MelanyeBaggins: You flatter me! I'm sorry you missed your stop : )
Death and Despair
The smoke was thick, making the two figures in the circle look like dark shapes from far off. A figure lay stretched out on the ground, the other sitting beside it. One looking at this would have wondered how they were still managing to live when the smoke was so thick one could hardly breathe.
The figure sitting up was Aragorn, and indeed, he seemed on the verge of passing out. He was trying to stay low to the ground, but it didn't help much. He was overcome with choking coughs, and his eyes were closed.
Until...
Aragorn's eyes shot open. His body went completely still, and for a second he didn't really react to anything at all. His entire mind was focused on one sense. He couldn't believe what his ears reported to him.
He had been thinking of Arwen, trying to imagine that he could watch over her and be near her in death, when somewhere off to the left, there were hoof beats. Many of them it seemed, and by the sound, the animals were being ridden hard.
Aragorn struggled to move a little towards the direction, ignoring how close the flames were becoming. He shouted with all the breath he had left, "Hey! HEY! There is someone still here! I have one who is injured! Please! Please hear me!"
By the sound though, it seemed the horses and their riders passed him on, too far off to hear his calls over the roar of the fire. Aragorn continued to shout anyways, becoming dizzy from lack of air, but clinging to this last offering of hope.
Arod ran skillfully, Legolas's guidance not needed. His white coat was streaked with dirt and sweat. The horse sensed his Master's grief, and did his best to make the ride as easy as possible. For indeed the elf was hardly paying attention to what his horse was doing, his mind was consumed with sorrow, and his side with pain.
When he had mounted Arod, he had foolishly put Gimli behind him, leaving the dwarf no other option but to hold him or fall off. There was no time now to stop and move the dwarf up front, and so Legolas had to endure the agony the dwarf was causing his side wound, however unintentionally.
Indeed Gimli did not realize he was causing Legolas pain, or else he would have demanded a switch in places. He had never felt so uncomfortable in his life, riding behind his grief-stricken friend. He found himself staring at the patch of blood on the elf's back, which had been caused by the spider's claw. He wished he had a bandage to place over it. He wished for anything that might stop the fire and save the forest, ending this horrible nightmare. Most of all, he wished he knew how to comfort his friend right now, instead of riding silently behind him. He felt like a hindrance.
Arod leapt over a fallen tree, startling the dwarf who gripped the waist suddenly tighter than before. Legolas's eyes widened in surprise as even more pain flowed through him. A low moan escaped his throat and for a moment he became completely disoriented, the world spinning. Tears caused by the wound now also sprung to his eyes. How he wished he had put Gimli in front!
He felt the dwarf trying to shift his weight, and wished that he would hold still. If the dwarf did fall off, Legolas didn't know if he would be able to dismount and mount again without losing consciousness. As if reading his mind, the dwarf settled, keeping his crushing grip on the elf's waist. Legolas gasped as his whole side throbbed, his head seemingly pounding as hard as Arod's hoofs against the ground.
Arod kept riding, ignorant of this, bearing the two ever towards the plains.
Thranduil had managed to find a brown stallion. Now he rode upon it, two other elves escorting him. They were behind the main group of elves who had left about three minutes before them, but it was only fitting that the King was the last to enter into the retreat.
His very soul, like his son's, was consumed with sadness. He cried hard for the second time since this whole catastrophe started. He mourned every tree that passed away into ashes, their beautiful spirits and wisdom lost forever.
This grief was nothing compared to his rage however. His eyes burned with anger at the sights around him. Anger at himself and at this fate, that he could do absolutely nothing to save his peoples' homes. And mostly, frustration that he was fleeing before the fire; that he had to turn his back to it and ride for his life. Thranduil was not accustomed to this.
He followed the other elves riding beside and ahead of him, they who were following the faint tracks of the other groups gone before.
He was still shouting. Aragorn's voice was going hoarse, but he didn't stop. He could hardly draw breath in the smoke; he shouted anyways. He couldn't even tell if there were still riders going past, but the man was beyond caring. He would shout until the flames claimed his body and Tanvir's.
"Please! Over here! There are injured!"
Tanvir was turning his head quietly, lost in elven delirium and pain. Aragorn moved his attention to him for a second, trying to hold the head still so as to stop further damage. Tanvir was hurting enough as it was.
Another set of hoof beats reached his ears, the closest ones to him yet, he estimated. He instantly shouted the loudest he could, using up all of the last air in his lungs, "OVER HERE! INJURED! HEY, OVER HERE! PLEASE!" He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a pause in the canter. He cast his eyes desperately around in all directions, gasping in the smoke, looking for forthcoming aid.
Arod jerked rapidly to the left, spurred to do so by a flaming tree collapsing to their right. Gimli's position on the back was mildly precarious and so he grabbed harder around the elf's waist to steady himself from sliding off.
As another wave of pain sprung up his side, Legolas's eyes rolled backwards, the whites showing. He wanted to scream, but couldn't as the pain robbed him of all breath. Gimli's hand had come down right on the wound, pressing into it hard, ripping three of the stitches Aragorn had so carefully sewn. The elf endured it for a few seconds, trying to remain alert. Then his lids slipped shut and he slumped forward, unconscious, finally giving into the anguish and suffering.
Gimli's mouth dropped open, and he reacted just in time to reach out and take hold of his friend more firmly before the elf toppled from the horse. Using one hand to now clutch Arod's mane, Gimli used the other to support his friend's still form. Worry and shock was all over his face, this was the last thing he had prepared for. Working hard, Gimli managed to stay upon the horse's back and ride.
He risked a glance down at the elf. The face was deathly white, and the body was completely limp. Maneuvering his hand around over the chest, Gimli felt it rising beneath him and gave a small sigh of relief; at least the elf hadn't died. But the jarring from the horse's galloping was not helping the conditions. Gimli hoped desperately that they were almost free of the woods so that they could dismount and he could tend to the prince.
The elves riding ahead of him paused as he did. Far away, he had heard something.
Thranduil had been focusing on his riding, it was an unfamiliar steed under him, but his keen sense of hearing had picked up a cry off to his left. He could not hear all of the plea, but he did hear, very faintly, "...injured! Hey!...here!" Then there was only silence again.
He turned his horse in the direction and the elves with him followed his lead. After a few seconds of hard riding they came upon a perimeter of fire, which under his guidance, his horse burst through in a mighty leap.
There was smoke everywhere, and Thranduil saw that he was in a circle of flame, two figures in the center of it. He recognized both instantly.
One was Tanvir, and the other Lord Aragorn. Thranduil was surprised to see him; he had not known that there was more than one king under the treetops. He knew men of Gondor had arrived, but somehow had not been informed that the king himself led them.
As he rode closer, the two other elves upon horseback leapt through the fire ring. They followed their king over to where the injured lay.
Aragorn's eyes were watching Thranduil as he approached, to the elf, the man looked spent. His lids were hooded, and he wore an expression as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. The king noticed that blood and bruises covered him, the man was obviously in pain.
Thranduil turned his gaze to Tanvir. Shock exploded in his mind. How sad to see his son's friend so! The horrible burning brought even more sorrow to the king's heart, he had known Tanvir for many years, the roamer had been one of his favorites amongst Legolas's elf friends. By taking a quick look around Thranduil judged that a great fight had taken place.
He also judged that it was time to get out.
He dismounted quickly and moved to Aragorn. The ranger looked up at him.
"You heard me."
"Yes, just barely. You are very fortunate." Thranduil examined the man carefully while he spoke, checking to make sure it would be safe to move him. Although, he reflected, they didn't have much choice.
"I know..." the man's voice faded for a second, "It was our last chance."
"Come on, you and Tanvir must get up on our horses, we all are riding out."
But Aragorn didn't seem to hear him, he was staring behind Thranduil, at some fixed spot in the air, he murmured something that the elven king couldn't understand.
Thranduil squeezed his shoulder gently, "Stay with me."
The man blinked, redirecting his thoughts with an effort of will obvious to the elf.
With aid, Aragorn stood, holding onto the horse for balance. Thranduil mounted and then had one elf help boost the man up while he pulled. Aragorn managed to get on the back, barely conscious. Thranduil held his body in between his arms, steadying his horse while he watched another elf drape Tanvir across the back of a white steed, and then mount, also holding the body in front.
The remaining elf swung up onto his horse and the three riders turned back to their original direction, and with great bursts of speed, rode out of the fire ring.
The ring drew in closer upon itself, until it was completely filled with flame. The two had been saved just in time. A few minutes later, Thranduil would not have found them but rather their charred remains. Sanul's body burned away to nothing but bone cinders as the others rode off to safety.
Elves continued to emerge from the trees out onto the plains. All ran a certain distance, and then stopped, turning around to pay their last respects to the woods. The night was dark and windy, and the flames could be seen in the main part of the forest. There was no starlight as the dark clouds and smoke hid them from sight. Thus the elves had not even the light of Elendil to bring comfort to them.
At a place against the boarder a white horse came galloping out, lingering smoke caressing its form. Upon it sat Gimli and Legolas. After the dwarf judged them to be a safe distance away from the woods, he slowed Arod to a halt.
Arod snorted and stamped against the ground. His long tail swished from side to side, and he tried to glance back at his riders.
Gimli carefully slid to the ground, holding Legolas up on the horse's back with one hand. When his feet had hit the solid earth beneath him he turned his attention to getting Legolas down without inflicting more wounds.
The dwarf pulled both legs over onto the same side, and then stopped. He wasn't sure what to do next. Though the elves were light, Gimli could not support his friend's entire weight from this position.
Arod, being an elven horse, sensed this. He slowly lowered himself to the ground, and then Gimli was able to bend down and lift Legolas away. He laid the elf down on a patch of dying grass. Arod trotted around them, cooling off from his long run.
Legolas's eyes fluttered open. Gimli jumped back, startled a bit.
"Legolas?"
There was no answer; the eyes were staring at nothing, clouded as the sky was. Gimli realized that his friend was still unconscious. He began to search for what had caused the elf to black out. Finding nothing wrong with what he could see, Gimli opened the tunic.
Instantly the reasons presented themselves. The whole side of the chest was red, and stitches in the wound had ripped, letting some blood flow. The wound was not drastically reopened as before, but it was bleeding. Gimli remembered suddenly how he had been holding onto the elf and realized that it was by his own actions that had caused Legolas to shutdown. He felt himself flush with shame. He should have known!
Wind blew across the plains, whipping golden hair across his friend's face. Gimli pulled it back and tried to think. He had to stop the blood, and keep pressure on the wound until he could find Aragorn or some other healer. As he moved to do this he glanced again at the elf's face.
The eyes were directed towards the forest, Gimli knew that Legolas could see it burning in his dreams. This was because tears were sliding down to drip onto the dying grass.
They had been riding for a while now and Aragorn fought to remain awake. Ever since Sanul had stabbed him he had wanted to give in to the shadows, and every time they called to them he pushed them back stubbornly.
He was falling away though nonetheless. His head would fall forward, and then he would snap back upright, causing it to ache along with the rest of his body. At every canter his ribs were jarred and this was what pained him the most. He was not bleeding from the mouth though, and so knew that no insides had been pierced. The king's hands were holding him in place or else he would have fallen off long ago. The trees rushed past him, blurred in his vision.
He tried to look around to see where the other rider with Tanvir was, but this produced in him a great feeling of nausea and so he stopped quickly.
Ahead of him the smoke seemed to lift. The ranger was confused. He had forgotten that they were leaving the forest.
Thranduil and his group were the last ones to exit. The king rode up the hill and glanced around. His people were gathering in groups, breaking the wagons apart to form shelters from the strong winds. Looking down at the body in between his arms Thranduil knew that Aragorn and Tanvir could both benefit greatly from such shelter. He rode over to the nearest wagon.
His party dismounted and they set Tanvir down gently. Aragorn slid off the horse with Thranduil's aid, and then staggered away a few steps by himself. A moment later he was vomiting. The king watched for any blood mixed in, but there was none.
After the shelter was formed the two injured were put inside, Thranduil quickly mixing a herb into a cup of water. He gave it to Aragorn, who drank it without question, realizing at the first sip what was in it and what it did. The man did not seem to care, but leaned back and drained it dry.
A moment later his eyes closed, and he slumped backwards. Thranduil eased him to the ground, and then he another light-haired elf set about straightening the ribs. A moan or two came from the throat, but other than that the man was quiet. The ribs were bandaged tightly, and herbs were applied to the bruises. The slashes across the chest and shoulder were easily cleaned and wrapped. The leg was carefully exposed, washed, and then covered with herbs. Later it would be cleaned again and then bandaged as well.
The king, who was really not that bad of a healer himself, now turned his full attention to Tanvir.
With a closer look he knew that there was precious little any of them could do. The face and body were so horribly burnt that Tanvir was hardly recognizable. He was continuing to bleed, and his eyes were shut.
Thranduil took a cloth and began to work on the chest. He wiped away at the blood and began to remove the burnt skin. As he worked, another elf went to mix herbs to deaden pain and to provide strength. Tanvir was going to need as much as he could get.
Gimli looked down at his handiwork. The stitches were not as nice as Aragorn's, but they would do. He had borrowed a needle from a passing maiden, and he had re-sewn the injury shut. He even had remembered to wipe it clean and re-bandage.
Now he sat by his friend anxiously as the wind picked up. Far off in the distance he could see lighting flash. But it was far off, and the thunder faint. Shivers still raced down his spine.
He tried to shield Legolas from the wind as best he could, but it was a nearly impossible task.
Again, Arod being a good horse, came up and laid down beside them so that they were in his lee. Gimli was surprised at the action. He understood that the bond between the master and horse must go deep. Arod's decision served its purpose though; the two friends were somewhat safe from the wind.
Legolas showed no signs of coming too, and Gimli began to worry again.
Tanvir was dying. The burns were great and the elf did not have enough power to hold back their damage. Thranduil tried everything he could think of, the chest had been completely cleaned and wrapped, but that didn't seem to be sufficient. Tanvir was falling away from them.
In the dim light the elves labored to save the life.
Arod was nudging Legolas's shoulder. There was no reaction. Gimli called his friend's name over and over, but the eyes remained blank, staring at the trees.
From his point of view, Legolas was walking amongst them. They were not burning; they were as they were before the drought, healthy and beautiful. The rich green foliage covering the sky, letting a few patches of sun past here and there. Their souls spoke to him and washed over him so that he felt at peace. Their branches swayed in the wind, the leaves rustling quietly.
As he walked he came upon a group that had obviously burned away. Their trunks were smoldering ruins, steam rose up from them. As he drew near them he saw that the ground around the trunks were full of hot embers. He saw the green leaf again, withered to nothing. Here the absence of the trees presence jarred memories back to him, changing the whole view of what he saw.
He whirled around and saw the peaceful wood vanish. Instead there was only bodies left behind. Hundreds of spider legs lay about him, he could take a step without crunching one underfoot. He wanted desperately to get out, but could not remember the direction.
He turned and ran off, away from the burnt stumps. As he ran past the legs, they reached out and clawed at him. He shuddered, and hot salty tears ran down his face, both in his vision and in real life. Some flowed into his mouth and he tasted their bitterness.
He burst out of the death land and fell to the plain ground. He turned back to look at the forest burning behind him. The trees were smoking and light was flashing from somewhere. He blinked. What he was seeing was real. He had returned to the world of the waking.
He moaned and tried to sit up to see where he was. Instantly Gimli was beside him.
"Legolas!"
The elf struggled to sit, "Please," his voice was strained, "Help me to move."
Gimli pulled Legolas up so that the elf leaned against the chest off his horse, staring out at the woods. For some unknown reason to Gimli, he shuddered violently.
Legolas didn't say anything, only cried as he watched his home burn. He cried, as he had not for a very long time. The despair coursed through his veins as surely as his blood.
Gimli sat down beside him, saying nothing, and hoping that he was not bothering his friend. His presence however, was the opposite, comforting, and Legolas did not ask him to leave. The elf had found that his distress was moving beyond tears. His cheeks were wet, but the salt upon them were drying as he watched his only home he had ever known burn away to ashes.
After a moment he buried his face in his hands, unable to bear the sight. He had reached one of the lowest points of his life in his many, long years.
Tanvir felt strange. Well, actually, that is not accurate. He couldn't really feel anything at all because he had lost nerve sensations over most of his body. He had gone completely numb, though he was the only one who knew this. But the numbing blocked all the pain, thus the only reason why he was regaining consciousness.
He tried to move. He found that he could not even twitch his fingers. He could perceive others moving around him, but he couldn't make out who they were. He couldn't make out much of anything, only that he seemed to be inside somewhere. Perhaps the palace?
He did not feel it as Thranduil pulled away the dead skin on his face, nor did the trickling off blood across his shoulders bother him. He wondered what fate had been bestowed upon the evil man he had battled. He wished he could know whether or not Aragorn was all right. He would have to find and ask the man later, or perhaps Legolas would be able to tell him? He would have to find his friend. And the dwarf. Tanvir gave a small smile to himself, he would have to find Gimli so they could exchange battle stories. He greatly respected the fellow warrior, he would have liked to travel with him as Legolas had.
His thoughts were disjointed and he relived memories of earlier days before he had lived in Mirkwood. He felt his breath come suddenly very short, and a painful sensation spread through his body.
Someone was speaking to him he realized. Tanvir hadn't noticed because of the pain. He couldn't make out what they were saying. He lay quietly, trying to recall exactly what had happened to him. He couldn't remember. All he could remember was that somewhere during the fight Sanul had sliced him with a mithril blade, and that it had burned.
A moment later he passed back into darkness, never to leave it again.
Thranduil was there. Tanvir had opened his eyes and had looked straight at him. The elf had spoken rapidly in elvish, saying that Aragorn must be Legolas's hunting partner now, and that Legolas would have to shoot a deer for him.
Thranduil had spoken to him, trying to sooth what he saw as delirium. Then Tanvir had moaned, turning his head as if struggling. The elves tried to hold him, and under their touch he went still. His eyes looked upwards and a small smile played across his lips. His chest rose and fell, and then came to rest. It did not move anymore. The eyes closed slowly, clouding over in death, never again to look upon the light of the stars.
The poison upon the blade had done its work. Even if the others had known about the wound, there would have been nothing they could do. There was no antidote.
Thranduil, closed his eyes, one of his tears fell to hit against Tanvir's face and roll down the burns. He crossed the arms and covered the body.
So it was that Tanvir of Mirkwood passed away from the lands of Middle-Earth.