Disclaimer: The day I own anything will be the day that cartoons come to life, pop out of the TV, and take over Germany. Why Germany? I don't know. But that's my chances of owning something…*thinks of Spongebob governing Germany * Hmm…*shudder*
A/N: Oooh I get to rant again…heh. Ahem. Anyhow, this is directed more at one certain reviewer *cough * who will remain unnamed—for now. Constructive criticism means telling the author what they could change about their story to make it better. Don't worry about insulting me or whatever…I can take it, believe me. Constructive criticism is not, however, leaving me a link to a "What is a Mary Sue" type of site with nothing else. What really annoyed me was that the reviewer neglected to leave any comments on what they thought was wrong or any way to contact them to ask. I can take flames or "harsh" criticism—I think it really helps me develop as a writer. Anyhow, I'm not upset that someone finds this story "Mary Sue-ish" I'm just annoyed that they didn't leave any constructive criticism. Sigh…end rant. Okay, I feel better now. But ANYONE who reads this story should not be afraid to leave negative feedback…I'm not going to hunt you down or anything. Okay, on with my life…
Chapter Fourteen
The light nearly blinded me as I stumbled out of Moria. At first I was too shocked to even cry, grief nearly choking me. I sat down on the ground, trying to absorb all that had happened. The rest of the Fellowship stumbled out into the light, taking similar positions on the ground. The hobbits were all openly crying, tears streaming down their faces; small sobs escaping their lips. Gimli looked almost homicidal and Boromir had to restrain him from running back inside the mines. Legolas looked stunned, almost dazed, but he still remained in total control of himself as always. Aragorn looked almost unmoved as he wiped off his sword with a cloth, but behind his set expression, I could see he was really suffering. I let a tear roll down my cheek, mingling with the dirt that had accumulated on my face. The grief that had plagued me over three months ago had resurfaced, more powerful and traumatic than ever. I took long, slow, deep breaths, trying to remain in control of myself. In the end grief won, reducing me to tears and muffled sobs, which I tried to hide with a handkerchief.
"Legolas," Aragorn said finally. "Get them up!" Legolas looked at him impassively.
"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" begged Boromir, sounding upset and weary.
"By nightfall these hills will be crawling with orcs!" exclaimed Aragorn "We must reach the woods of Lothlorien. Gimli, Legolas, get them up!" I somewhat attempted to swallow the rest of my tears and stood up, wincing at the pain in my side, which had not subsided. "On your feet, Sam," Aragorn commanded gently, setting him on his feet. "Frodo?"
The hobbit had drawn away from the rest of the group, gazing across the horizon. He slowly turned to face us. My heart almost broke in two. Tears flooded his eyes, falling in gentle streams down his cheeks. The sorrow that dwelt in him was incredibly intense, and it was obvious that the death of Gandalf had the most devastating effect on him.
After he managed to get us all on our feet, Aragorn instructed us to follow him. His pace was fast, and it became difficult for me to keep up. My wound ached painfully, but I tried my best to ignore it, hoping that our destination was not far away.
And as usual, I was wrong.
I managed to run along without too much pain at first, but it became increasingly difficult to keep pace as time passed.
I was navigating my way through some large rocks when I noticed Pippin giving me an odd look. I returned his stare, confused as to why I was now so interesting. He glanced away, seeming to pretend that he was looking at something else. I furrowed my brow in confusion.
After awhile I realized what had provoked the strange looks from Pippin.
The blood from my cut had soaked through my shirt. On the day I was wearing a white one, no less—at least it had been white…
I bit my lip in concentration, wondering what I should do. I didn't have to do much.
"Legolas," called Aragorn, slowing down to fall in step beside the elf. He glanced at me briefly and looked away. He frowned in confusion and looked back at me, his eyes drawn to the rusty stain on my shirt. "Haley," he called, motioning for me to stop. I stood in my place, wondering what he had to say to me now. The rest of the group stopped and stared at me. "Why did you not mention you were wounded?" he asked quietly, his eyes piercing into mine. I sighed.
"Well, let's see…I was going to, but at the time we were running to get away from the orcs so I figured it would not have been best to mention it. So I decided to tell you later. But then we were sort of crossing a broken staircase type thing, which just happened to bridge a never-ending pit of darkness. And when we finally get out of Moria, I was busy crying and then you're all like 'We have to get the hell out of here!' It just didn't seem very appropriate for me to say 'Hey, I'm bleeding!' when we're kind of trying to stay alive," I replied, sarcasm dripping from my words. It's amazing how exhaustion, grief, and fatigue can never erase one's little quirks. Aragorn looked at me, seeming somewhat annoyed.
"Orc blades are poisoned," he informed me. My mouth formed a little 'o'.
"Well, maybe if you had mentioned that before we went into the mines, maybe I would have been a little more concerned…"
"Let me see it," he commanded. I sighed and raised the corner of my shirt. I looked down in surprise. The gash was about three and a half inches long, less than a quarter inch deep, and bleeding freely. But that wasn't what was unusual about it. The edges of the abrasion had adapted a purplish black coloring. The area around the wound had turned slightly bluish, almost as if I had hypothermia.
"Oh…" I replied, suddenly becoming extremely worried.
"It's not as bad as it looks," commented Aragorn, reassuringly, poking at the wound. I winced. "There wasn't enough poison to do a large amount of damage…yet. It needs to be cleaned and bandaged. I have some herbs that will help slow the poison."
At this point I made another rather important discovery: never ever make an appointment with "Dr. Aragorn" if you have a low threshold of pain.
At first I thought it wouldn't be too bad. Aragorn used some soap and water to gently clean out the wound. It stung a little, but I figured that was the worst of it.
And as usual, I was wrong.
Apparently some dirt or something had gotten into the cut and could not be removed by means of soap and water. So, being the resourceful person he is, Aragorn took a needle and proceeded to pick out the offending pieces. And me, being the person I am, immediately began to ponder how he managed to have needles on hand. I later found out that he brought them on the off chance that someone may need to be stitched up.
All I really have to say was that it hurt.
He wasn't particularly gentle about it either, ignoring my yelps of pain.
"This is nothing compared to the agony you would be experiencing if this wound is not properly cleaned and dressed," he said to me, the needle flashing in the sun. I gritted my teeth.
"You won't want to be in the same hemisphere when I give birth, buddy," I muttered. He chuckled knowingly.
Aragorn finally decided he could stop with the needle and washed out the cut yet again with soap and water. It stung more this time, as the wound was sore and very sensitive. After he washed it, he proceeded to place some herbs inside the cut. It didn't hurt, thank God, it just felt like he was trying to grow a garden or something. I half expected him to put a tiny little garden gnome in there too. But instead, he simply tore up some cloth and created a rather crude bandage that wrapped around my waist.
"Thank you," I said, standing up, cringing slightly. He nodded.
"You're welcome. Will you be able to travel on foot?" he asked, slinging his pack over his shoulders. I shrugged.
"Yeah, I'll be okay. It's not like my arm fell off or anything." He nodded slightly.
And so we continued on.
It was quite a long way to Lothlorien and I was tired and torn with grief. But I decided that doing an extensive amount of running was more preferable to being orc-food or something equally unpleasant.
We were running when Aragorn suddenly bounded ahead, splashing into a gurgling stream. He peered at the horizon excitedly.
"The Woods of Lorien!" he exclaimed, gesturing to a forest a long way off. I gave a small half-smile. Our goal was in sight.
We reached the borders of Lothlorien sometime in late afternoon or early evening. The woods were beautiful and I fell in love with them immediately. The trees were enormous, stretching high into the heavens, sheltering us with a green canopy. Each tree was remarkably beautiful, showing no signs of disease or any other physical deformities. I felt relieved, as though a great burden had been lifted from my shoulders the moment I stepped into the woods.
"Stay close, young hobbits! They say a great sorceress lives here, an elf-witch of terrible power," Gimli warned the hobbits in an undertone. I sighed and turned to him. He just had to ruin the moment.
"And I'm Santa Claus," I muttered tiredly. "Just stop making up this junk and scaring the poor hobbits." Gimli glared at me.
"It is no mere fireside tale, you ignorant elf! All those who look upon her fall under her spell and are never seen again!" he retorted angrily. I rolled my eyes.
"Yeah. They changed their address to cut all ties with a certain dwarf who's name begins with a 'g' and ends with an 'i', with an 'i', 'm', and an 'l' in between," I replied. Gimli glared yet again.
"We'll see if you'll be laughing when she's caught you up in her web of trickery and deception!" he exclaimed. "We'll see then. But this is one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily! I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!" He strode forward and almost walked into an elf with an arrow readied in his bow. It would have been hilarious had the situation not been so dire. More elves suddenly appeared, seeming to materialize out of the scenery around us. We were soon surrounded.
Whoa…déjà vu…I thought to myself, staring at my captors bewilderedly. Legolas had somehow managed to draw his bow and arrow, aiming it as his own captors. I really need to learn how to do that…
"The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark," said a male elf haughtily, striding out to meet us. Gimli growled. The speaker was tall and blonde with a serious and set expression. He showed very little, if any emotion. He reminded me somewhat of Amdir, what with the large ego and all, but I liked him more. He seemed less pretentious and he could effectively make fun of Gimli.
"Haldir o Lorien," greeted Aragorn. I was able to translate that to 'Haldir of Lorien.' I was very proud of myself. "Henion aníron, boe ammen i dulu lîn. Boe ammen veriad lîn." Okay, so maybe that was all I understood, but it was something…
"Aragorn! These woods are perilous! We should go back!" exclaimed Gimli, looking rather unnerved.
"You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. You cannot go back," replied the elf called Haldir. "Come, she is waiting."
A/N: Sorry this took so long! School is such a pain…sorry! Anyhow, I have my own computer now *cheers * so things may be better. Thanks to all who waited so patiently (and those who waited not-so-patiently)!