale lips. His thin chest was a shuddering rhythm, and it terrified his older brother to know what difficulty he was having with the simple act of drawing breath.
Fienngil felt utterly sick with worry - how could such a thing have happened?
The twins, Ithilmir and Esladiya had all been close at hand when their older brother's cries had rent the cold air - they had sent the guards and other warriors away and to the palace with Legolas' dogs in their attempt to not wound the fallen pair's pride (Legolas' in particular) any more than completely possible. They all came crashing onto the scene - their usual, inherent nobility and natural grace disregarded in their desperation and effort to get to Fienngil, Legolas and Aragorn as quickly as possible. The twins were struck by the scene awaiting them, and froze, fair faces open and showing distress whilst Esladiya also halted and gasped, a hand coming up to cover her mouth, whereas Ithilmir simply raced to his brothers' sides. "However could such a thing have happened?" he asked in shock when he saw the inert forms closer, large grey eyes searching Fienngil's pale face as the warrior bent over his prone brother and friend, unsure as to what to do. They did not try waking Legolas and Aragorn, because they all knew how futile this task would prove to be.
"I believe it was a Warg with Legolas and the cold for them both," replied Fienngil, sparing a glance at his younger sibling, the lore-student turned warrior at his side.
"Well, let us not dally: time is of the essence," called out Andariun as he and his older twin came forward, leading their horses and followed closely by their younger sister - all seemed to have suddenly found the use of their legs. Both of the twins were a veritable bag of nerves, their anxiety making them jittery and completely focused upon that which was worrying them. Their deep blue eyes were wide and their usually fairly-rosy cheeks pale, the graceful and fluid movements of the stealth-warriors they were had been turned into jerked motions. None there knew exactly how long Legolas and Aragorn had been out in Mirkwood, surviving it's winter; nor did they know how serious their injuries were; nor exactly how long humans could last. What they did know, however, was that when an Elven body had begun shutting down, it heralded very, *very* bad news. And they knew Legolas' body had begun to shut down.
"Aye," said Arianduil, backing up his brother, "we cannot waste time - for we do not know the cost, nor what we can afford." And with that, not another word was spoken as he and Ithilmir began to pull Aragorn up from where he lay and attempted to place him upon the bare back of Sorontar [Eagle], Andariun's mighty, bay coloured horse. Though they were strong - and especially as one was a stealth-warrior - Aragorn was broad, strong and heavy, and it was a very awkward task.
"I shall tell him to diet when I speak to him next, if not only to save my back," jested Arianduil quietly, a small grin gracing his usually-mirthful features. This joke served to ease his family's nerves, for if they acted as they would normally, none of what they were facing could be so terrible... could it?
Meanwhile, Fienngil hauled Legolas' limp body up and onto Arianduil's horse, Kano [Commander], with ease. Once the elder twin had settled Aragorn in front of Andariun, he leapt onto Kano's back, and encircled his injured youngest brother with his arms, careful of Legolas' grievous wound. The Last Prince's golden head fell forward onto his chest, where it lolled sickeningly, there being no strength left in his bones, and Arianduil was forced to wrap his arm's tightly around Legolas' thin chest to keep him from slipping, drawing him closer. Till he was able to feel a weak heartbeat through the archer's back.
And with that, when they were all horsed, the set off, their steeds almost flying in their need to return to the palace as fast as physically possible. They had been racing for some time, intent upon getting home, when they suddenly had to halt...
"Fienngil!" came Arianduil's panicked cry from the rear of the group, the terror in it enough to stagger those who knew him - for the elder twin was not one to show his fear, if he ever had any. But now his voice was higher than usual, and strained tight, "Legolas is not breathing!"
At this - this smple statement which struck fear as lightening bolts through the hearts of all those present - Fienngil hauled upon Thalion's ebony mane, wheeling him around and charging at full speed to the back of the company, where Youngoak had already pulled his youngest brother down to the snowy ground. Legolas' fair skin had completely lost all colour, the small amount of grey hue there had been there had drained suddenly. His thin chest was not rising or falling, and his struggling, wheezing breath - however horrible it had been to hear - would have been music to their ears to hear it now, for it had ceased.
Esladiya felt the world stop as she looked back and saw what was going on, it seemed even Fienngil moved in slow motion, as though he were fighting against time itself. She practically fell from the back of her horse, Lom [Echo], in her effort to get to her family... she cared not about how a princess like her should act - not when she could lose her heart in the swift change of a second. Andariun was trapped - he could not let go of Aragorn and continued to hold him atop Sorontar, as the young ranger was boneless in his grasp, but oh, how his heart ached to rush to Legolas' side, to make him breathe again.
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
I don't mean to nag, but please review and let me know what you're thinking. This was a rather short chapter again, I'm afraid because I got distracted, had a minor writer's block, had coursework etc... yet couldn;t bear to keep you in suspence much longer - I suspect you hate me now, eh?
And I see none of you have taken the hint and read 'Vignettes of the Fellowship' - seriously, if you like the banter in this, then I can almost guarentee you will like that. I have even got the unintentional, mild torture of a certain elf going on! All the fellowship are in each vignette. Just read the titles and summaries of each chapter, and that might inspire you to read it (again, sorry to those who already have)...
Frodo: Ferocious Warg - Boromir observes the doomed plans and consequences of Merry and Pippin's attempt to wake their eldest cousin...
Aragorn: Lord of Impeccable Timing or Legolas: Ranger-Killer - An eccentric battle and a bout of imature from the two best friends behaviour ends in tears...
Boromir: Unexpected Spirit-Healer - A sharped taunt of Gimli's strikes a bullseye in Legolas' heart. And perhaps the most unlikliest of the fellowship is the one able to cheer his spirits...
Merry: Of the Stunted Bladder - Merry is in acute discomfort, but only when the fellowship call a strike will Gandalf halt to let him go. A song, an itch, a harrassed ranger and stories of embarrassing scars lightens the mood...
Legolas: Regular Water-Babe - The fellowship have not been able to wash for some time, and are beginning to notice one another. Aragorn leads them to a sheltered place, where Sam is praised by two people he's mildly scared of, and the fellowship's childish behaviour around water is revealed through a game of underwater 'tig' and unexpected dunkings...
Gimli: Self-Appointed Barber - Gimli is finding his watch dull, even the short, sleepy debate of who is kicking Frodo (and the kick Peregrin is consequently given) does nothing to lighten things. The dwarf works himself into a rage, and Legolas gets a hair-cut he is not aware of...
Gimli: Self-Appointed Barber Part 2 - Legolas is *now* aware of his haircut. Foul moods galore as the wind picks up. Aragorn and Legolas argue, the fellowship have to take shelter in a cave, and Gimli tries to figure out how he has not yet been slain by the shorn elven warrior...
Pippin: The Notorious Instigator - Pippin is frustrated and attempts to pick a fight. The fellowship, however, seems suddenly to be far too mature to indulge in such a thing. All seems lost, until Pip spots the sleeping Samwise. He has forgotten one fatal flaw, however, a force to be reckoned with: the extremely protective Frodo. And it seems the Took has lost his bodyguard...
Gandalf: Nanny to Fools - The wizard has a cunning plan to wake his reluctant fellowship up. Legolas gets the wrong end of a pipe and Aragorn can't move. Later, Merry has a desire for apples and so Legolas is up a tree. Apples hit heads with force, focusing particularly on Aragorn for some reason. Gandalf puts a stop to this in a most interesting way, consequently both Legolas his best friend end up in a stream...
Samwise: Eternal Optimist - It's very, very wet, and Sam tries to cheer his miserable fellowship up as best he can. But is he able to?...
Go on, give it a go, you know you want to!
Sorry this has been a long time coming - I'm doing history coursework AGAIN! Hurrah! Now I have six essay question on ten sources about, wait for it.... *prohibition*. I am being run into the ground over history of a country which is not my own! I believe that's a tad unfair. Mind you, the stuff about Al Capone's pretty belting, and we did get to watch the original of 'Scarface', which is class, so perhaps it's not all bad. However, I am taking my mind from comparing sources by writing to you lovely people, and also looking forward to going out to see this mint band called 'King Adora', which is the only reason I'm doing this coursework now, so that I don't have to do it before going to see them!
Jebb: That's a truly inspired idea! I so didn't think of that at all! We'll see... that's if they ever get back to the palace in one piece. Perhaps they'll be too injured...
Gwyn: I am proud to be a member of the '*Anti-Evil! Thranduil Campaign*'! He may be stern on the outside, but he loves his children to bits... plus, I love writing his character, I have so much fun with it. You'll definately see him in later chapters - I can;t keep away from him!
Nikki1: No way is Legolas spoilt rotten! He may be the youngest, but I was trying to put across the idea that the royal family of Mirkwood prefer to do things for themselves, and not have servents wait on them all that much. That's why four of the sons are warriors [Legolas, Arianduil, Andariun and Fienngil] and one of them is a elfling tutor [Niandias - those of you who've read 'Bathtime' like I suggested will know this! See, it pays to take my advice!]. Legolas has to hold his own in such an enviroment, you know!
Shauna: Your last three reviews have been very aggressive towards poor Aragorn. Give him a break, he's knackered! He fell in a freezing lake - I reckon you'd be pretty exhausted and all! Lol. Your reviews amuse me a lot. Oh, we know they are going to live, do we? *raises eyebrow* I've got a good mind to kill them off just for your cheek, miss! Lol.
Templa Otmena: *blushes* That's far too nice. When it comes to reviews you can never go overboard! Thankyou so very much for such appreciative reviews.
Anyway, enough of this nonsense! On with the show!
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
Fienngil Morningstar tried not to let his heart race as he rode through the snow-ladden forest, but he could not help his mind from drifting through dark possibilities of whatever could have happened to his brother and friend as he traveled through the driving snow.
Once it had been affirmed that Legolas and Estel were nowhere in the palace or surrounding woods - sleeping off a hangover or secretly making nuisances of themselves - companies of guards and individual warriors had been sent out with the intention of scouring Mirkwood until the lost souls were found. The twins were riding in one, and even Ithilmir and Esladiya (who were not warriors in the least) had insisted they joined the parties, bringing along Legolas' three hounds - Blaith, Aklar and Silme [Spirit, Glory and Light], who knew the scent of their master without qualm.
Sadly, neither the King or Tusinduil were able to get away from the palace, something which the Crown Prince regretted deeply and Thranduil had been irate over until Fienngil had promised him they would return with their brother and guest safe and sound. Aricelsa was still maintaining that there would be nothing to worry about, and though Niandias wished dearly to aide her siblings, she could not come away from teaching her elflings. Nevertheless, at least two dozen warriors and guards had been dispatched.
Now, however, the difficulty of their task had dawned on them - trying to find two beings in the vastness of Eryn Lasgalen was like trying to find a needle in a particularly large and vengeful haystack, and if the two beings were incapacitated in some way...
Fienngil shook his head firmly, loose light-brown hair flying in front of his face - he would not permit himself to think of such a thing. But wait... when Fienngil had quietened the thoughts whirling in his head, his sharp ears had caught a whisper of something. He could not quite figure out what it was, and he pulled on the reins, bringing his horse Thalion [Dauntless] to a halt whilst he strained to listen to the voices of the wood. Doubtless, Eryn Lasgalen had darkened and grown intentionally trecherous from it's long years in danger and under seige from the black forces growing steadily within it, killing the goodness of the forest from the inside out - and the majority of old trees had cruel, spiting spirits, the evil having gotten them and twisted their hearts into foul things - but if one listened carefully, the spirit of The Great Greenwood could still be heard faintly, struggling to breathe and sing within the confines of the darkness encroached upon it, calling out softly to it's children, the Wood Elves, who strove to preserve this last memory of the glorious forest of Greenwood and who had taught it to speak and sing in the first place.
It was such a voice that Fienngil heard - or thought he heard - calling to him softly, that of the few good trees still growing in Mirkwood. When Thalion stilled, he held his breath and listened once more... There it was! He *had* heard it, there was a voice! Now, if only he could understand what it was saying... the grand, snow-covered trees around him creaked and swayed in the blustery snow that still fell from the heavens above - though it seemed to be coming to it's end - their bare branches almost seeming to whisper of a fallen prince in the heart.
Tusinduil started visibly - A fallen prince in the heart? He urged Thalion forwards on the path he had been going down. A sudden roar swelled around him and he glanced up, alarmed, at the branches of the trees which had all seemed to scrape together as the wind picked up without warning. It was as though a thousand angry voices were calling at him to turn round. Fienngil felt frustrated, he knew the trees were trying to tell him where to go, but he could barely understand what they wanted of him! So he closed his eyes, calmed his mind, leaving his heart to lead him. He felt the urge to move off the path to the right, and into the heart of the forest. Thalion hesitantly stepped forward, deep brown eyes wide, as though expecting another chide from the trees - but the forest was silent. Fienngil tool this to mean he was on the right track, and so set off at a gallop, snow fair-near blinding him. He wished so desperately to find his brother and friend, to find them safe and whole.
He rode until he was nearing the heart of the forest, and Thalion was beginning to tire and slow down, the terrain far more difficult than normal. The warrior elf was thinking of returning back to the palace and then setting out once more, when his sharp, grey-blue eyes caught on something. Several yards away, was a large mound of snow - something which would have been entirely normal of a Mirkwood's winter, had it not been for the fact that the land surrounding this mound was completely flat, having been the spot of a large bonfire a few months ago. Fienngil dropped lightly from Thalion's back and left the horse as a pitch-black speck upon an unblemished backdrop, striding quickly towards the mound. When he reached it, he swiftly knelt in the snow and brushed back the snow on the surface of the mound. His fingers met fabric and his heart leapt. He had found them!
He straightened and, filling his lungs with the icy air around him, bellowed to the white sky, "Dentor! Aie teno let! [Here! I have found them!]" Fienngil hoped at least some of the others would have heard him, and would come to help him. He fell to his knees once more, and quickly scrabbled to get the rest of the snow off his brother and friend, revealing their previously hidden, completely still forms, not caring for the coldness of his fingers. It confused him for a moment when he uncovered some golden hair - he had thought till then that he was dealing with Aragorn: the clothes had seemed to suggest it so, but he discovered his brother was wearing his best friend's clothes, and vice-versa for some reason.
The warrior elf pulled Legolas from off of Aragorn, and lay him gently beside the ranger, and tried to assess the damage. "Oh, Valar," he murmured to himself, and his grey-blue eyes widened as he looked upon the wretched creatures, heart burning.
The pair were breathing, at least, but that was all Fienngil could say. Aragorn's face was deathly pale, and it seemed almost as though blue dye had seeped into his lips, eyelids and nose - he looked so young suddenly, much younger than he seemed and behaved usually. He seemed more of an appirition or ghost than something solid and whole. It frightened Fienngil that he could barely see the ranger's chest rise, and as he ran his hands along the man's limbs, looking for breaks and other injuries, it felt as though he were handling blocks of ice. As the warrior pressed his lips to the man's wrists to feel a life-pulse - as weak and thready as it was, it was still present - his mouth came away almost numb from the complete lack of heat it had been met with. Aragorn was dangerously cold, even the spot where Legolas had been lain over him - presumably to conserve heat - on the man's chest was not warm because the elf was also freezing to touch. Fienngil had been educated a lot in the way of humans since he had first met Aragorn, and was continually surprised by them (Aragorn in particular), but he was still unsure as to what their limitations were - and though he knew from numerous past instances that the heir of Isildur was worth his metal, and he would not buckle under pressure nor fade with pain, the state Aragorn was in now, Fienngil could not help but hold deepest worry within his heart.
He looked to Legolas, and found his findings even graver than he had with Aragorn. His youngest brother was in a terrible way, and it physically hurt his heart to see it. The most pressing worry for Fienngil was the vast wound that encompassed the archer's right shoulder and upper arm - and he could not even bear to look at it harder, for he thought his stomach would churn at the sight of stark-white bone piercing blood red muscle and flesh. From the ragged looks of it, the younger warrior and his best friend had had a run in with a Warg. Legolas had obviously lost a lot of blood from this gaping hole in his body - he was ashen, face grey in it's foreboding hue - dark against the pure snow his head rested on - and his skin was as cold as marble to touch, all warmth having been drawn from the limp, unresisting body through the wound in his shoulder. The small amount of breath the archer drew was harsh, a wheezing breath that pulled at Fienngil's stomach everytime Legolas struggled with his own, failing body to inhale. With every torturous inhale then exhale, the small amount of breath Legolas had gained smoked in the freezing air as it wound it's way out through his partially open, pale lips. His thin chest was a shuddering rhythm, and it terrified his older brother to know what difficulty he was having with the simple act of drawing breath.
Fienngil felt utterly sick with worry - how could such a thing have happened?
The twins, Ithilmir and Esladiya had all been close at hand when their older brother's cries had rent the cold air - they had sent the guards and other warriors away and to the palace with Legolas' dogs in their attempt to not wound the fallen pair's pride (Legolas' in particular) any more than completely possible. They all came crashing onto the scene - their usual, inherent nobility and natural grace disregarded in their desperation and effort to get to Fienngil, Legolas and Aragorn as quickly as possible. The twins were struck by the scene awaiting them, and froze, fair faces open and showing distress whilst Esladiya also halted and gasped, a hand coming up to cover her mouth, whereas Ithilmir simply raced to his brothers' sides. "However could such a thing have happened?" he asked in shock when he saw the inert forms closer, large grey eyes searching Fienngil's pale face as the warrior bent over his prone brother and friend, unsure as to what to do. They did not try waking Legolas and Aragorn, because they all knew how futile this task would prove to be.
"I believe it was a Warg with Legolas and the cold for them both," replied Fienngil, sparing a glance at his younger sibling, the lore-student turned warrior at his side.
"Well, let us not dally: time is of the essence," called out Andariun as he and his older twin came forward, leading their horses and followed closely by their younger sister - all seemed to have suddenly found the use of their legs. Both of the twins were a veritable bag of nerves, their anxiety making them jittery and completely focused upon that which was worrying them. Their deep blue eyes were wide and their usually fairly-rosy cheeks pale, the graceful and fluid movements of the stealth-warriors they were had been turned into jerked motions. None there knew exactly how long Legolas and Aragorn had been out in Mirkwood, surviving it's winter; nor did they know how serious their injuries were; nor exactly how long humans could last. What they did know, however, was that when an Elven body had begun shutting down, it heralded very, *very* bad news. And they knew Legolas' body had begun to shut down.
"Aye," said Arianduil, backing up his brother, "we cannot waste time - for we do not know the cost, nor what we can afford." And with that, not another word was spoken as he and Ithilmir began to pull Aragorn up from where he lay and attempted to place him upon the bare back of Sorontar [Eagle], Andariun's mighty, bay coloured horse. Though they were strong - and especially as one was a stealth-warrior - Aragorn was broad, strong and heavy, and it was a very awkward task.
"I shall tell him to diet when I speak to him next, if not only to save my back," jested Arianduil quietly, a small grin gracing his usually-mirthful features. This joke served to ease his family's nerves, for if they acted as they would normally, none of what they were facing could be so terrible... could it?
Meanwhile, Fienngil hauled Legolas' limp body up and onto Arianduil's horse, Kano [Commander], with ease. Once the elder twin had settled Aragorn in front of Andariun, he leapt onto Kano's back, and encircled his injured youngest brother with his arms, careful of Legolas' grievous wound. The Last Prince's golden head fell forward onto his chest, where it lolled sickeningly, there being no strength left in his bones, and Arianduil was forced to wrap his arm's tightly around Legolas' thin chest to keep him from slipping, drawing him closer. Till he was able to feel a weak heartbeat through the archer's back.
And with that, when they were all horsed, the set off, their steeds almost flying in their need to return to the palace as fast as physically possible. They had been racing for some time, intent upon getting home, when they suddenly had to halt...
"Fienngil!" came Arianduil's panicked cry from the rear of the group, the terror in it enough to stagger those who knew him - for the elder twin was not one to show his fear, if he ever had any. But now his voice was higher than usual, and strained tight, "Legolas is not breathing!"
At this - this smple statement which struck fear as lightening bolts through the hearts of all those present - Fienngil hauled upon Thalion's ebony mane, wheeling him around and charging at full speed to the back of the company, where Youngoak had already pulled his youngest brother down to the snowy ground. Legolas' fair skin had completely lost all colour, the small amount of grey hue there had been there had drained suddenly. His thin chest was not rising or falling, and his struggling, wheezing breath - however horrible it had been to hear - would have been music to their ears to hear it now, for it had ceased.
Esladiya felt the world stop as she looked back and saw what was going on, it seemed even Fienngil moved in slow motion, as though he were fighting against time itself. She practically fell from the back of her horse, Lom [Echo], in her effort to get to her family... she cared not about how a princess like her should act - not when she could lose her heart in the swift change of a second. Andariun was trapped - he could not let go of Aragorn and continued to hold him atop Sorontar, as the young ranger was boneless in his grasp, but oh, how his heart ached to rush to Legolas' side, to make him breathe again.
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
I don't mean to nag, but please review and let me know what you're thinking. This was a rather short chapter again, I'm afraid because I got distracted, had a minor writer's block, had coursework etc... yet couldn;t bear to keep you in suspence much longer - I suspect you hate me now, eh?
And I see none of you have taken the hint and read 'Vignettes of the Fellowship' - seriously, if you like the banter in this, then I can almost guarentee you will like that. I have even got the unintentional, mild torture of a certain elf going on! All the fellowship are in each vignette. Just read the titles and summaries of each chapter, and that might inspire you to read it (again, sorry to those who already have)...
Frodo: Ferocious Warg - Boromir observes the doomed plans and consequences of Merry and Pippin's attempt to wake their eldest cousin...
Aragorn: Lord of Impeccable Timing or Legolas: Ranger-Killer - An eccentric battle and a bout of imature from the two best friends behaviour ends in tears...
Boromir: Unexpected Spirit-Healer - A sharped taunt of Gimli's strikes a bullseye in Legolas' heart. And perhaps the most unlikliest of the fellowship is the one able to cheer his spirits...
Merry: Of the Stunted Bladder - Merry is in acute discomfort, but only when the fellowship call a strike will Gandalf halt to let him go. A song, an itch, a harrassed ranger and stories of embarrassing scars lightens the mood...
Legolas: Regular Water-Babe - The fellowship have not been able to wash for some time, and are beginning to notice one another. Aragorn leads them to a sheltered place, where Sam is praised by two people he's mildly scared of, and the fellowship's childish behaviour around water is revealed through a game of underwater 'tig' and unexpected dunkings...
Gimli: Self-Appointed Barber - Gimli is finding his watch dull, even the short, sleepy debate of who is kicking Frodo (and the kick Peregrin is consequently given) does nothing to lighten things. The dwarf works himself into a rage, and Legolas gets a hair-cut he is not aware of...
Gimli: Self-Appointed Barber Part 2 - Legolas is *now* aware of his haircut. Foul moods galore as the wind picks up. Aragorn and Legolas argue, the fellowship have to take shelter in a cave, and Gimli tries to figure out how he has not yet been slain by the shorn elven warrior...
Pippin: The Notorious Instigator - Pippin is frustrated and attempts to pick a fight. The fellowship, however, seems suddenly to be far too mature to indulge in such a thing. All seems lost, until Pip spots the sleeping Samwise. He has forgotten one fatal flaw, however, a force to be reckoned with: the extremely protective Frodo. And it seems the Took has lost his bodyguard...
Gandalf: Nanny to Fools - The wizard has a cunning plan to wake his reluctant fellowship up. Legolas gets the wrong end of a pipe and Aragorn can't move. Later, Merry has a desire for apples and so Legolas is up a tree. Apples hit heads with force, focusing particularly on Aragorn for some reason. Gandalf puts a stop to this in a most interesting way, consequently both Legolas his best friend end up in a stream...
Samwise: Eternal Optimist - It's very, very wet, and Sam tries to cheer his miserable fellowship up as best he can. But is he able to?...
Go on, give it a go, you know you want to!