Author's Note: Okay, as promised, fast update! So I'll shut-up and let you
read.
Chapter 21
"Gimli, no!" Legolas shouted, ignoring the pain and struggling to his feet. Gimli paused in his rush, glancing at Legolas uncertain. But Legolas was only seeing the other archers starting to point their bows at Gimli.
"No!" Legolas said, "Stop!"
But the archers were not listening to him. They were still sighting Gimli and now the dwarves standing outside the gates were starting to move forward.
"Stop," commanded another voice, and this time the archers were distracted. They looked over at Thranduil who was hurrying forward, "Lower your weapons," he ordered.
Half of them complied immediately while the other half looked doubtful but let their grips loosen somewhat. The dwarves had paused as well, waiting to see what would happen next.
Legolas saw the immediate danger pass and he sagged back down, falling to one knee. The pain was overwhelming, and Legolas knew without looking over his shoulder that the arrow was imbedded deep within his back. He knew the skill of his own archers well enough.
Gimli reached Legolas first, dropping to his knees and holding Legolas by the shoulders. "Legolas," he said, trying to look into his face. But Legolas was still falling forward, and would have ended up facedown on the ground if Gimli did not continue to hold him up.
Legolas was dimly aware of another figure kneeling down on his other side, and he heard his father's voice. "Legolas?"
Legolas finally looked up, looking first at the worried look on his father's face. That was odd, something in his mind regarded the scene with amazement, he had never seen his father worried. He was always so confident and sure, it took a lot to rattle him. And then Legolas slid his eyes over to Gimli's bearded face. His eyes were openly anxious and fearful. That's odd too, Gimli wasn't afraid of anything.
And then the thought hit him, this must be bad.
For the first time Legolas was aware of the blood spilling over his back and down onto the dusty ground, creating a weird rusting color.
Legolas slumped forward, no longer able to keep his head up.
Gimli glanced around wildly. The other elves and dwarves stood back at a distance, unsure of what to do. Gimli picked out the elf that had fired the arrow. His bow was slack in his grip and his mouth was still hanging open, the horror of what he had just done still evident on his face.
"Look at what you did!" Gimli shouted. But he was not shouting at just the elf that had fired the arrow. He was shouting at everybody, dwarves included.
"In all your greed and pride you have killed the one who has wanted nothing more than peace, the one who faced the hoardes of Sauron with me to ensure that you all still had a home to call your own. The one," Gimli felt his throat choke up and he had to stop a moment. "The only one who could put his prejudice aside and befriend a dwarf," he finished weakly, his chest heaving.
"Nobody's dead yet," Thranduil said, cradling Legolas' form in his arms. "Send for the healer!" he shouted.
Some of the elves snapped to attention and turned, running towards Thranduil's palace.
"Legolas," Thranduil was saying gently, over and over. "Legolas."
"We can help," said a new voice. Thranduil looked up sharply and noticed that Gloin had stepped forward with an even older dwarf at his side. "We have dealt with elvish arrows before," he explained.
"You have done enough," Thranduil snapped.
"No," Gimli spoke up, "we know how to deal with the wounds they leave."
Thranduil didn't have to ask how they knew, and he reluctantly let the old dwarf healer step forward and kneel beside Legolas. He regarded the arrow critically. It had hit Legolas in the middle of his back on the right side.
"The arrowhead has not broken off," he said, "we may be able to pull it out rather than push it through."
"And that will kill him for sure," Thranduil said.
"We cannot push it through and we cannot leave it in," the healer snapped back. "This is the only way."
"If he dies," Thranduil began.
"You will not be the only one who grieves for him," Gimli finished.
Thranduil looked hard at Gimli before turning his attentions back to the healer. "Do it quickly," he said.
Thranduil moved so that he was cradling Legolas' head in his lap. Then the healer moved so that he was kneeling over the arrow and he carefully gripped it with both hands. Gimli found himself holding Legolas' hand, but he only held onto it tighter and watched the healer anxiously. It was true they had dealt with arrow wounds often, but despite the best efforts many still died from them.
The healer took a deep breath and then jerked sharply upwards. He almost fell over as he came up with the arrow but steadied himself at the last moment. Gimli looked over and saw with relief that the whole of the arrow had come out, the head had not broken off, but then he looked down and his relief faded.
For now that the arrow was gone the blood was spilling forth with nothing blocking it. And not just a little blood, but a lot of blood, more than Gimli would have thought possible for someone to lose and still be alive.
The healer was now pressing down on the wound, trying to stem off the flow, but Thranduil was staring wildly at the blood that spilled forth. It looked like he was about to either say something or attack the healer when he was distracted by more bodies suddenly around them. Gimli looked up and saw the elves that had run off had returned with a female elf, undoubtedly the elven healer.
She had come prepared, making the other elves carry water and bandages. She knelt down and, ignoring the other healer, began to press down with her own white cloths.
But they were doing little to help, and soon the white cloths were bright red.
"Did you bring a needle and thread?" asked the dwarven healer.
The female elf glanced sharply at him. "What do we need that for?"
"His wound is too deep, it needs to be sewn back together."
"I have treated the water with herbs," she answered, "it will aid in his healing."
The old dwarf was not daunted. "Only if you can stop the bleeding first, which you won't be able to unless you sew the wound closed."
"What kind of barbaric medicine is that?" she snapped, clearly not trusting him anymore than Thranduil had.
"That is the method we always use on our warriors," he answered, "and it has proven most effective."
She seemed to consider the idea. Then she looked down at the blood that was continuing to seep through her cloths. "Find a needle and thread," she finally told the waiting elves around her and two ran off.
She was still doubtful, but when an elf returned a few moments later with the needle and thread she sat back and let the dwarf take over. He expertly pulled the thread through the eye of the needle and then leaned over Legolas. With small and quick stitches, he began to sew the wound closed.
Thranduil, Gimli, and the elven healer watched the process closely. Gimli began to silently cheer when he saw the flow of blood begin to slow and the gaping wound began to close. He was still holding onto Legolas' hand and had to consciously loosen his grip, lest he break his friend's hand.
The old dwarf was done in less than five minutes and he dipped one of the clean cloths in the herb-treated water and carefully cleaned around the newly closed wound. Gimli thought his friend looked kind of odd with the silvery thread creating a small ridge in his skin, but he was happy that at least the bleeding had stopped.
The elven healer was looking closely at the small stitches, clearly fascinated. "How long do these hold the skin together?" she asked.
"He only needs them until the skin heals on its own," the dwarf said, "and then you can remove them. The only problem is he lost a lot of blood."
The female elf nodded, and for a moment it seemed as though their own prejudices were set aside and that they were merely two colleagues talking.
"Will he live?" Thranduil asked, breaking into their conversation.
"He lost a lot of blood," the elf repeated, "the most I can do is give him some herbs. The rest is up to him."
Gimli looked down at his friend's face where it lay in Thranduil's lap. His eyes were closed and he looked peaceful enough, and Gimli was glad that he at least did not feel any pain at the moment. He squeezed his friend's hand again. Legolas was strong, he would pull through, he had to.
Gimli found himself glancing up and saw elves and dwarves alike watching silently. All were staring only at the small group composed of elves and dwarves working together to save Legolas' life. And finally Gimli's eyes fell on Thror, who was standing off to one side, his face troubled.
Chapter 21
"Gimli, no!" Legolas shouted, ignoring the pain and struggling to his feet. Gimli paused in his rush, glancing at Legolas uncertain. But Legolas was only seeing the other archers starting to point their bows at Gimli.
"No!" Legolas said, "Stop!"
But the archers were not listening to him. They were still sighting Gimli and now the dwarves standing outside the gates were starting to move forward.
"Stop," commanded another voice, and this time the archers were distracted. They looked over at Thranduil who was hurrying forward, "Lower your weapons," he ordered.
Half of them complied immediately while the other half looked doubtful but let their grips loosen somewhat. The dwarves had paused as well, waiting to see what would happen next.
Legolas saw the immediate danger pass and he sagged back down, falling to one knee. The pain was overwhelming, and Legolas knew without looking over his shoulder that the arrow was imbedded deep within his back. He knew the skill of his own archers well enough.
Gimli reached Legolas first, dropping to his knees and holding Legolas by the shoulders. "Legolas," he said, trying to look into his face. But Legolas was still falling forward, and would have ended up facedown on the ground if Gimli did not continue to hold him up.
Legolas was dimly aware of another figure kneeling down on his other side, and he heard his father's voice. "Legolas?"
Legolas finally looked up, looking first at the worried look on his father's face. That was odd, something in his mind regarded the scene with amazement, he had never seen his father worried. He was always so confident and sure, it took a lot to rattle him. And then Legolas slid his eyes over to Gimli's bearded face. His eyes were openly anxious and fearful. That's odd too, Gimli wasn't afraid of anything.
And then the thought hit him, this must be bad.
For the first time Legolas was aware of the blood spilling over his back and down onto the dusty ground, creating a weird rusting color.
Legolas slumped forward, no longer able to keep his head up.
Gimli glanced around wildly. The other elves and dwarves stood back at a distance, unsure of what to do. Gimli picked out the elf that had fired the arrow. His bow was slack in his grip and his mouth was still hanging open, the horror of what he had just done still evident on his face.
"Look at what you did!" Gimli shouted. But he was not shouting at just the elf that had fired the arrow. He was shouting at everybody, dwarves included.
"In all your greed and pride you have killed the one who has wanted nothing more than peace, the one who faced the hoardes of Sauron with me to ensure that you all still had a home to call your own. The one," Gimli felt his throat choke up and he had to stop a moment. "The only one who could put his prejudice aside and befriend a dwarf," he finished weakly, his chest heaving.
"Nobody's dead yet," Thranduil said, cradling Legolas' form in his arms. "Send for the healer!" he shouted.
Some of the elves snapped to attention and turned, running towards Thranduil's palace.
"Legolas," Thranduil was saying gently, over and over. "Legolas."
"We can help," said a new voice. Thranduil looked up sharply and noticed that Gloin had stepped forward with an even older dwarf at his side. "We have dealt with elvish arrows before," he explained.
"You have done enough," Thranduil snapped.
"No," Gimli spoke up, "we know how to deal with the wounds they leave."
Thranduil didn't have to ask how they knew, and he reluctantly let the old dwarf healer step forward and kneel beside Legolas. He regarded the arrow critically. It had hit Legolas in the middle of his back on the right side.
"The arrowhead has not broken off," he said, "we may be able to pull it out rather than push it through."
"And that will kill him for sure," Thranduil said.
"We cannot push it through and we cannot leave it in," the healer snapped back. "This is the only way."
"If he dies," Thranduil began.
"You will not be the only one who grieves for him," Gimli finished.
Thranduil looked hard at Gimli before turning his attentions back to the healer. "Do it quickly," he said.
Thranduil moved so that he was cradling Legolas' head in his lap. Then the healer moved so that he was kneeling over the arrow and he carefully gripped it with both hands. Gimli found himself holding Legolas' hand, but he only held onto it tighter and watched the healer anxiously. It was true they had dealt with arrow wounds often, but despite the best efforts many still died from them.
The healer took a deep breath and then jerked sharply upwards. He almost fell over as he came up with the arrow but steadied himself at the last moment. Gimli looked over and saw with relief that the whole of the arrow had come out, the head had not broken off, but then he looked down and his relief faded.
For now that the arrow was gone the blood was spilling forth with nothing blocking it. And not just a little blood, but a lot of blood, more than Gimli would have thought possible for someone to lose and still be alive.
The healer was now pressing down on the wound, trying to stem off the flow, but Thranduil was staring wildly at the blood that spilled forth. It looked like he was about to either say something or attack the healer when he was distracted by more bodies suddenly around them. Gimli looked up and saw the elves that had run off had returned with a female elf, undoubtedly the elven healer.
She had come prepared, making the other elves carry water and bandages. She knelt down and, ignoring the other healer, began to press down with her own white cloths.
But they were doing little to help, and soon the white cloths were bright red.
"Did you bring a needle and thread?" asked the dwarven healer.
The female elf glanced sharply at him. "What do we need that for?"
"His wound is too deep, it needs to be sewn back together."
"I have treated the water with herbs," she answered, "it will aid in his healing."
The old dwarf was not daunted. "Only if you can stop the bleeding first, which you won't be able to unless you sew the wound closed."
"What kind of barbaric medicine is that?" she snapped, clearly not trusting him anymore than Thranduil had.
"That is the method we always use on our warriors," he answered, "and it has proven most effective."
She seemed to consider the idea. Then she looked down at the blood that was continuing to seep through her cloths. "Find a needle and thread," she finally told the waiting elves around her and two ran off.
She was still doubtful, but when an elf returned a few moments later with the needle and thread she sat back and let the dwarf take over. He expertly pulled the thread through the eye of the needle and then leaned over Legolas. With small and quick stitches, he began to sew the wound closed.
Thranduil, Gimli, and the elven healer watched the process closely. Gimli began to silently cheer when he saw the flow of blood begin to slow and the gaping wound began to close. He was still holding onto Legolas' hand and had to consciously loosen his grip, lest he break his friend's hand.
The old dwarf was done in less than five minutes and he dipped one of the clean cloths in the herb-treated water and carefully cleaned around the newly closed wound. Gimli thought his friend looked kind of odd with the silvery thread creating a small ridge in his skin, but he was happy that at least the bleeding had stopped.
The elven healer was looking closely at the small stitches, clearly fascinated. "How long do these hold the skin together?" she asked.
"He only needs them until the skin heals on its own," the dwarf said, "and then you can remove them. The only problem is he lost a lot of blood."
The female elf nodded, and for a moment it seemed as though their own prejudices were set aside and that they were merely two colleagues talking.
"Will he live?" Thranduil asked, breaking into their conversation.
"He lost a lot of blood," the elf repeated, "the most I can do is give him some herbs. The rest is up to him."
Gimli looked down at his friend's face where it lay in Thranduil's lap. His eyes were closed and he looked peaceful enough, and Gimli was glad that he at least did not feel any pain at the moment. He squeezed his friend's hand again. Legolas was strong, he would pull through, he had to.
Gimli found himself glancing up and saw elves and dwarves alike watching silently. All were staring only at the small group composed of elves and dwarves working together to save Legolas' life. And finally Gimli's eyes fell on Thror, who was standing off to one side, his face troubled.