whew, another chapter!!

Jamie M: blushes and grins embarrassedly, whoops, spotted a hole there huh? You're right, I kind of forgot about that (I guess) as I typed it. For the sake of the story, let us pretend that his body has not rejected the stitches inside. Maybe when this story is finished I'll head back and try to fix it so it works out with the rest of the plot line. I can't believe I overlooked that! (I'll go with you and put my trust in Aragorn's healing skills.)

Ah MelanyeBaggins, you're review was very reassuring as I was extremely nervous about how readers would react to my idea of the wrath. Thank-you:)

Of course, I must say thank-you to all my reviewers!!! (as I have every other chapter, but I would feel horrible if I didn't thank you all every time. You inspire me to write, (whoa, that was cheesy, forget I said that...)

So here I present to you, the next chapter, finally written and typed and updated! Huzzah!

The Last Battle

There wasn't even any time for a thought before Aragorn's body hit the surface of the water. For a sickening instant his stomach had risen into his throat as he fell, but then the shock of the impact with the water, and the iciness that stole his breath also stole any other perceptions he might have had. The water hit him hard, he landed on his side, losing his breath as pain exploded throughout his just-starting-to- heal ribs. His body instantly disappeared under the waves.

The current also immediately picked him up. What with the storm the past days, and the ships' movement, the river had swelled, overflowing its banks and growing dangerous. The current had changed from easy-going to a strong, gripping flow, moving debris and wood shrapnel from the ships along swiftly. It easily pulled the dazed man under and Aragorn found himself completely disoriented.
Everything around him was a dark and swirling jumble. He tried to swim to the surface, but had no idea which way the surface was. Confused, and desperate for air he opened his mouth. A mistake, as water flowed straight to his lungs and precious air bubbles escaped him. A moment later he slammed into something hard, and his ribs screamed in protest as even more pain laced its way through them. Though Aragorn did not realize it, the current had slammed him into the side of the corsair ship.

Aragorn's mind screamed for air, but it was impossible for him to get his bearings. He struggled to swim against the current and reach the surface, but the icy water had numbed his limbs, and each movement took agonizing effort, which sapped his strength. After only a few strokes the dark water became even darker as his vision faded, and the current pulled him down.

Legolas tucked his face down, tensing his muscles as he dove. Instead of hitting hard and stunning himself as Aragorn had, the elf plunged gracefully through the surface waves, retaining his bearings. The current instantly pulled at him, but instead of fighting it, he allowed it to carry him downriver, giving him greater speed, pushing him towards his friend.

Even with his elven eyes he could not see much except swirling, murky water. He surfaced quickly, gasping for air, his eyes scanning the surface for any sign of Aragorn. There was none. He re-submerged after drawing breath, and swam hard and fast, casting his arms about in hopes of touching the ranger.

Looking ahead he saw the water grow even darker and realized he was only seconds from doing what Aragorn had only seconds before him done, crash into the ship's side. It loomed closer, and though his lungs were burning, Legolas swam deeper, releasing air through his mouth in order to get below the wooden planks. For a terrible minute he though he might become trapped underneath, to drown. But he passed under it, and as soon as he did, he shot to the surface again, opening his mouth to gasp greedily at the air. A wave slapped him in the face and he chocked for a second.

Stealthily, a chill entered his heart as the hand of panic closed about it. If he was having trouble breathing, Aragorn would be in much worse shape. Already minutes had passed; Aragorn should have reached the surface by now. But Legolas could not see him. Aragorn was drowning! He had to find him; he was drowning, breathing water into his lungs! Legolas's breath started to catch as his heart thudded. He cast his gaze about randomly and desperately, thrashing the water around him. Realizing his state of mind, he forced himself to calm down, but only with great difficulty. His heart cried for him to do something more, to find his friend now, but the prince could not see Aragorn anywhere.

Rain pattered his face as he treaded water, hating that he had to waste these precious seconds. Waves splashed over him, but he knew that he would be of no help to anyone if he didn't regain control and calm himself. When he felt that he was as calm as he could get under the circumstances he drew a breath, and dove under.

Moving swiftly, he scanned about. Something soft brushed against him and he grabbed onto it, hoping for the best. Drawing it closer he saw that he had snagged hold of a body, a long dead corsair whose fists were clenched tight. Blood seeped from it and it had become bloated. Revulsion and horror contracted in the elf's chest and he shoved it away from him, feeling the panic return.

Suddenly, out of the shadows a rock loomed, slamming into his shoulder. Legolas gasped in surprise and precious air was lost, not to mention his shoulder throbbed. Before he could do much, another rock, this one large enough to stick out into the surface, appeared through the water to his right. He kicked away and barely missed slamming into it.

Reaching out as the current pulled him past, he grabbed hold onto the stone. Two of his fingernails peeled back, and he opened his mouth to scream at the unexpected shock. Choking, he surfaced quickly, bursting up with a shout of pain. He found that he was facing a sheer wall of rock. Blood dripping from his hands, he scrabbled at the stone for a few seconds, using it to anchor himself as he looked ahead to see where other rocks were, and then fell back down.

He swam to one side, putting the next boulder to his left. Searching about, he saw something trapped underneath it, giving off a ripple. Peering through the water he thought he saw a piece of cloth being whipped about in the current.

Hope flashed through his thoughts, and he swam over. Maneuvering around the corner of the stone he finally found his friend, trapped against the rock side. Somehow the current had pushed the man there, and the force of the backlash was keeping him from floating to the surface. Legolas grabbed Aragorn tightly by one of his arms, and putting his feet against the rock, shoved hard to the surface. The ranger was dead weight in his grip, and Legolas felt them falling short of their goal. Struggling and kicking, the elf strove to make his way above the water with his burden.

A jet of spray exploded along with them as the broke the surface. Legolas flew upward, gasping and sputtering. Aragorn sagged in his grasp, the elf couldn't tell if his was breathing or not. A wave crashed over them, causing them both to go under again, but Legolas quickly re-surfaced with his friend. Trying desperately to keep Aragorn's face above water, Legolas looked about for a way out of this predicament. The river's current still dragged along at them, and the elf found it increasingly difficult to stay afloat with Aragorn's body. The strength of the current challenged his own.

They had passed the remaining rocks. Dimly Legolas realized that he would have to swim to the shore if either of them wished to survive this. And if he did not hurry the current would drag them both all the way out to sea. There would be nothing out there to support them and eventually they would both drown, for Legolas would not abandon his friend.

Taking a breath he began to struggle to pull himself to the side and out of the current. He kicked hard, dragging Aragorn behind him. Water crashed over his head and blurred his vision; he coughed, his lungs were burning. He could imagine what shape Aragorn was in, and offered up a prayer to the Valar for his friend's life.

After an eternity he looked up. It seemed to him that maybe the shore was somewhat closer than before. Renewed with this hope he kicked out again, stronger then ever. Now he could really feel himself moving. Swimming and breathing hard he finally felt his feet brush against the riverbed and current ebb off. Almost sobbing with relief he shifted his grip on Aragorn and hauled him through the muddy shallows to the shore.

Stumbling from the stream, he laid Aragorn down, and then nearly collapsed himself. His legs felt shaky, and his chest heaved with each breath. Instead though, he knelt next to the ranger and began to examine him.

Aragorn's lips were blue. With a shock Legolas realized that the water had to have been much more cold than he had perceived. However, what worried him more was that Aragorn was not breathing, and that there was no pulse.

Again Legolas felt panic creep up on him. What if he couldn't get Aragorn breathing again? What would he say to Gimli...or Arwen? All he could see in his mind's eye was Tanvir's body, and how Aragorn's would soon be stretched out next to it. This picture filled him with grief and a fiery desperation to prevent it.

He began to rub the chest and then pushed up from the stomach area. He repeated this a few times, and then turned Aragorn so that he could hit the back. His blows were hard; they left his hand stinging after each one was landed. Then he pushed upwards from the front again. Every few seconds he stopped to check the pulse, but still there was nothing.

Seconds ticked away as Legolas fought to bring the water up and to get air to his friend. But as each second passed nothing seemed to change, and Aragorn's life was slipping through his fingers. He had already lost one brother; he would not lose another so soon. He would not let Aragorn die. But as he bent over the body, his wet hair dripping onto the still face, Legolas felt all hope leave him.

Gimli was tired of waiting. For now, the elves were the only one to participate in the battle, jumping over from tall trees, or shooting deadly arrows from the shore. But the dwarfs couldn't climb up high enough, and even if they could somehow have managed it, there was no way for them to jump over without someone else to toss them. This was an action strictly forbidden by their loud protests.

But neither would Gimli shirk from battle. After eyeing the river carefully, he jumped in and with the kind of strength only a dwarf can muster, swam up to the side of the ship. An elf looking down spotted him scrambling for a hold and tossed him a rope. Soon many ropes lined the side as Dwarfs climbed up, the icy water nothing to them in the face of glory in battle.

Gimli flopped over the side and landed hard on the deck. He blinked when he saw all the destruction that had taken place. The ship seemed ripped to shreds almost, looking like it would collapse any second. His sixth sense told him that something important had happened here. He brushed the feeling off, now was not the time, and with a grunt, he stood and drew his axe.

Running as fast as he could, he closed the distance between and a corsair. He swung his axe upward, feeling the metal head rip through between two ribs, spilling the man's guts onto the deck. Blood splattered against him, but he ignored this, having seen far worse. The corsair stood for a moment, blood clotting and dripping down from the corners of his mouth. Then he fell to the deck. Gimli was confident that he would not draw more then a few breaths more before death claimed him.

With a roar he charged into the fray, fighting alongside his fellow dwarves and elven comrades. Blades whirled, turning back the charge of corsairs leaping over from their ship. Arrows hissed through the air, finding their marks in the necks and eyes of corsairs. Blood stained the deck, steaming and foamy from the commotion. The river water around them had changed from a muddy grey to a muddy red, and bodies floated upon the surface.

Gimli swung his axe around, relishing the feeling of it connecting with the enemy. Anger on behalf of Legolas built up inside of him, and gladly he released it by wielding even deadlier strokes.

At the thought of his friend, Gimli took a moment to glance about across the deck. After scanning all around he was shocked to find that not only could he not see the elf, but the blasted ranger was missing as well. Worry coursed through his veins, but he pushed it aside. Surely they were only fighting on the other ship?

He was heading to confirm this thought, when his peripheral vision caught sight of a man moving to go below decks. A dirty corsair, a blade in his hand, and one clutched in between his teeth. He meant to attack those unable to fight! For a second his friends were gone from his mind, though he wished to see to them first, such cowardness could not go unnoticed. He sprang after the man heading beneath.

Looking up the corsair saw what was headed his way. He moved faster, looking for a place to hide. He wished desperately to live out the day, and his hands fumbled with his knife in fear. He cut himself on his thumb, blood flowing out. Finally he crouched under the stairwell; he would be ready when the dwarf arrived.

Fen-Galid had also seen the corsair disappear below. Making to head over himself, he checked his actions when he saw a burley dwarf climb down in pursuit. The axe-wielder had seemed eager almost, to teach the man a lesson. The elf left it to him, confident that the corsair would be no match for the ferocity shown on the dwarf's face. And it wasn't until after the battle that he gave them another thought.

His hands were numb. Still, he kept at it, pushing up from the lower chest, hitting the back as hard as he could. He rubbed both sides, trying to stimulate the circulation. Finally he took both of his hands and pushed down hard, Aragorn lying on his back.

Aragorn seemed to cough.

His vision was blurred, sweat trickled down his brow. He hardly dared to hope as he pushed down again.

This time Aragorn's body jerked underneath him, and then doubled over. Vomit and water began to come up between the man's lips, and Legolas quickly turned him onto his side. The ranger's body pushed the water out of his lungs; Aragorn threw it all up onto the ground and then drew a shaky breath to Legolas's immense relief. Now the tears did come. The elf released all the tension in him through the tears, letting them course down his cheeks as he patted his friend's back, trying to sooth some of the harsh, coughing breaths. The man had still not regained consciousness.

Legolas checked the pulse. It was still somewhat weak. With a mental sigh, Legolas knew that he would have to move them both away from the river's edge, to someplace dry. Gathering himself, he stood, flexing his stiff muscles. His hands were throbbing and stinging as blood flowed back into them.

He bent down and lifted Aragorn up. Then turning and walking carefully, slowly he made his way further and further from the raging waters. He noticed suddenly with a shock that blood covered the clothes of his friend, but as feeling returned to his hands, his fingers reminded him of their status. He noticed blood dripped down from them onto his boots. They burned and stung dreadfully. His legs began to cramp, and his arms soon followed suit, making it hard for him to draw steady breaths. He gritted his teeth against the pain, and continued his trudge away from the river.

He walked, falling into a doze, or perhaps even a light unconsciousness, though his eyes remained opened. In his arms Aragorn's breath still came harsh, but seemed to gain strength. His lips were returning to a more healthy shade then the bluish-black they had been.
When Legolas came to himself he saw that they had moved much farther into the woods. The elf struggled to continue, but exhaustion tugged at him. Finally he decided that he could go no further. Looking around, he found a dry spot between some tree roots and laid Aragorn along between them.

Crouching down next to him he checked the pulse again. It seemed to him to be a bit stronger. Certainly the ranger wasn't near death. Pulling off his cloak, Legolas draped it over his friend to keep him warm. It was the freezing water his friend had been subjected to that now worried the elf. He himself was fine, his body not feeling the extreme of temperatures. But Aragorn had been trapped underwater for who knows how long, subject to the icy depths. Even now he seemed to shiver slightly.

Legolas took ten more minutes to rub the skin and chest, and yet again checked the pulse. Again he perceived improvement. He considered lighting a fire, but even if he found dry wood he did not think he could bring himself to try to burn it after all that had happened. Instead, Legolas leaned back, resting his head against he trunk of the tree. Letting his thoughts flow, he soon lost himself in the whispering of the leaves overhead. It still rained, but the tree stretched out its branches so that many came to rest over the elf and the man, thus much of the rain was blocked.

Legolas's body relaxed and his eyes slipped shut from fatigue. His breaths became even and deep as he slipped away from the world, losing himself to the blackness that utter exhaustion brings. He and Aragorn laid secure in the roots, the tree watching over them and the rain falling.

Gimli reached the stairs. He tromped down them as quickly as he could, ready for battle. A moment before it would have been too late, he caught sight of something that made him freeze in his tracks. A spot of blood was on the deck to the side of the stairs, and this led him to see that a shadow was moving.

With a cry of rage he vaulted over the side, crashing onto the floor. The corsair hiding beneath him gave a strangled cry of fear, but then recovered himself, bringing his knife up. Gimli rose to his feet, anger burning in his eyes. The corsair slashed out once or twice, that is, until Gimli swiped his knife away with a single sweep of his axe.

The man turned and fled down the narrow hall of the ship. As Gimli made to follow he realized with a shock that water was flowing upwards, that a couple of inches were already available to splash through. He growled and moved faster.

But not quite fast enough. Coming around a corner he stopped fast at the scene of the corsair pressing his remaining knife against the throat of an elven child. A young boy, whose eyes were wide with shock. As Gimli took a step forward the knife pressed in, a spot of red welling up under the blade. A cry escaping from the mouth. Gimli stopped short, and the corsair grinned, smirking at him, daring him to come closer.

as always, I hope you enjoyed! And again, I sooooooooooo appreciate everyone's patience! Thank-you!