Part 5
They had contemplated using the wagon, but the countryside of Ithilien did not make for easy passage for anything with wheels. Unfettered horses were faster at any rate, even burdened with two passengers, and Gimli yearned for speed with fervor. Faramir had not been convinced of his decision to leave, but Gimli - having seen dwarves survive cave-ins but die soon after of sickness in the lungs from inhaling too much dust and grit - was adamant. He did not know how much dirt now lay in Legolas' lungs, but he would not take the chance of the elf suddenly ceasing breath with nary a healer in sight. They'd ride back to Faramir's city, where Legolas could be properly cared for. Moreover, even if there had been a healer with any skill in the village, Gimli would not have let them come within a hundred feet of his friend. These people had done enough damage already.
Therefore, it was with great reluctance that Faramir took the still unconscious elf into his arms, handed up by two soldiers, and settled the limp form before him on his horse. Gimli sat impatiently nearby on Arod, wanting to be on their way and put as much distance as possible between them and the cursed town. He had been upset by the sorry fact that he could not carry Legolas himself, but the elf was too tall and ungainly in his lifeless state for Gimli to safely ride with him.
They would leave the soldiers and the magistrate behind; they would attempt to ferret out the truth of what had happened, take testimony, and gather evidence for any hearing that would take place in the future. The town's people were unhappy with the pronouncement, and Gimli thought it a colossal waste of time, for it was clear what had transpired right from the time the girl accused Legolas of rape to the present state of affairs. The only good the dwarf saw in leaving people behind was to intercept the elves when they finally arrived and explain matters to them. They were far less likely to raze the town to the ground if Legolas was no longer there, and a diversionary explanation of what had happened, with a few omissions of course, would not inflame them as much as actually seeing their Prince in his current state. What they would do once they arrived to find Legolas gone and Faramir's soldiers occupying the town was anyone's guess.
Once they were finally underway - Faramir on his great steed, Legolas clasped tightly in front of him, Gimli upon Arod who continuously attempted to stray closer to Faramir's horse to lip at Legolas hair or chin, and Frer on a mount borrowed from the magistrate - they made for quite a foursome of travelers.
"You made mention of Thranduil to the village people," Faramir addressed him once they were out of sight of the deceptively harmless looking town. "You did not speak of this to me." The tone in his voice indicated he had been wanting to discuss said omission for quite some time, probably the moment the name of Thranduil spilled from Gimli's lips like a threat to scare naughty children.
Gimli shifted uneasily on Arod's back, looking over at the steward from the corner of his eye, pretending to be intent on the countryside ahead of them. "I did not think it important at the time. It is only speculation on my part, for we cannot be sure Lenwe sent word to Legolas' father or that he would come here even if he did receive news."
Faramir looked skeptical. "I find it probable, just as you must have, that Lenwe will have informed the King of Eryn Lasgalen of his son's incarceration. I also think it likely that Thranduil will come, for what father would not? If matters had progressed as the law demands, there would have been a tribunal, with witnesses and testimony from both sides. Such proceedings take time, especially since tradition demands a representative from a neighboring town come and sit on the panel hearing the testimony. The elves from Ithilien and even Thranduil himself would have most likely arrived before the judgment was passed. And if not, I am sure he would have been more than happy to reap vengeance upon those who prosecuted his son for a false crime."
"No doubt," Gimli agreed. "Elves do not sleep as mortals do - they can travel day and night, resting as they go about their business." He snorted at a memory. "You should have seen Legolas as we ran across Rohan, chasing Merry and Pippin across the plains. He would become impatient with Aragorn and myself when we stopped to rest during the night, and would pace all through our slumber, singing to himself." He sobered quickly. "We were fortunate that the city was closer to the village than the forest, but I do not fool myself into believing Lenwe will not arrive today, and Thranduil in half the time it would normally take to travel from the former Mirkwood. We might very well have extracted Legolas from the village, as was our goal, but more trouble is on the horizon I think, traveling on the heels of an elven host."
Faramir sighed audibly. "I have not had the chance to see the Elven King before. I must admit I am curious."
Frer scoffed. "Pray your curiosity is not satisfied at this particular time, my lord," he advised.
Faramir looked puzzled. "I have heard old tales, but surly they hold no truth, for how could a being so described father and raise such a gentle spirit as Legolas?"
Gimli turned to look at him now. "How did yours?"
Faramir flushed at these words and said no more.
They rode through the rest of the day and through the onset of nightfall, ceasing only to water the horses and break bread occasionally. Luckily the moon was full and lighted their way to the city. They hurried Legolas quickly to a room, sending Frer off for some much needed rest; he could do no more now that they were safely away from the village, already having done a great service by realizing Legolas still clung to life.
A healer was sent for, and, while they waited, Gimli sat at on the bed, Legolas' head in his lap, an ivory toothed comb appearing from nowhere to gently brush through the pale locks. He brushed the grime from his friend's hair, and, despite the dirt, the smooth tresses ran through his fingers like water.
"We will have to bathe him in the morn," he told Faramir distractedly. "He will not wish to awaken unwashed and stinking of that town."
Faramir nodded. "I will make sure hot water is ready with the dawn."
Peering once more at the slumbering dwarf, Faramir could not suppress the chuckled which forced its way from his throat. It had been a long few days for the dwarf, and the exhaustion and stress had finally caught up with him. The healer had examined Legolas the previous night, inspecting bruises and lacerations and listening to his lungs and heart. There was fluid in the chest apparently, infection from the dirt taken in during his ordeal.
His current state of unconsciousness was a puzzle, however, since there seemed to be no apparent reason for the elf's continued state of unresponsiveness. They'd discovered a few bumps on the fair head but nothing to indicate a fractured skull or any wound serious enough to explain his current condition. The only explanation the healer could give was that the elf was purposefully retreating from the world, most likely a reaction to… the unpleasantness with the grave. His mind had fled his body before he could suffer the horrors of suffocation. Whether he awoke or not was uncertain and entirely up to Legolas.
Once the healer had given his verdict and left, promising to return in the morning, Gimli sat beside his friend's bed in quiet contemplation, holding a pale, slim hand, or smoothing away imaginary lines of worry upon the proud brow. Faramir had left him in peace for a time, taking the chance to be with his wife, sleep, and fortify himself for he knew not what was to come. He had found Gimli in exactly the same position with the breaking of the sun upon the horizon. It was clear by his muzzy countenance he had not slept.
When the water was brought in, the dwarf finally stirred himself into movement, and he and two serving girls bathed and changed Legolas' clothing, wiping away the filth from his luminous skin with warm water and gentle hands. Despite the elf's near comatose state, Faramir was sure the exercise had been the highlight of the two girls' lives up to that point, and most likely would be for the rest of their time on Arda. He was not sure whether Legolas would be grateful he had been unconscious during the process, for he knew nothing of the modesty of elves. Although if Queen Arwen's behavior with the king that one summer's eve in the very open and accessible garden in Minas Tirith was anything to go by…
It was neither here nor there. The matter of note was, once moving, Gimli had discovered the uncomfortable needs of his body had been ignored for far too long, and he excused himself in a great hurry. It was in the water closet that the dwarf had been discovered sound asleep. They had carefully moved him to his own room to rest, an oath from all that the particular where he had been found would never be uttered to the dwarf on pain of death.
Now Faramir was off to meet the healer and his wife in Legolas' room, just down the hallway from the dwarf's. He was hopeful the elf would have shown some improvement; the manipulation required for the bath perhaps rousing him from his self-imposed slumber. He would also have to remember to write a missive to Aragorn apprising him of matters. It would not do for the king to discover one of his closest friends was ill long after the fact, or look out his window one day to see a swarm of armed elves covering the countryside.
As he walked through the heavy oak door to Legolas' room, he found his wife and the healer already present. Éowyn sat at the head of the bed, her hands stroking the elf's temple, while the healer bent over the prone form, his ear pressed close to his chest, eyes closed in concentration. Faramir stood back in silence, casting a sad smile his wife's way, which she gladly returned.
"What news?" he asked when the healer finally straightened.
"Not much improvement, but some," replied the healer, turning to Faramir to speak. "In truth it is not his lungs I worry about. Given time and rest they should clear on their own. It is his continued lack of awareness. Too long like this, and he will starve or waste away."
"Is there nothing you can do?" Éowyn asked, the plea clear in her usually unyielding voice.
The healer stood quietly, turning back to contemplate the elf for a moment before speaking. "We may attempt to rouse him," he suggested. "Certain stimuli may force a reaction from him."
"It would not hurt him?" Faramir questioned uneasily. He could not have Gimli find out they were purposefully causing pain to his friend, no matter what the intent behind it.
The healer shook his head. "No, simply irritate him. Like an itch one cannot scratch or a sneeze on the cusp of exploding."
Faramir paused for a moment. He'd seen Legolas on the practice field; the idea of intentionally irritating him did not seem like a prudent thing to do in his mind.
"Very well," he finally agreed. They had to do something after all.
"I will stand close to his head to monitor his reaction while you provide the stimulus," the healer instructed as he stepped closer to the side of the bed.
"What must I do?"
"Go to the foot of the bed and uncover his feet," said the healer. "Proceed to run your fingernail sharply along the sole of his bare foot."
Faramir moved to the footboard of the bed, uneasily flicking the blanket off the elf's feet. He looked down on the narrow appendages, slightly disconcerted. He knew full well the notion was ridiculous, but it seemed overly intimate to be looking at Legolas' unshod feet.
After an impatient wave of the healer's hand, he took a deep breath and quickly ran the fingernail of his index finger up the length of the elf's left foot. He waited.
"Harder," said the healer, bending even closer to the elf's face. "And try on the other foot this time."
Faramir nodded, though he knew the man was not looking in his direction. With more confidence than during his previous attempt, he ran his finger along the bottom of the elf's right foot, this time with more force than he had on the left.
They all gasped when the foot jerked back. Looking up, he saw both Éowyn and the healer lean in over Legolas' face, expressions hopeful and intent.
With his attention aimed towards the head of the bed, Faramir was ill-prepared for the snake-fast strike of a foot to his jaw. There was a blur followed by pain as his head snapped back suddenly, his entire body toppling to the floor from the blow. As he lay there dazed, his jaw working, the taste of blood filling his mouth, he could hear both his wife and the healer cry out. There was also a stream of outraged Elvish reverberating through the room.
Gingerly sitting up, he watched as both the healer and Éowyn backed away from the bed in alarm, as Legolas, clearly awake now, rolled over to crouch on the bed, eyes wide and frantic as they darted about the room. As his gaze swept over the three of them, Faramir realized there was no hint of recognition in his eyes, and although the words spat in their direction were unfamiliar, the sentiment behind them was clear.
"Legolas, please." Éowyn finally shook off her shock and took a step forward.
Faramir attempted to get to his feet, intent on warning her off approaching the elf, but was not quick enough. He perceived the increased tension in the elf's body at the sound of her voice, and watched as the sharp eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. He only caught half of the profanity he sent Éowyn's way, the 'something woman' obviously not meant as a term of endearment. His suspicions were confirmed when Legolas launched himself from his position on the bed to snag his wife by the hair, yanking her face close to his until they were practically nose to nose. She let out a cry of pain, her hands going to the elf's merciless grip on her head in an attempt to pry it off. Faramir saw red, and the burst of anger allowed him to gain his feet. The movement caught Legolas' attention, and, snarling something else to Éowyn, he threw her to one side where she collided with the healer, sending them both tumbling into a dressing table then onto the floor.
Having the mad elf's full attention - while a good idea two moments ago - now seemed quite foolish. Legolas turned his body completely to face the steward, muscles in his broad shoulders bunching, lean torso stretching in anticipation of explosive movement. The eyes blazed, and a halo of loose blond hair hung about the sharp face.
But it was the rapid movement of the narrow chest which drew Faramir's attention the most. A decidedly unhealthy wheeze and gurgle seemed to accompany each quick, distressed pant of breath, and before the elf could take a step towards his perceived foe, his tense face crumpled, and his body was wracked with a fit of wet coughs. The convulsions forced him to hunch forward, thus ending his rampage quite efficiently.
Before anyone could take advantage of the opportunity presenting itself and move to restrain the elf before he recovered, heavy rushing footsteps heralded a new arrival just before the door banged open loudly. Gimli stood there in the doorway, rumpled from sleep, eyes almost as wild as Legolas' had been, and took in the scene with one quick look.
There Legolas stood, awake and aware, body curled up over his stomach in what appeared to the dwarf to be considerable pain. Faramir stood there before him, anger in his stance, body tense and ready for battle, while Éowyn and the healer lay tangled at the foot of a mirrored dresser, the woman's hair all astray.
"What are you doing to him!" he roared, stepping into the room and kicking the steward behind the knees, dropping him to the floor for the second time in as many moments.
Jolting his head up at the first word from the dwarf's lips, Legolas stared over at him, eyes watering, lips tinged slightly blue.
"Gimli," he forced a whisper of a name through the constriction in his chest before promptly collapsing onto the floor, unconscious once more.
