Here is the beta-ed version! Thank you so much Jay, you're amazing as
usual! I am glad that you all have enjoyed this chapter, and as promised,
here are the comments. Also, I had much hoped to get out another chapter
by tomorrow, but I seemed to have misjudged a final. So look for another
chapter by the end of the week. I wrap up finals here on the 18th and am
looking forward to going to the movie that evening, my little (well, he is
not so little anymore) brother has already gotten tickets!
Wiley - thanks so much! Hope you enjoy the next installment.
Estelcontar - I promise the next chapter will be out soon!
Untouchableheart - I'm glad that I've had an impact on your week! I do not always mean to draw it out, but sometimes that happens because I have to much to say!
Angel of the Elves - I see you enjoyed the chapter ;)
Valin - yes Aragorn does tend to suffer. I am not much into torture fics, but sometimes injuries are unavoidable. Aragorn had to learn to be hard somehow
Elanor - thank you very much for the high praise. My writing has improved much over time. As for not so original plot line..when I first started this story, a loooooong time ago, there were not so many Aragorn and Legolas friends fics out there. Now there seem to be quite a few.
Anakas - yes, I wanted to make it fairly believable. Something like that could not have been pleasant.
The Insane One - Well, I will take it that you enjoyed the story ( new chapter soon, I promise!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aragorn felt Cressen's warm hands rest gently on his shoulders, carefully avoiding the newly sewn wounds. The boy's breathing was slow and nearly terrified. However, he was unwavering in his physical support of his captain. When Aragorn concentrated on Cressen's hands, instead of what was going on in front of him, he could nearly pretend that, indeed, it was not happening. That was until the needle slid into his skin and he bit back a gasp.
Thranduil had finished sewing the damage on his back, which had been painful in its own right. Carefully, the elven King had laid Aragorn back to rest against Cressen while Legolas had washed and cleaned the gruesome tears on Aragorn's chest. The skin was more tender there. It had been the deeper of the cuts given by the Nazgul, and had also been damaged more when the wargs had so unceremoniously attacked Aragorn in the wood. The existing wound was accompanied by small lacerations caused by the wicked claws of the vicious animals. Legolas had done his best to be gentle, but even the warm water stung at the wounds. Aragorn gritted his teeth under the strain as his body continually shivered from the oncoming fever.
Cressen had prepared another tea for Aragorn, one that had been meant to make him more unaware and which also contained a healing agent that dulled the nerves. It was hard to find any rest with sharp needles finding their way into one's skin. Aragorn had thought he was mentally prepared, but as Thranduil had made the first stitch, the Ranger was hard pressed not to cry out in pain. He was aware that Legolas was watching him as a hawk watches a mouse, but he could offer no sign that he was all right. The skin on his chest was softer and tender to the touch, let alone the bite of a cold needle. Thranduil's face was a cool mask, as though he was not even aware that he was sewing flesh, but as if he were sewing a torn sail to a ship that would carry him across the sea. Aragorn had many times wished for his father. Elrond would have been more sympathetic.
Fighting the urge to cry out again, Aragorn gripped the smooth round stones that Legolas had handed him before his father had started to sew again. They were a well polished brown color that shone in the well-lit room. They also served the purpose of providing Aragorn with some sort of firm foundation. Aragorn was grateful Cressen was there to offer the support of another mortal, one who would much better understand the pain of that which he was enduring. Elves, though quite susceptible to injury, healed much quicker and were often not as pressed to receive immediate medical care.
Legolas hovered above Aragorn, making the young Man dizzy to the point where he almost asked the prince to stop, but speaking was above the strength he now possessed. Aragorn swallowed hard to prevent another cry in his throat. He was determined that he should not show his pain if he could help it. It had been hard growing up as an edain child in Rivendell. He was not as fast as the other elves. He was not as graceful. This alone led to many scrapes and bruises. This also led to tears. Aragorn would be hard pressed not to remember the taunts and the teasing he received for the unbidden tears. Elves rarely cried for anything but grief. Although he was not stigmatized because of this, it had hardened his resolved and he felt it was a sign of weakness to show one's pain.
It was not merely from childhood teasing that his passion to remain strong and fearless came. Aragorn was afraid of his heritage. He was afraid of the blood that ran in his veins because in the blood was failure. Isildur had failed. So many of his ancestors had succumbed. He did not want to do such a thing. Any sort of weakness was bound to lead to a more tragic end, and so he fought to maintain his control. Pain was something to be handled. Not wept about.
"Strider," Cressen said loudly, fear quaking in his young voice. Aragorn blinked and half turned his head to look at the boy.
"Yes?" he managed to say, forcing his voice to work. It was then that he realized that Thranduil and Legolas were both looking at him in worry.
"Are you all right? You did not answer," the boy hesitated, looking at Aragorn in a concerned and nearly parental way. Aragorn let out a soft sigh. He could only imagine how he looked.
"I was lost in thought," he explained, finding that the more he spoke the easier it became. Breathing was more difficult, for every breath pulled at the old and new stitches to send spasms of pain running from one end of the sword cut to the other.
"Your eyes have grown quite glassy, Estel," Thranduil said, his voice hiding the concern Aragorn saw in his eyes.
"It is the pain, my Lord, but you need not worry. What must be done must be done."
"It is true, yet your pallor grows ever whiter. Perhaps you are in need of nutrients."
"I am fine, please King, I just wish for this to be over. If I lose consciousness, so be it," the Ranger said firmly, hoping they would all take his word for it. To slide into unconsciousness would be a blessed reprieve from what he had endured thus far.
The King nodded. "Indeed. However, I must find a sharper needle. Rest for a moment, Estel. I will return," the King said, and turned to leave. Aragorn merely let him go, shutting his eyes for a moment to try to harness the pounding in his head.
"Aragorn?" Legolas' voice came to him in a whisper and Aragorn forced his lids to open. "Are you all right?"
"Mmm," Aragorn responded, hoping it would be convincing enough.
"Take heart, I have something for you." Aragorn watched curiously as Legolas reached into his tunic and withdrew a folded piece of parchment. He placed it in Aragorn's hands which, the Ranger realized for the first time, were shaking badly.
"It is the fever," he said in explanation. He could feel Cressen lean his head over his shoulder to see the letter. Flipping it over as best he could with nerveless hands, Aragorn was surprised to see the flowing script of an elven hand. A hand he recognized instantly. The words were simple and beautiful to Aragorn. He could not have wished for more. My Beloved. "Where did you get this?" he asked in shock, looking up to meet Legolas' eyes.
"Cressen found it in your pack, and I thought, given the opportunity, you should read it." Legolas smiled warmly. His timing had been perfect. Aragorn took little time to wonder how Arwen had managed to secret it away in his pack. He was more concerned with what she had written to him. Taking care not to rip the paper, he fought to slide his finger under the seal. Legolas took the letter from him, opening it and handing it back. Aragorn would have smiled in appreciation if smiling were not so consuming of energy.
Aragorn read the words slowly, as if each small inkblot was a tie to her. She was concise in her words, yet there was no lack of meaning. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to touch his face. She longed to draw a finger under his jaw. She longed for the comfort of his voice. She missed their long talks. Then the mood changed. She was eager for him to continue his journeys. She urged him not to worry for her, as she would forever keep him close to her heart. She thought of him daily. She patiently awaited for his return. She prayed for his safety. Aragorn could hardly finish the letter. As much relief and pleasure as the letter brought him, it was as if he was stricken with the pain of not being with her. He was paralyzed with a longing to go to her. The moment passed quickly. He was happy again. She believed in him.
Folding the letter, he offered it to Legolas just as Thranduil returned. "Please, my friend, keep this safe for me."
"You may count on me." Aragorn nodded at the knowing look on Legolas' face. Thranduil seemed to be regarding them, unsure of what had just transpired.
"You have regained some color, Estel. That is well," he said slowly, then took a moment to show Aragorn the new needle. Aragorn suppressed an involuntary shudder and managed to nod his head in approval. He felt Cressen's hands return to his shoulders and he gritted his teeth as the pain started anew. Aragorn reflected bitterly that at least he did not have to suffer such pain twice, he had been blissfully sleeping when Elrond had first taken the time to sew the wounds with care.
It seemed that another hour had slowly dragged by to the young Ranger as the needle slid in and out of his skin. Parts of his chest had merely gone numb while others were more painful than Aragorn would have believed possible. But finally, Thranduil finished. He took a step back to give Aragorn space. The young Man was breathing laboriously in short gasps. Aragorn did not need to be reminded that his body was very angry with him. When his breathing had evened out as much as he thought it would, he gave a slight nod to Legolas, who, with gentleness only elves and mothers possessed, cleaned the still flowing blood. Carefully Cressen bound wide strips of soft white cloth around Aragorn's chest and back until the blood stopped seeping through.
"I wish this were over Estel," Thranduil said slowly and Aragorn realized the elven King was trying to gauge his reaction. It gave him a small amount of pleasure to offer none. The pain made him feel like being petulant.
"It is now or never, my Lord, and it seems as though the infection should be removed immediately if I am not to risk losing my arm."
"As you wish then. This will be more painful than what you have experienced so far."
"I know," Aragorn said the last words softly, his acute mind calculating exactly what needed to be done. The arm would have to first be cleaned, then the bone would have to be set by hand. Finally, the damage would need to be sewn. It did not look promising. "I am ready."
Legolas squeezed his hand reassuringly then stood to assist his father. Long minutes passed where Aragorn thought he might merely die from the pain that he was experiencing. There was no way to ease the pain caused by cleaning the wound. Cressen was doing his best to hold his captain against the pain he had begun to writhe in, but there was only so much he could do. Aragorn had yet to cry out, but soon he could hear himself whimpering in pain. It was uncontrollable. Aragorn had long since squeezed his eyes closed, but he knew that another elf, probably the healer, was assisting in holding his one side so that Thranduil and Legolas could work.
Aragorn could do nothing but hold his breath as he felt Thranduil take hold of his actual arm. Red-hot stabs of pain lanced through his arm. He felt as if someone had placed a molten hot spear into his arm. Soon enough, he felt that instead of Thranduil trying to place the bone back into his arm, that he was actually trying to yank it out. It was then that fate blessed Aragorn and finally his writhing body stilled and slumped. Aragorn's last thought was of Arwen, wondering if she was thinking of him even then.
Wiley - thanks so much! Hope you enjoy the next installment.
Estelcontar - I promise the next chapter will be out soon!
Untouchableheart - I'm glad that I've had an impact on your week! I do not always mean to draw it out, but sometimes that happens because I have to much to say!
Angel of the Elves - I see you enjoyed the chapter ;)
Valin - yes Aragorn does tend to suffer. I am not much into torture fics, but sometimes injuries are unavoidable. Aragorn had to learn to be hard somehow
Elanor - thank you very much for the high praise. My writing has improved much over time. As for not so original plot line..when I first started this story, a loooooong time ago, there were not so many Aragorn and Legolas friends fics out there. Now there seem to be quite a few.
Anakas - yes, I wanted to make it fairly believable. Something like that could not have been pleasant.
The Insane One - Well, I will take it that you enjoyed the story ( new chapter soon, I promise!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aragorn felt Cressen's warm hands rest gently on his shoulders, carefully avoiding the newly sewn wounds. The boy's breathing was slow and nearly terrified. However, he was unwavering in his physical support of his captain. When Aragorn concentrated on Cressen's hands, instead of what was going on in front of him, he could nearly pretend that, indeed, it was not happening. That was until the needle slid into his skin and he bit back a gasp.
Thranduil had finished sewing the damage on his back, which had been painful in its own right. Carefully, the elven King had laid Aragorn back to rest against Cressen while Legolas had washed and cleaned the gruesome tears on Aragorn's chest. The skin was more tender there. It had been the deeper of the cuts given by the Nazgul, and had also been damaged more when the wargs had so unceremoniously attacked Aragorn in the wood. The existing wound was accompanied by small lacerations caused by the wicked claws of the vicious animals. Legolas had done his best to be gentle, but even the warm water stung at the wounds. Aragorn gritted his teeth under the strain as his body continually shivered from the oncoming fever.
Cressen had prepared another tea for Aragorn, one that had been meant to make him more unaware and which also contained a healing agent that dulled the nerves. It was hard to find any rest with sharp needles finding their way into one's skin. Aragorn had thought he was mentally prepared, but as Thranduil had made the first stitch, the Ranger was hard pressed not to cry out in pain. He was aware that Legolas was watching him as a hawk watches a mouse, but he could offer no sign that he was all right. The skin on his chest was softer and tender to the touch, let alone the bite of a cold needle. Thranduil's face was a cool mask, as though he was not even aware that he was sewing flesh, but as if he were sewing a torn sail to a ship that would carry him across the sea. Aragorn had many times wished for his father. Elrond would have been more sympathetic.
Fighting the urge to cry out again, Aragorn gripped the smooth round stones that Legolas had handed him before his father had started to sew again. They were a well polished brown color that shone in the well-lit room. They also served the purpose of providing Aragorn with some sort of firm foundation. Aragorn was grateful Cressen was there to offer the support of another mortal, one who would much better understand the pain of that which he was enduring. Elves, though quite susceptible to injury, healed much quicker and were often not as pressed to receive immediate medical care.
Legolas hovered above Aragorn, making the young Man dizzy to the point where he almost asked the prince to stop, but speaking was above the strength he now possessed. Aragorn swallowed hard to prevent another cry in his throat. He was determined that he should not show his pain if he could help it. It had been hard growing up as an edain child in Rivendell. He was not as fast as the other elves. He was not as graceful. This alone led to many scrapes and bruises. This also led to tears. Aragorn would be hard pressed not to remember the taunts and the teasing he received for the unbidden tears. Elves rarely cried for anything but grief. Although he was not stigmatized because of this, it had hardened his resolved and he felt it was a sign of weakness to show one's pain.
It was not merely from childhood teasing that his passion to remain strong and fearless came. Aragorn was afraid of his heritage. He was afraid of the blood that ran in his veins because in the blood was failure. Isildur had failed. So many of his ancestors had succumbed. He did not want to do such a thing. Any sort of weakness was bound to lead to a more tragic end, and so he fought to maintain his control. Pain was something to be handled. Not wept about.
"Strider," Cressen said loudly, fear quaking in his young voice. Aragorn blinked and half turned his head to look at the boy.
"Yes?" he managed to say, forcing his voice to work. It was then that he realized that Thranduil and Legolas were both looking at him in worry.
"Are you all right? You did not answer," the boy hesitated, looking at Aragorn in a concerned and nearly parental way. Aragorn let out a soft sigh. He could only imagine how he looked.
"I was lost in thought," he explained, finding that the more he spoke the easier it became. Breathing was more difficult, for every breath pulled at the old and new stitches to send spasms of pain running from one end of the sword cut to the other.
"Your eyes have grown quite glassy, Estel," Thranduil said, his voice hiding the concern Aragorn saw in his eyes.
"It is the pain, my Lord, but you need not worry. What must be done must be done."
"It is true, yet your pallor grows ever whiter. Perhaps you are in need of nutrients."
"I am fine, please King, I just wish for this to be over. If I lose consciousness, so be it," the Ranger said firmly, hoping they would all take his word for it. To slide into unconsciousness would be a blessed reprieve from what he had endured thus far.
The King nodded. "Indeed. However, I must find a sharper needle. Rest for a moment, Estel. I will return," the King said, and turned to leave. Aragorn merely let him go, shutting his eyes for a moment to try to harness the pounding in his head.
"Aragorn?" Legolas' voice came to him in a whisper and Aragorn forced his lids to open. "Are you all right?"
"Mmm," Aragorn responded, hoping it would be convincing enough.
"Take heart, I have something for you." Aragorn watched curiously as Legolas reached into his tunic and withdrew a folded piece of parchment. He placed it in Aragorn's hands which, the Ranger realized for the first time, were shaking badly.
"It is the fever," he said in explanation. He could feel Cressen lean his head over his shoulder to see the letter. Flipping it over as best he could with nerveless hands, Aragorn was surprised to see the flowing script of an elven hand. A hand he recognized instantly. The words were simple and beautiful to Aragorn. He could not have wished for more. My Beloved. "Where did you get this?" he asked in shock, looking up to meet Legolas' eyes.
"Cressen found it in your pack, and I thought, given the opportunity, you should read it." Legolas smiled warmly. His timing had been perfect. Aragorn took little time to wonder how Arwen had managed to secret it away in his pack. He was more concerned with what she had written to him. Taking care not to rip the paper, he fought to slide his finger under the seal. Legolas took the letter from him, opening it and handing it back. Aragorn would have smiled in appreciation if smiling were not so consuming of energy.
Aragorn read the words slowly, as if each small inkblot was a tie to her. She was concise in her words, yet there was no lack of meaning. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to touch his face. She longed to draw a finger under his jaw. She longed for the comfort of his voice. She missed their long talks. Then the mood changed. She was eager for him to continue his journeys. She urged him not to worry for her, as she would forever keep him close to her heart. She thought of him daily. She patiently awaited for his return. She prayed for his safety. Aragorn could hardly finish the letter. As much relief and pleasure as the letter brought him, it was as if he was stricken with the pain of not being with her. He was paralyzed with a longing to go to her. The moment passed quickly. He was happy again. She believed in him.
Folding the letter, he offered it to Legolas just as Thranduil returned. "Please, my friend, keep this safe for me."
"You may count on me." Aragorn nodded at the knowing look on Legolas' face. Thranduil seemed to be regarding them, unsure of what had just transpired.
"You have regained some color, Estel. That is well," he said slowly, then took a moment to show Aragorn the new needle. Aragorn suppressed an involuntary shudder and managed to nod his head in approval. He felt Cressen's hands return to his shoulders and he gritted his teeth as the pain started anew. Aragorn reflected bitterly that at least he did not have to suffer such pain twice, he had been blissfully sleeping when Elrond had first taken the time to sew the wounds with care.
It seemed that another hour had slowly dragged by to the young Ranger as the needle slid in and out of his skin. Parts of his chest had merely gone numb while others were more painful than Aragorn would have believed possible. But finally, Thranduil finished. He took a step back to give Aragorn space. The young Man was breathing laboriously in short gasps. Aragorn did not need to be reminded that his body was very angry with him. When his breathing had evened out as much as he thought it would, he gave a slight nod to Legolas, who, with gentleness only elves and mothers possessed, cleaned the still flowing blood. Carefully Cressen bound wide strips of soft white cloth around Aragorn's chest and back until the blood stopped seeping through.
"I wish this were over Estel," Thranduil said slowly and Aragorn realized the elven King was trying to gauge his reaction. It gave him a small amount of pleasure to offer none. The pain made him feel like being petulant.
"It is now or never, my Lord, and it seems as though the infection should be removed immediately if I am not to risk losing my arm."
"As you wish then. This will be more painful than what you have experienced so far."
"I know," Aragorn said the last words softly, his acute mind calculating exactly what needed to be done. The arm would have to first be cleaned, then the bone would have to be set by hand. Finally, the damage would need to be sewn. It did not look promising. "I am ready."
Legolas squeezed his hand reassuringly then stood to assist his father. Long minutes passed where Aragorn thought he might merely die from the pain that he was experiencing. There was no way to ease the pain caused by cleaning the wound. Cressen was doing his best to hold his captain against the pain he had begun to writhe in, but there was only so much he could do. Aragorn had yet to cry out, but soon he could hear himself whimpering in pain. It was uncontrollable. Aragorn had long since squeezed his eyes closed, but he knew that another elf, probably the healer, was assisting in holding his one side so that Thranduil and Legolas could work.
Aragorn could do nothing but hold his breath as he felt Thranduil take hold of his actual arm. Red-hot stabs of pain lanced through his arm. He felt as if someone had placed a molten hot spear into his arm. Soon enough, he felt that instead of Thranduil trying to place the bone back into his arm, that he was actually trying to yank it out. It was then that fate blessed Aragorn and finally his writhing body stilled and slumped. Aragorn's last thought was of Arwen, wondering if she was thinking of him even then.