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Elrohir didn't think that he'd ever ridden so fast in all of his life. When he reached home, he leaped from his horse and barreled into the door so fast that he nearly tripped.
"ADA!" he yelled.
Elrond had been leaving the library when he heard his son's shout, and he started to run, knowing by Elrohir's tone that something dreadful had happened.
"ADA! ADA!" Elrohir continued to shout, sounding panicked.
"Elrohir!" Elrond shouted back. "I am here! What has happened!"
Elrohir came bolting around a corner, his hair mussed and face terrified. "Ada! It's Legolas! We found him in the woods; he's been shot four times! He's dying, ada! One of the arrows is in his chest!"
Elrond felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach.
"Estel and Elladan are on their way here with him," Elrohir said, catching his breath. "We had to make a litter…"
"How far from the house are they?" Elrond asked, walking down the corridor to the supply closet.
"Only about a mile by now," Elrohir said.
Elrond was relieved at that, as he gathered bandages and herbs, handing some of them to his son.
Arms full, the two elves ran into the bedroom that Legolas had long-ago claimed as his own, assembling everything on a table and building a fire, boiling water and quickly mixing a painkilling remedy. By the time they went back to the front door, Aragorn and Elladan could be seen entering the yard.
Elrond inwardly cringed at the sight of Legolas' sheet-white face, as his sons carefully carried the litter into the house. Ai! he thought, feeling Legolas' weak pulse as they walked.
Entering the bedroom, Aragorn and Elladan simply laid the litter on the bed, carefully removing Aragorn's cloak from Legolas' body.
When Elrond saw the injured elf without it, he fully understood why his son had believed Legolas to be dying.
Because he was.
Taking a knife, Elrond sliced it through Legolas' blood-soaked tunic and shirt, his sons gently peeling them off. He studied the arrow in the younger elf's torso, gently laying his head on the Prince's chest to listen to his lungs.
The three brothers stood next to the bed, watching anxiously, their nerves frayed.
Elrond straightened with an expression of shock.
"What!" Aragorn blurted.
Elrond smiled slightly. "It missed his lung…the arrow somehow missed his lung!"
The twins gasped, and Aragorn felt dizzy with relief.
Elrond frowned, studying the still bleeding wound. "I cannot see how, but his lung is not punctured. There is no escape of air, and no blood filling it." Gently placing his hand on Legolas' chest beside the arrow, he rested it there as Legolas breathed. "It must have entered his body as he exhaled," he said, after a few seconds. "Therefore his lung was not expanded at the time, and so the arrow just missed it, but is now resting beside it."
"But that would mean—" said Aragorn.
Elrond nodded. "Yes…every time Legolas inhales, the arrow scrapes his lung." He closed his eyes. "Extracting it could cause more harm than was inflicted when it struck him."
"Pull it out when he exhales!" said Aragorn.
Elrond nodded. "That is exactly what we must do. But first, fetch me the miruvor on the table."
Aragorn complied, as Elrond gave Legolas' other wounds a quick glance. "Take care of his arm and leg," he told his sons.
They nodded, shakily moving to do as their father said.
"The arrow broke his arm!" said Elladan, a minute later.
"Clean break?" Elrond asked, his hands pressed on Legolas' chest and shoulder wounds around the arrows.
Elladan sighed, gently feeling around the wound on Legolas' forearm. "Aye."
Elrond nodded, looking at Elrohir, who pulled on the arrow in Legolas' thigh, but didn't succeed in removing it.
"It's stuck!" Elrohir said. "Lodged in the bone."
Elrond sighed again, watching as Elladan kept one hand carefully pressed on Legolas' arm to slow the bleeding, and used his other hand to help his brother pull the arrow out of Legolas' leg.
The difficult action didn't even cause Legolas to stir.
"Did it break the bone?" Elrond asked. "Is the tip still on the arrow?"
Elrohir held the arrow up, showing the tip before he threw it to the floor. He shook his head as he felt the bone and studied the wound. "It's not broken through, but it left a hole and a hairline fracture."
Aragorn cringed at his brother's words as he brought back a cup containing the miruvor and painkilling tea. He held it as Elrond lifted Legolas ever so gently, being sure not to jostle the arrows in his chest and shoulder.
Aragorn slowly poured the drink into the unconscious elf's mouth, thankful that swallowing was a reflexive motion. After the cup was empty, Elrond gently lowered him down again and took a look at the shoulder wound.
"This one needs to come out before we work on his chest," he said.
Aragorn nodded, knowing that the arrow would only get in their way.
Feeling around the injury, Elrond seemed to not even notice that his hands were completely covered in blood. "It appears to have missed the bone," he said.
Everyone was relieved to hear that, especially after the bad news with Legolas' other wounds. Seeing his father brace Legolas' upper body, Aragorn grasped the arrow and gave it a firm tug. It easily came free, and he threw it to the floor in disgust.
Elrond took hold of the remaining arrow, suddenly letting go when he realized that his slick hands would never be able to do the job. Taking the towel that Aragorn handed him, he dried his hands—though they remained stained red—and grasped the arrow again.
Aragorn and the twins couldn't help but pause in their tending of Legolas' other wounds, to watch.
"Would everyone step back please?" Elrond asked.
His sons obeyed, being sure to make no sound, knowing that their father was concentrating.
Elrond watched Legolas' breathing pattern for a minute. It was irregular, likely due to the pain and blood loss, but Elrond knew that he had to extract the arrow at the right moment, or risk ripping the injured elf's lung. He began to copy Legolas' breathing, feeling when his own lungs expanded and deflated.
Aragorn and the twins stared nervously, unconsciously following their father in copying Legolas' breathing. They were too anxious to realize the humor in their action, and all three of them flinched when their father suddenly yanked the arrow free.
"Aragorn!" Elrond exclaimed. "Put pressure on the wound."
The human did, grabbing a towel and pressing it down, hoping to quickly stop the renewed blood flow.
Elrond laid his head on Legolas' chest again, his own heart pounding as he listened for anything amiss.
The twins continued with Legolas' other injuries, stitching them rather crookedly in their anxiety.
Elrond straightened, sighing with relief. "His lung appears to be fine."
"He will live!" Aragorn whispered, almost unable to believe it.
"If there are no complications," said Elrond.
Elladan and Elrohir nearly fell to their knees with relief. The threat of losing their friend of nearly three thousand years had terrified them like nothing else.
Aragorn returned to the shoulder injury and Elrond finished with the chest wound, expertly sewing it closed. Once done, they wrapped bandages around each injury and changed Legolas' clothes, covering him thickly with blankets in the hope that it would calm the shivers brought on from shock.
Elrond returned to the table, mixing more herbs; plants that would help Legolas' body produce more blood, as the injured elf had lost an exceedingly dangerous amount. When he returned to the bed, Elladan and Elrohir were sitting on one side with Aragorn on the other. The twins were both clasping their friend's right hand, while Aragorn held his left.
Elrond stopped for a minute, just watching. "Who did this to him?" he asked.
His three sons all looked at him, bewildered. "I wish that we knew," said Aragorn, sighing. "We rode out to the border to meet him, and found him this way."
"As Estel pointed out to me," said Elladan. "They are Rivendell arrows."
Elrond glanced at the weapons on the floor, seeing that his sons were correct. He walked forward and handed Aragorn the cup.
Aragorn stood from the bed, watching as Elrond carefully lifted Legolas up again. The injured elf's head lolled limply, making Aragorn feel sick. He looks dead, he thought, with a shiver.
They slowly got the medicine into the elf, gently laying him back down and fixing the blankets around him.
"When do you think he'll wake?" Elrohir asked his father.
Elrond shook his head. "I would not be surprised if it takes a few days."
The twins and Aragorn sighed in unison.
Suddenly, Elrohir popped his head up. "No horse!"
The others looked at him.
"When I rounded up our horses, Legolas' wasn't there!" he exclaimed.
Elladan frowned, thinking back. "You are right, there was no horse near him."
"Ai," said Aragorn. "You do not think that whoever did this stole her? Legolas will be heartbroken…"
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Heredil suddenly noticed that he was watching the ground pass underneath him. Frowning, he jerked upright, only to nearly fall off his horse.
With a gasp, he pushed himself up, sliding from his steed and stumbling dizzily, holding onto the horse to steady himself. "Legolas!" he shouted. Looking all around himself, he found that hours had passed, and his horse was on the road back to Mirkwood.
"Ai!" he exclaimed, resting his aching head in one hand as he remembered what had happened.
Hearing a sudden neigh, Heredil looked up to see Legolas' horse tied to his own. Frowning, he reached out for it, gently petting her. "Where is your master?" he whispered, brokenly.
Gwaeren neighed again and shook her head, as if telling Heredil that she did not know.
Sighing, Heredil leaned against the horse, feeling weak from his injuries. Reaching to the arrow in his shoulder, he took a deep breath and pulled it out, clenching his teeth to stifle a cry of pain. Painfully taking a bag off his horse, he rummaged through it and pulled out bandages, wrapping his shoulder with some difficulty and tying it, using his teeth. That done, he remounted Nifredil and began his journey back to Mirkwood…terrified at the thought of informing Thranduil of his son's apparent demise…