This chapter is kind-of short, but I'm already starting the next one as you read this. There's still a little bit more before the story is completely concluded.
also, I have had multiple reviewers ask me a question about the 'drastic consequences' I mentioned in my summary. I see those as him (legolas) being attacked, nearly killed, his home burning and his friend dying. I thought those were pretty drastic, sorry if my summary mislead you.
Deana: Thanks for the heads up about updating in slot thirteen. I was just going to delete the author's note and put this in slot twelve. Good thing you warned me! whew!
Onto the next chapter!!!!
Recovering
The silence grew deafening. Legolas had not moved, had not made a sound, for some time. He sat, with his palms pressed tightly against his cheeks, trying to suppress his grief desperately. He knew that once he surrendered to it completely, he would be lost in his despair. Tears were already threatening to fall again into his hands, and next to him, Gimli could see his shoulders shaking slightly from time to time.
The dwarf was furious with himself. Give him a battle situation and he was as ready as anyone, eager even, to join into the danger. But take this same dwarf and put him in a situation where delicacy and extreme sensitivity was required and he became suddenly nervous, awkward even. He was not good with sensitivity.
Here he sat, his friend in obvious distress, but he couldn't
think of anything to do or say. A couple of times he cleared his throat to
say something, but the words stuck in his mouth. This situation was so
painful, what could he, a mere mortal, offer to an immortal soul, one that
must bear this sadness long after he was dead? For indeed, it would take
Mirkwood a long time for it to regain its former glory.
But with another shudder passing through his friend, Gimli decided
that it didn't matter. He would do his best to ease some of the pain; he
was determined. He opened his mouth, "Legolas, I know that what you are
feeling must be terrible, but the situation is not as bad as all this."
Legolas flashed him a sharp glance, his own mouth twisted with sorrow, "How is that Master Dwarf?"
Great, now I've got him angry. "Well, Mirkwood was full of darkness right?"
Legolas turned to face him fully, "Not where the elves dwelt. Where our flets were, it was elegant, the trees tall and full." His eyes strayed to look back at the forest, "The leaves would whisper to us as we walked, and light was always present, be it from the sun or stars. It was comforting on winter nights to walk on paths and see the branches powdered in the light snow, being able to sense new life, to welcome it in the spring with our festivities." Tears began to flow down his face, "Now all is clouded in smoke and we have fled. Our homes are burning, taking with them precious memories, and the trees are dying. I cannot hear the leaves' whispers, they have all withered away. It has become a forest of charred stumps, of death!" The elf bowed his face again, tears coursing to the ground. A sob escaped his throat, and he put his hand up to his mouth, trying to hold it back, his grief making his body tremble.
Gimli was for a moment startled into silence, he rarely heard Legolas speak this way. Bravely he pursued the conversation, "The fire will die out sometime, and then the influence of your folk will return. Mirkwood will become as before again. Better because all the foul creatures will be dead."
"No," Legolas's voice was quiet and shaky, "It can never be the same." His eyes acquired a hollow look to them, and he moved to gaze out at the burning treetops. As Gimli watched, frustrated at himself, and getting ready to try again, a trickle of water ran down Legolas's face. The dwarf assumed it was another tear.
Legolas however, jerked forward, his eyes becoming wide and confused. The dwarf noticed this.
"Legolas?" Gimli leaned forward.
Legolas put his hand to his face, and then, pulling it back, stared at it. His expression went funny, partly intense sorrow, and partly great joy. The dwarf could not see what was so incredible; the elf had simply wiped the water from his cheek. As Gimli watched, another drop landed on the hand.
He looked up at Legolas's eyes, they were now dry. But that meant
then that the second drop couldn't have come from the elf...
Gimli turned his head upwards so quickly that he popped his neck
muscles. He was rewarded with the feeling of something wet hit his nose
and roll down its side. Moisture was murmuring upon the wind that blew
around. The dark clouds loomed.
Gimli couldn't believe it, "What in...?" he asked unbelievingly.
Legolas choked out an answer, staring also at the sky, "It is starting to rain," he whispered. New tears sprang to his eyes. Raindrops started to splash against his skin, mixing with the tears to wash away some of the soot.
With a rumble of far distant thunder, the clouds opened up, crying down onto the earth. It began to rain hard, everything and everyone out in the open quickly becoming soaked. The wind blew the rain around in torrents; the drops landed everywhere. The rain fell like a great curtain, drenching all under its path.
Deep in the forest where the fire was raging, the tiny droplets hit against the inferno. The fire spluttered, continued, and then one of the thousands of flames went out. Defeated by the billions more drops of rain. A small sizzle of steam rose from its place, the rain soaking through the ground and all over the trees. Nature had finally provided the best defense of all; the fires were being extinguished.
Drumming. He could hear drumming, the sound was all around him, echoing, pounding through the air.
No, no, it was not the sound of drums. His mind was clearing and he
recognized the sound for what it really was, the sound of rain.
Aragorn's eyes opened and he blinked groggily as the last of the herb
wore off. He lay for some time, staring around him and listening. He
tried to figure out where he was.
Gradually memories returned as his head cleared. Of riding out of the forest with the king and his men. Reaching the hill, setting up the shelter. Now he sat up slowly, knowing where he was. He looked around.
The shelter they had made was small; barely three or four people could stay inside comfortably he thought. Towards the front of him was the entrance, an old tattered cloak hanging down in front of it, in a half- hearted attempt to keep the elements outside. It was flapping slightly in the wind, giving Aragorn quick glimpses outside.
As the ranger took another breath the smell hit him. The air was permeated with the sickly sweet whiffs of crushed herbs. The odor was overwhelming. Aragorn turned around to find the source and discovered that lying against the wall behind him was...something.
It was covered by another cloak, this one less tattered. Three crushed herbs were set around it. Aragorn supposed that it must be a body, which would explain the reason for the herbs. Someone had crushed them to keep the stench of death out of the air, leaving the inside of the shelter breathable.
Aragorn moved forward to examine the body and see whom it was, but as he shifted his weight, he felt a pain race along his side. Gasping at the unexpected reminder of his injuries, Aragorn now turned to inspect himself.
While he had slept, someone had carefully set his ribs and wrapped them tightly. He should have to move carefully. Also he leg wound had been cleaned, as well as the gashes on his shoulder and upper chest. It seemed Thranduil wasn't such a bad healer.
Speaking of which, Aragorn felt a burst of wind, and spinning around
again he saw the tattered cloak lift and the elven king enter.
The king seemed weighted with sorrow, but when he saw Aragorn was
awake, a small smile graced his features. The ranger noticed water was
dripping from the elf's hair.
"How do you feel?" The king moved to check his bandages.
Aragorn was focused more on something else though, "Is it really raining? For how long?"
Thranduil gave another small half-smile, "It has been two days since the first drops were felt. It has continued to come down hard. The fires are dying."
Aragorn was startled, "Two days? I was out for--"
"Two days? Yes you were. And judging by how you seem now, I believe your rest did you much good."
"I did not think I was that exhausted." Aragorn thought back earlier. True he had been sore and nearly unconscious, but he had not been near-death, just more like near-collapse.
Near death however...
"Lord, tell me, how fares Tanvir? As I recall his burns were great. Where does he rest?" Even as Aragorn said this, the image of the covered body flashed through his mind. His breath caught in his throat.
Thranduil's whole demeanor changed. His shoulders slumped forward and the small smile on his face vanished. He opened his mouth, but no words came. He seemed at a loss of what to say.
Aragorn knew then, but had to hear it in order for his mind to grasp it. He leaned forward intently, worry in his eyes, "What happened?"
Thranduil looked straight at him, "I am sorry Aragorn. Tanvir has...has died."
Aragorn sat back slowly, his mind shocked for a moment. He looked over to where the body was lying and then went and lifted the cloak away from the head.
Tanvir's face was still, his eyes shut. After his death his burns had been cleaned as best as possible. Even so, the injuries were still present, ruining the impression of finding peace and comfort in death. Aragorn reached down and felt for a pulse, there was none. Tanvir was truly gone.
The ranger quietly pulled the cloak back to how it had been before. He put his back to the body and stared ahead at the opposite wall. The image of Tanvir coming to his defense played through his mind over and over. The battle with the corsair, the tree crashing upon them. Tanvir had sacrificed his life, for a man he had hardly met. It was an act that Aragorn found humbling.
He turned to the king, "Does Legolas know?"
Thranduil shook his head, "I have not been able to find my son among the refugee's yet, though I am relatively sure he made his way out safely. Others have reported to me seeing him and his dwarf friend riding out upon his horse. I have been searching through the many shelters for him in between tending to you."
Aragorn nodded, understanding. He didn't say anything else.
Thranduil glanced sharply at him, "Come, you are still recovering, you must rest. We are both disheartened over Tanvir's death, and this will not provide you strength."
"Maybe in a while." The ranger didn't want to go back to sleep again, so soon after waking up.
The elven king sighed, remembering tales of the man's stubbornness from his son. But he did not press the issue, it was still raining hard, so they wouldn't be going anywhere for the next few days anyways.
He moved to finish checking the bandages while the man dealt with his grief. The rain drummed on the roof, outside the night approached.
Legolas sat in the small entrance to their shelter, looking out at the rainfall. To him, it was the most beautiful sight he had even seen, distant fires vanishing under the cloudburst. Steam now rose from the trees deep in the forest.
He watched that, and it brought joy to him. The intense grief was still there, for all that had been lost, but with the rain, his sense of hope had been fully restored. The crying of the trees was fading at last.
His eyes danced around, taking in his horse, foolishly playing out under the droplets. Arod was running and bucking, neighing loudly to the sky. He could understand that the rain was good for his master and the others. Watching him, Legolas smiled without realizing it. It was the first one for many days.
The wind whipped his hair, and a few drops splattered against him, but the effect was soothing upon his soul. It had become so ravaged with his grief; he had been on the verge of succumbing to his despair, a fate that would have eventually led to his death. He shuddered, still feeling the intense sorrow from earlier.
It was hard to pinpoint exactly how he felt. The elf's mind was split from the wonderful, breathtaking joy that the rains had finally come, and from the overwhelming sadness that so much suffering and death had taken place in his home.
He heard behind him Gimli moving around, trying to find a comfortable position inside their cramped shelter. He was trying to clean and sharpen his weapons, as Legolas had done over the past days.
The two friends had been initially soaked to the bone during the first few moments of the storm. They had quickly moved from the top of the hill, looking around to find any sort of shelter. The dwarves had left out some of their wagons, and a supply cart. With other elves already claiming the wagons, Legolas and Gimli were stuck with the much smaller cart.
The dwarf had grumbled fiercely about this, but stopped after Legolas pointed out that now they wouldn't worry about catching their next meal. Together, in the dark night, with the wind and rain beating at them, they had managed to construct a cover for themselves, protecting them from Nature's fury.
Once done they had both crawled inside, completely worn-out from the effort. Legolas had fallen asleep immediately, the exhaustion he was feeling showing clear to the dwarf. Gimli had spent a few moments fixing the insides a bit, so that the shelter was better supported from the inside. This way, the two friends wouldn't have to worry about it falling down upon them under the force of the wind.
Then Gimli too had lain down on a blanket, found inside the cart. After a moment, his snores had awoken the elf, who groaned, and covered his ears with his hands. When the snores did not cease he kicked out in the dark, catching his friend in the side. A muffled curse could be heard, and then there was blessed silence. The sound of the rain eventually lulled Legolas back to dreams.
Upon the next day they had gleefully gone over their inventory. It consisted of three blankets, some smoked jerky, a sharpening stone, flints, a knife, dried fruits, and a small skin of water. The flints were no use to them, they could not start a fire in the rain, and to start one inside would be foolish. But the other supplies they could put to good use.
Legolas had also gone over his injuries. The one inflicted upon his back was nearly gone, only a stiff soreness lingered, and his side was coming along nicely, now that Gimli's arms weren't crushing it. The cut on his shoulder was completely healed. He rotated his arm around a few times, stretching the stiffness out from the muscle.
Then the elf had turned his attention to wiping dried blood from Gimli's head, the old injury the dwarf had suffered at the hands of the corsairs. In no time at all, the wound was cleaned properly.
But being forced inside cramped quarters for two days has a tiring effect upon people, especially if those two people happen to be an elf and a dwarf. To get fresh air, Legolas had moved to the doorway where he now sat.
The elf was brought from his reverie by hearing more grumbling behind him, "If you don't mind, some of us don't appreciate an icy wind blowing about inside. Drop the cloak you darn elf."
Legolas smiled again, "Whatever you say Gimli. I understand how the cold could affect your delicate constitution." He came inside and lowered the cloak.
"Delicate! I'll have you know that I have spent days out in a blizzard! There was snow and ice! Your friend managed to survive, with nothing but the clothes on his back! The secret is in moving. If you hold still you'll freeze to death. So I was trapped wandering around, without knowing where I was going for two complete days. Yet here I am now, as sound as ever. Delicate! Humph!" He snorted.
"Hmm," Legolas mused, "Wandering around without having any idea where you might be or are going too...yes, that sounds like the dwarf I know."
Gimli made a startled noise and opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off from a shout outside. Legolas moved back to the entrance. Crouching on his feet, he lifted the cloak back and looked outside.
There was another shout, something Gimli couldn't make out over the sound of the wind, but Legolas obviously did because he shouted back in elvish. Gimli couldn't understand what he was saying.
After a pause, Legolas called something again, and then moved back inside. The elf's face had become taunt with worry, all traces of mischief gone from it.
"Who was that?"
"It was one of my folk, sent from my father. He carried a message." Legolas moved and gathered his weapons, his daggers sliding smoothly into their sheaths. His borrowed bow he held in his hands, his quiver was strapped to his back as usual. He went outside and Gimli followed him, the rain hitting hard against their skin, wind whipping about their clothes. Legolas deftly strapped the bow to his back, now that they were outside.
"What did the message say?"
"My father said he had grave news for me. He wishes for me to come and see him. The other elf is going to show the way."
Gimli looked, and dimly saw another elf waiting patiently a few steps away. The eldar was glancing about, looking up at them, and then back the way he had come, clearly wanting to be off so he could get out of the weather.
"Do you need me to come?"
Legolas looked down at the dwarf, and gave it thought, "No, it might be best if you wait at our shelter so no one can try to claim it."
The dwarf nodded, and moved back into the doorway, watching as his friend took off running into the darkness and downpour. Soon he and the other elf were lost to mortal sight. Gimli sighed, and returned to sharpening his axe, and listening to the rain, waiting for his friend to return.
Deep in the forest, far back in the rivers, the corsair ships floated. The guards were huddled under their clothes, wishing desperately that they could go inside where it was warm. But they had to stay to look out for any more approaching comrades.
Ever since their raid had begun, corsairs dragging elves moved back and forth from the ship to the woods. Their prisoners to be locked up in the holds with the other slaves. Already there looked to be an immensely rich profit, the holds were crammed full.
But now, it was raining, and many hours had passed since the latest slave had been chained up down below. The guards were becoming nervous, wondering what was going on over where the elves were.
After standing out in the rain for days, the shifts alternating, and then alternating again, finally a holler was given. Two corsairs could be seen staggering about through the trees, tripping and then lurching back up, running as if for their lives.
The guards could soon see why. Behind their crewmates was a wave of about ten spiders chasing them down. As the horrified lookouts watched, one of the two lost his balance and fell. The spiders were upon him and he screamed as they bit into his flesh.
The other corsair ran up to the ship, and they quickly threw a rope out to him. As he clambered him the hull, the guards shot arrows into three of the beasts. The rest of the spiders turned back to resume their meal on the first corsair.
The man who had managed to survive was pulled quickly onto the deck where everyone gathered about him. They were shocked at his condition.
Foam was dripping at his mouth; his eyes were wide and bloodshot. Burns covered his skin; half of his head had obviously caught fire, and was now a bloody mess.
"My gawd! Ginsher? Whot happened to yer?"
The man called Ginsher could only lie there, his eyes staring blankly ahead. The crew fidgeted nervously, then turned to one another.
"We should get outta 'ere."
"Yeah, I aint liken the looks of those spiders. We should move 'fore they come back to finish us."
Another piped up nervously, "But whot about the captain?"
A harsh laugh cut off any answer; Ginsher sat up, a crazy look in his eyes, "The captain? The captain?!" he shrieked, "Dear old cappy is dead mates! Somethin' took him down in that there hell forest, be it men or dwarfs or some monster! This whole plan was doomed ever since we lost our chance of surprise I tell ya! Those cursed elves! Those cursed trees!" Blood dripped from his mouth and he flung about widely, looking dangerously insane.
This was enough for the few crewmembers remaining. Out of all the corsairs who had left the ships to attack, Ginsher was the only one to return alive, if you could call it that. The crew prepared to make way, to leave Mirkwood, and take along their prisoners with them.
since I forgot to type it up at the top, I'll type it here: everyone is so nice reviewing me!! Many many thanks!!
ok, I'm gonna go start the next chapter. Hoped you liked this one.
silvanelf