Author's Note: so here is the next chapter. I'm back at college now
so hopefully things will flow a bit smoother. I hope you enjoy the chapter
and when Jay gets this betaed I will def respond to reviews. Thank you so
much to all of my readers for their reviews they have been amazing so far!
It is what keeps me going!
~Lady Winter
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Aragorn was aware of the sharp, terrifying pain before anything else. He couldn't hear anything beyond what sounded like a terrible hurricane of wind in his ears. Then the sound abruptly disappeared and there was a sharp crack and vaguely Aragorn imagined that he recognized the sound. It sounded like a bone snapping. Aragorn's third sensation was that he could not breathe. His lungs labored to make air flow through them. The only circumstance he could liken the sensation too was memories from childhood. His lungs felt as though they were frozen with cold. It was like all of the times that he had raced from the Bruien to the main gates of Rivendell with Elladan and Elrohir in the winter. Many a time they had played on the ice and the elf twins would tease him.
"Come little brother! Prove you are as much as an elf as we! We shall race you too the gate," Elrohir would say with a slight tease in his voice.
"Do not tease him Elrohir! Estel is quite capable of beating us. After all, what kind of edain would be hampered by the cold?" Aragorn could remember clearly that Elladan would say this, his head would cock to one side and he would smile mischievously at his young foster brother.
He never won. No, that was wrong. When he was younger, until he had reached the age of twelve, the twins had let him win. They had pretended to fall or twist ankles that were obviously impossible to twist, after all they belonged to elves. Then the day had come when Aragorn had cleverly tripped Elrohir and led Elladan into a mess of mud and truly beat them. It had never happened again. Still, the races had been most amusing in the winter. The snow and ice that layered the elven kingdom had proven dangerous and delightful to the racing brothers. Aragorn had always lost. When he had reached the gates, his lungs would ache. They would burn and be frozen. They would constrict and pound. His breath came in short gasps. Men were not made for the cold. He could not breathe.
The sensation was there. His lungs ached. They pounded beyond pain and they contracted as if they were in protest. Aragorn knew his pleasant memories were gone. He was back in the present time, but what was happening? Another sharp crack and an explosion of pain in his arm alerted the Ranger to the fact that he was hurt. Instinct kicked in and Aragorn forced his body upwards and he opened his eyes. Panic gripped him as he realized his one hand was bound while the other arm was held firmly. Quick movement also proved his feet were just as restrained. Pain lanced up and down his chest and back. He could feel hands trying to hold him back. What foul place and situation had he fallen into? With thoughts racing, Aragorn tried to will his eyes to focus.
A distinct rise of panic hit him as he blinked rapidly and tried to pull away from the blinding pain someone was afflicting on him. His arm felt as though it was being ripped from his arm. Yanking against the restraints, he fought to be free or whatever cruel captors held him. Inside his confused brain, his mind was trying to fight through the haziness. He knew what was going on. He had to know. Why wouldn't his eyes work?
Aragorn forced himself to stop his blind struggling. He could hear voices now, soft as the wind on a warm summer day. The voices seemed comforting and the language was elvish. Yet I am not in Rivendell. Aragorn did not feel safe where he was, leading him to the conclusion he was not in his childhood home. Elrond's house did not smell like this place did. Trying yet to focus his bleary vision, he tried to clear his mind and figure out what had happened and where he was. Mirkwood. He was in the House of Thranduil. He was being treated for his injuries. My arm is broken his mind realized slowly. That was where the constant and unbearable pain was coming from.
"Estel?"
"Strider?"
Now the voices were more clear. Aragorn was relieved for he had been right. He easily recognized the owners of the voices - Thranduil, Legolas, and also Cressen. As his body calmed from its tense state, his damaged muscles screamed in pain, but the pain gave new clarity to Aragorn's situation and he forced his eyes open once more. He found himself staring into the worried face of the Prince of Mirkwood.
"Strider? Can you hear me? Do not move further, or you may injure yourself further than you already have," the prince sounded quite worried. Without answering, the Ranger blinked at Legolas, then turned to look at his arm. Tugging at his restrained hand, he tried to reach out and touch the offending arm. He was surprised to find that his arm had been set, and although it throbbed insecently, he knew that at least now it would heal. He could still feel strong hands on his shoulder, carefully avoiding the newly sewn stitches. Cressen was indeed there.
"Estel?" Thranduil leaned across the bed and placed a hand on the future King's forehead. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes," Aragorn forced the word out, finding that his throat felt as if it were filled with the soft cotton that fell from some of the trees in Imladris in the spring. To his own ears his voice sounded weak and soft.
"I've set your arm and it should heal completely."
"Thank you, m'Lord," the words came out in a jumbled fashion but when Thranduil nodded in acceptance of the gratitude, Aragorn knew he had been understood.
"You should rest, Strider." Legolas had gone and come back with and arm full of pillows.
"I have forgotten the message from Ada," Aragorn said slowly, forcing his lips to form the words correctly. "I must give it to the King." The Ranger tugged at the rope that bound his hand and tried to pull away, causing a sharp grimace of pain to cross his tired face.
"Strider! Be still!" Legolas commanded and Aragorn, taken aback, froze. "I will get the message for my father."
"Please, unbind me," Aragorn said softly, almost in a pleading manor that he himself was surprised at. It seemed his mind wasn't working so well.
"You must promise to be still and rest," came a muffled voice from behind Aragorn. He turned his head to find Cressen staring at him very seriously. "You must regain your strength so that we will return to Halbarad in good time. You are in no condition to travel." The boy's words were so certain that Aragorn found himself frowning. As he frowned, a look of panic crossed Cressen's face, as if the young man suddenly realized that perhaps he had crossed a line he should not have when it came to the Captain of the Rangers. Legolas' eyes were also wide and Aragorn had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.
"I promise," he said, his voice sounding sleepy. Cressen's body visibly relaxed. "But King Thranduil must receive Lord Elrond's message."
"I will get it," Legolas affirmed again. "Come Cressen, let him lay back and rest." Cressen gently climbed off the bed and the elf and the man arranged the pillows behind Aragorn and Legolas helped to ease his friend down onto the bed once more. Aragorn did not like being coddled in any way, but he did not have any argue to fight the two of them. Once they had arranged him in the pillows Legolas gently unbound his hand and feet. Thranduil returned then and watched with what Aragorn could only describe as relief and satisfaction as Legolas covered Aragorn in a few thick elven blankets.
As the elf prince did this, Aragorn became suddenly aware of how cold he actually was, yet his body was still shaking. He did not have to be a master healer to know that he had a high grade fever. He shifted a bit to rest his injured and now set arm on his chest avoiding the stitches. Cressen noticed his movements and whispered something to Legolas. Legolas suddenly produced a role of soft gauze.
"We should bind that," Cressen said slowly, clearly unsure of how Aragorn would react.
"That is well, Cressen. You remember well what you have been taught," Aragorn replied again, feeling sick and tired, just as he had in Rivendell. He allowed Legolas to help him sit again and they firmly bound his broken arm to his chest by wrapping the gauze around him to protect Aragorn from damaging the arm any further in his sleep. Once again, they laid him back and he closed his eyes, the sharp pain in his arm magnifying even the soft light of the candle to a harsh glare.
Silence fell on the room as Legolas, Cressen, and Thranduil left as quietly as they could. Aragorn laid there trying to force his body to relax. His muscles had grown taunt in the attempts to move and were cramping. His arm stung and jolted in pain at every movement, even though it was bound to his chest. Aragorn could feel the quake in his body which added to the pounding in his head. Sighing softly, Aragorn longed for sleep. At least there he might dream of better things, such as Arwen and Rivendell.
Being in Rivendell had been so much different. Lord Elrond had been there, playing the devoted role of the caring and concerned Ada. Elladan and Elrohir had been there to bring him comfort just by listening to them bicker. And Arwen. Arwen had been there to ease his troubled heart. He could almost see her before him. He could almost smell her soft skin.
Aragorn did not even realize that his muscles had relaxed and the pain in his arm had receded to the back of his mind. His body began to cease its attempts to stay awake and his breathing slowed and his mind also did. As Aragorn's last thoughts filled his mind, he could nearly feel Arwen placing one finger over his lips to quiet any last bidden thoughts and her soft hand over his heart, assuring him of her love.
"May the Valar protect you," Arwen's words were soft in his mind, just barely a whisper of wind, spoken the strangely musical sound of elvish long forgotten. This last whisper of wind settled Aragorn's tired and abused mind and body to sleep and there the future King of Gondor dreamed of pleasant times racing from the Bruien to the gates, chasing close behind the only brothers he had ever known.
~Lady Winter
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Aragorn was aware of the sharp, terrifying pain before anything else. He couldn't hear anything beyond what sounded like a terrible hurricane of wind in his ears. Then the sound abruptly disappeared and there was a sharp crack and vaguely Aragorn imagined that he recognized the sound. It sounded like a bone snapping. Aragorn's third sensation was that he could not breathe. His lungs labored to make air flow through them. The only circumstance he could liken the sensation too was memories from childhood. His lungs felt as though they were frozen with cold. It was like all of the times that he had raced from the Bruien to the main gates of Rivendell with Elladan and Elrohir in the winter. Many a time they had played on the ice and the elf twins would tease him.
"Come little brother! Prove you are as much as an elf as we! We shall race you too the gate," Elrohir would say with a slight tease in his voice.
"Do not tease him Elrohir! Estel is quite capable of beating us. After all, what kind of edain would be hampered by the cold?" Aragorn could remember clearly that Elladan would say this, his head would cock to one side and he would smile mischievously at his young foster brother.
He never won. No, that was wrong. When he was younger, until he had reached the age of twelve, the twins had let him win. They had pretended to fall or twist ankles that were obviously impossible to twist, after all they belonged to elves. Then the day had come when Aragorn had cleverly tripped Elrohir and led Elladan into a mess of mud and truly beat them. It had never happened again. Still, the races had been most amusing in the winter. The snow and ice that layered the elven kingdom had proven dangerous and delightful to the racing brothers. Aragorn had always lost. When he had reached the gates, his lungs would ache. They would burn and be frozen. They would constrict and pound. His breath came in short gasps. Men were not made for the cold. He could not breathe.
The sensation was there. His lungs ached. They pounded beyond pain and they contracted as if they were in protest. Aragorn knew his pleasant memories were gone. He was back in the present time, but what was happening? Another sharp crack and an explosion of pain in his arm alerted the Ranger to the fact that he was hurt. Instinct kicked in and Aragorn forced his body upwards and he opened his eyes. Panic gripped him as he realized his one hand was bound while the other arm was held firmly. Quick movement also proved his feet were just as restrained. Pain lanced up and down his chest and back. He could feel hands trying to hold him back. What foul place and situation had he fallen into? With thoughts racing, Aragorn tried to will his eyes to focus.
A distinct rise of panic hit him as he blinked rapidly and tried to pull away from the blinding pain someone was afflicting on him. His arm felt as though it was being ripped from his arm. Yanking against the restraints, he fought to be free or whatever cruel captors held him. Inside his confused brain, his mind was trying to fight through the haziness. He knew what was going on. He had to know. Why wouldn't his eyes work?
Aragorn forced himself to stop his blind struggling. He could hear voices now, soft as the wind on a warm summer day. The voices seemed comforting and the language was elvish. Yet I am not in Rivendell. Aragorn did not feel safe where he was, leading him to the conclusion he was not in his childhood home. Elrond's house did not smell like this place did. Trying yet to focus his bleary vision, he tried to clear his mind and figure out what had happened and where he was. Mirkwood. He was in the House of Thranduil. He was being treated for his injuries. My arm is broken his mind realized slowly. That was where the constant and unbearable pain was coming from.
"Estel?"
"Strider?"
Now the voices were more clear. Aragorn was relieved for he had been right. He easily recognized the owners of the voices - Thranduil, Legolas, and also Cressen. As his body calmed from its tense state, his damaged muscles screamed in pain, but the pain gave new clarity to Aragorn's situation and he forced his eyes open once more. He found himself staring into the worried face of the Prince of Mirkwood.
"Strider? Can you hear me? Do not move further, or you may injure yourself further than you already have," the prince sounded quite worried. Without answering, the Ranger blinked at Legolas, then turned to look at his arm. Tugging at his restrained hand, he tried to reach out and touch the offending arm. He was surprised to find that his arm had been set, and although it throbbed insecently, he knew that at least now it would heal. He could still feel strong hands on his shoulder, carefully avoiding the newly sewn stitches. Cressen was indeed there.
"Estel?" Thranduil leaned across the bed and placed a hand on the future King's forehead. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes," Aragorn forced the word out, finding that his throat felt as if it were filled with the soft cotton that fell from some of the trees in Imladris in the spring. To his own ears his voice sounded weak and soft.
"I've set your arm and it should heal completely."
"Thank you, m'Lord," the words came out in a jumbled fashion but when Thranduil nodded in acceptance of the gratitude, Aragorn knew he had been understood.
"You should rest, Strider." Legolas had gone and come back with and arm full of pillows.
"I have forgotten the message from Ada," Aragorn said slowly, forcing his lips to form the words correctly. "I must give it to the King." The Ranger tugged at the rope that bound his hand and tried to pull away, causing a sharp grimace of pain to cross his tired face.
"Strider! Be still!" Legolas commanded and Aragorn, taken aback, froze. "I will get the message for my father."
"Please, unbind me," Aragorn said softly, almost in a pleading manor that he himself was surprised at. It seemed his mind wasn't working so well.
"You must promise to be still and rest," came a muffled voice from behind Aragorn. He turned his head to find Cressen staring at him very seriously. "You must regain your strength so that we will return to Halbarad in good time. You are in no condition to travel." The boy's words were so certain that Aragorn found himself frowning. As he frowned, a look of panic crossed Cressen's face, as if the young man suddenly realized that perhaps he had crossed a line he should not have when it came to the Captain of the Rangers. Legolas' eyes were also wide and Aragorn had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.
"I promise," he said, his voice sounding sleepy. Cressen's body visibly relaxed. "But King Thranduil must receive Lord Elrond's message."
"I will get it," Legolas affirmed again. "Come Cressen, let him lay back and rest." Cressen gently climbed off the bed and the elf and the man arranged the pillows behind Aragorn and Legolas helped to ease his friend down onto the bed once more. Aragorn did not like being coddled in any way, but he did not have any argue to fight the two of them. Once they had arranged him in the pillows Legolas gently unbound his hand and feet. Thranduil returned then and watched with what Aragorn could only describe as relief and satisfaction as Legolas covered Aragorn in a few thick elven blankets.
As the elf prince did this, Aragorn became suddenly aware of how cold he actually was, yet his body was still shaking. He did not have to be a master healer to know that he had a high grade fever. He shifted a bit to rest his injured and now set arm on his chest avoiding the stitches. Cressen noticed his movements and whispered something to Legolas. Legolas suddenly produced a role of soft gauze.
"We should bind that," Cressen said slowly, clearly unsure of how Aragorn would react.
"That is well, Cressen. You remember well what you have been taught," Aragorn replied again, feeling sick and tired, just as he had in Rivendell. He allowed Legolas to help him sit again and they firmly bound his broken arm to his chest by wrapping the gauze around him to protect Aragorn from damaging the arm any further in his sleep. Once again, they laid him back and he closed his eyes, the sharp pain in his arm magnifying even the soft light of the candle to a harsh glare.
Silence fell on the room as Legolas, Cressen, and Thranduil left as quietly as they could. Aragorn laid there trying to force his body to relax. His muscles had grown taunt in the attempts to move and were cramping. His arm stung and jolted in pain at every movement, even though it was bound to his chest. Aragorn could feel the quake in his body which added to the pounding in his head. Sighing softly, Aragorn longed for sleep. At least there he might dream of better things, such as Arwen and Rivendell.
Being in Rivendell had been so much different. Lord Elrond had been there, playing the devoted role of the caring and concerned Ada. Elladan and Elrohir had been there to bring him comfort just by listening to them bicker. And Arwen. Arwen had been there to ease his troubled heart. He could almost see her before him. He could almost smell her soft skin.
Aragorn did not even realize that his muscles had relaxed and the pain in his arm had receded to the back of his mind. His body began to cease its attempts to stay awake and his breathing slowed and his mind also did. As Aragorn's last thoughts filled his mind, he could nearly feel Arwen placing one finger over his lips to quiet any last bidden thoughts and her soft hand over his heart, assuring him of her love.
"May the Valar protect you," Arwen's words were soft in his mind, just barely a whisper of wind, spoken the strangely musical sound of elvish long forgotten. This last whisper of wind settled Aragorn's tired and abused mind and body to sleep and there the future King of Gondor dreamed of pleasant times racing from the Bruien to the gates, chasing close behind the only brothers he had ever known.