What that means for you all is that posts are going to be later. I thought about this between other things, and I've come to the decision that for the next two to three weeks, I'm only going to post one chapter. Now, hold on. No freaking out yet. There's a reason for this. There is absolutely no way I can keep up the every other day posting. School has work I must do unless I want to fail and screw myself to hell, pardon my language. I get rather liberal when I'm frustrated. Anyway, I have two options: I can either push it back to the every two day posting schedule I used with OMAN and hope I can make the posts, or I can post one chapter a week for two to three weeks and see what happens. If I can make nearly as much progress as I think I can, I can return to the every other day schedule I want to do. If not, I plan to return to every two day posting, mostly because I refuse to be posting this thing for the better part of the entire 2004 year.
Please be patient. I really can't afford to fail, and I still have to get on the ball with applying to colleges. Which means writing even more than I already do on topics I'm not particularly fond of. *sigh* On the upside, you've got a new chapter. Yay! Of course, I don't think it's my best work, but hopefully its not too boring.
*collapses backwards in exhaustion* Responses are at the bottom. Please review. I desperately need to know I'm not doing this for naught. I think I might cry. (The whole thing! Agh!)
Enjoy.
Chapter 4
It had taken them the better part of three days to find the rangers, even with Aragorn's skills and knowledge and Legolas' keen sight; the remnant of the Dúnadain hid well and left little sign of their passage, changing locations frequently so it was nearly impossible to predict where they were going to be. Yet Aragorn was not chieftain for nothing, and he had followed the broke trail with only mild difficulty, leading them easily--if a little slowly--to Halbarad and the small group he had traveled with, where they were greeted warmly and spent the night after learning of the twins.
The elder ranger had nodded at their inquiry. "Aye, Elladan and Elrohir stopped by a little over two months ago with a message from Rivendell. After their news, my friend, I am relieved to find you well. They said they were in no hurry and remained in our company and assisted with some less than pleasant duties for a little under than a week. It was at that point that we crossed paths with a group of elves traveling to the Havens. The twins left the next day, continuing west with the small company to bid farewell to some old friends. I did not think anything was amiss."
"We did not say their was aught amiss, dear friend," Aragorn had replied, a slight smile appearing on his face, most visible in his sparkling eyes. "They have simply gotten so lost in their merry-making that they have forgotten to not worry their father. Lord Elrond wishes them to keep in better touch."
A smile had touched the elder ranger's face and he had chuckled quietly. "I wish I could be there to see their faces when they learn Lord Elrond sent their 'little brother' to retrieve them, dragging them back home like errant elflings . . . by a child." The last had been added slyly, a taunt obviously oft heard, and the group laughed.
"I will account it for you fully upon my return," Aragorn had assured. "You are sure you can manage?"
"Go, Strider. Twenty years we survived in your absence; twenty days or twenty weeks more will make little difference."
The younger ranger had shaken his head ruefully and conceded defeat. "Very well, my friend. I would swear you have been consorting with the Lord of Rivendell in my absence by your talk. I thank you." The other had simply smiled.
The next day they had ridden out, heading for the path often tread by the elves traveling to the sea, their passage swifter without the need to follow a well concealed trail. However, Legolas had thought news of his brother's safety would have eased his friend and possibly convinced him to travel back to Rivendell instead of continuing this search. Yet when he had suggested it his friend had simply shook his head and replied, "I did not worry for them two months ago." The obvious implication was that he feared something had befallen the twins after they left the rangers. The elf wondered what other fears chased themselves around the young man's mind.
Legolas chased such thoughts from his head. They a had new concern, one Aragorn did not seem keen on heeding: a storm was coming. In fact, it was the same storm Legolas had noted on their way to Rivendell, and the same one Elrond had warned them about as they parted, partially why he had been reluctant to let them leave on this self-appointed errand.
*~*~*
Lord Elrond watched quietly from the steps of his home, his expression grave, as his youngest and the man's best friend deftly prepared their horses for departure, securing the packs to the saddles (an unnecessary addition for Legolas in deference to the possibility of human contact outside the rangers since such had proven wise in past) with an ease born of familiarity and repetition. Neither spoke as they worked, and the elf lord did not attempt to break the silence.
His emotions were in turmoil, peace a luxury he had been unable to claim since Aragorn had left on that scouting mission to the north less than a year prior and returned a skittish shell of his former self. That he had finally gotten the young man back only to face the possibility of losing him again tore at his soul. That he faced the possibility of losing the twins did not sit any easier with his heart, then throw in the prince, who had practically become another son to him, and he felt like a fair reward would have been to have leave to run screaming through the valley, tearing his hair out and dropping all semblance of decorum. It was what he felt like doing, though none of that showed on his face.
Dark blue eyes followed the human's movements, taking in the stiffness of his fingers almost unconsciously, a consequence and natural part of the healing from the injury the young man had been subjected to. Unfortunately, use was the only way to ease it, and it was best he do so, no matter how much he would like to pamper him. The human was, for all intents and purposes, well. Never before had he felt such disappointment in the fact, for it effectively removed all basis for his denying their request.
Even checking Legolas (he hated himself for actually hoping to find something wrong with the prince and would never admit he had done so) had yielded nothing he could use. The worst of the elven prince's injuries had been the mountain tattoo he had received at Kaialian's hands, and even that was barely discernible. The healers in Mirkwood had done a good job removing it. The only evidence that it had been there in the first place was red, newly healed flesh and a lingering tenderness that neither hindered Legolas' movements nor prevented the elf from traveling.
Physical health aside, he had tried to see if there was a mental reason, a psychological reason, why they should be forced to remain. It had been a boon to his soul to see the fear, the terror, he had seen in his youngest's eyes gone, the child he had known shining through once more in the man he had grown to be. He seemed to have found a new strength through the ordeal, perhaps one he was not even quite aware of, and the only thing that troubled him that the elf could see was guilt . . . and fear for his brothers. Legolas seemed to have suffered the most from the ordeal in Mirkwood, but even then he could see that it would be more damaging to hold them back.
Elrond fought back a sigh as he acknowledged he would have to let them go despite his concerns and fatherly impulses to the contrary, and buried the guilt for hoping to find them unwell for a time when he could deal with it in private. Their minds were made up, and (as he so often reminded the twins) Aragorn was a man now and Legolas no longer an elfling; both had to make their own decisions.
Besides, he added to himself with resignation, I would have to drug them, tie them to the bed, and post a guard at their side every hour of the day and night, and even then I think it would not stop them, only delay the inevitable.
Although, he could not say a delay would not be a good thing. Elrond's eyes drifted skyward, his keen eyes catching the first wisps of dark clouds that hovered just past the lip of the valley, waiting to spill their fury over the lands. He could feel the threat of the storm in his bones, a foreboding vibration that set his teeth on edge, the danger it presented a nearly tangible taste in his mouth, yet he could not bring himself to demand the friends wait until the storm had passed, for even as the thought crossed his mind he knew it would bring only heartache.
He had the horrible feeling that whatever he did, he stood to lose at least one member of his family, and possibly all. He knew he could never stand being responsible for causing Estel to blame himself for the death of one of his brothers, did not even want to contemplate what would happen. . . . So he held his tongue and pleaded with his eyes that Estel make the choice he could not.
Finished, Estel turned to look at him. The young man smiled in what he obviously hoped was a comforting manner and was, after a fashion, but it was lost on the elf lord, his fears unable to find their ease in a show of confidence by one he was destined to love and lose. "Do not worry so," Estel admonished, his voice lightly teasing. "You will get gray hairs."
The elf lord swallowed hard, then forced a small smile as he descended the few steps between him and two young ones. "I wish you would reconsider," he answered. "There is a storm approaching; a fierce one, I fear."
Estel glanced up quickly, an automatic reaction, and dismissed the storm just as quickly. "We will be fine, Ada. Perhaps we will meet the twins leaving the valley and be back before it has a chance to show its true colors. Besides, I have weathered many storms in the Wilds, and I have always returned whole, if not undamaged."
"I would have you weather this one here."
The human sighed, closing his eyes a moment in grief before fixing steady silver orbs on the elf lord. "I know." His voice was soft, regretful. "But I must know they are all right, no matter what I must endure to find out. I could never forgive myself if they fell and there was something I could have done to stop it. My heart tells me I cannot wait for this storm."
"I know."
"I will keep him safe, my lord," Legolas spoke up. "I will make sure he returns. I promise."
"And I will make sure he does not do anything foolish while fulfilling that promise," the young man interjected before Elrond could comment. "We will return, Father. Be at ease."
Elrond watched the youth a moment, seeing the changes maturity had brought that exceeded the young years. He nodded and smiled wryly. "It is the state you shall arrive in that concerns me."
Mischief suddenly swirled through silver eyes. "Oh you know, Ada. A piece here, a piece there. . . . Nothing too difficult for Middle-earth's best healer to handle."
Legolas stifled a laugh and the elf lord raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
Aragorn sobered with a sheepish smile and shrugged. "Well, we did finally arrive uninjured after traveling between our homes, you know. Perhaps we can achieve yet one more miracle."
Elrond smiled. "Do you have everything?"
"Yes, everything," Estel answered. "Food, water, clothes, blankets, extra cloaks, various paraphernalia that has proven useful over the years, and plenty of bandages and herbs."
"That last is relative, my son," he warned.
"Not to worry, Lord Elrond," interjected Legolas with a cheeky grin. "I have more." Aragorn shoved him playfully.
"Then it appears you are set," he agreed, bowing his head in defeat. The smallest of smiles graced his lips, then he looked up and did the hardest thing he had had to do in years: he bid them farewell, knowing even as he did so there was a fair chance he would never see them again. "May the Valar guide your path."
*~*~*
Strong winds buffeted him, whipping his long hair around to lash his face and obscure his sight. He squinted his eyes against the stinging wind. It was cold--nearly fiercely cold, in fact, though it did not bother him--but if it bothered Aragorn he could not tell. The ranger rode on, slightly in front of him, unfazed, his attention never wavering and Legolas wished he could see through the mask the human wore to see if he was truly well.
The wind howled through the trees, an eerie whistle that sent shivers racing down one's spine, screaming its fury to those mad enough to brave the elements, impatient at being restrained, restricted, forced to alter its path. The trees bent to its relentless force or broke beneath its unyielding fury. A whipping crack resounded behind them, giving warning seconds before the a crashed to the ground.
Legolas chanced a glance back and saw a once proud beech splayed across the path, its truck split down the middle forming a dark wound on the light gray bark. It was far too close to a battle wound, a gruesome strike by an enemy blade that could steal a life, to keep a shadow of dread from pulsing in his thoughts. He turned away quickly.
The winds picked up, swirling and desperate, clutching insistently at what it could reach; yanking his cloak, his hair, trying to snatch him from Ardevui's back as he raced along behind his friend. The trees groaned in his mind. They needed to get out of this storm, and quickly.
Then the sky burst open. Between one moment and the next, the world seeming to hang suspended for the blink of an eye, rain surrounded them. It plunged them into a misty white haze that obscured their surroundings. Within moments, both companions were soaked to the bone, the drops nearly close enough to let them swim. The ranger shuddered convulsively.
Legolas frowned. "Strider! We cannot stay here! We must find shelter!" Lightning flashed and thunder punctuated his words with a sharp boom that rolled into a deep growl.
The ranger glanced back at him, water running down his face. His jaw was clenched tightly, but whether from anger, pain, or cold Legolas could not tell. His eyes were dark but expressionless, closed from any reading of his emotions even if the elf had been able to see clearly; he nodded.
The elf followed as the human altered their course, leading them off on a slightly different heading than previously, putting them on a less defined and narrower path. He rued his lack of knowledge of this terrain, disliking the fact that he could offer little to no help if there was trouble, unable to imagine what shelter they could find along this path or what they now headed towards.
The wind battered the duo relentless, driving into them with terrible ferocity. The elf leaned forward to relieve the pull, making himself smaller, and could see Aragorn hunched on Hodoer before him. The cold bit into his skin and he could only imagine how his human friend was faring, so much more susceptible to the elements than he was. He feared the young man would be ill before this ride was over. The horses labored faithfully, their sides heaving, steps seeming to pause in the force of the wind, and Legolas glanced around concernedly. They needed to get out of this storm, but he saw no shelter.
"Strider!" he yelled again, meaning to make sure the human heard him, knew what was needed, the name snatched away so that another elf may not have heard it.
To his surprise, Aragorn turned, a frown marring his face, confusion and irritation showing briefly. He opened his mouth to answer--only to be interrupted by a great, rending crack from nearly right on top of them.
Legolas' head shot up, searching out the source of the sound and was nearly unseated as Ardevui suddenly bolted forward, fleeing the sound. Hodoer reared in agitation before following his cousin, the great tree crashing to the wet ground at his heels, the branches whipping through the air lethally. Legolas turned, desperate to see that Aragorn had escaped, that the tree had not crushed him beneath its great weight.
The branches reached out, stretching for the fleeing horse and rider, trying to catch their feet and drag them under its massive, crushing weight. The branches snagged Hodoer's hind legs, making him stumble. Legolas' heart skipped a beat as the horse fell, only to resume at a terrified pace when both emerged beyond the tree. Quickly, he urged Ardevui back towards them, arriving beside the human in time to steady him as he swayed.
The young man's hands trembled in reaction, his eyes wide--stunned The elf pulled Hodoer to a halt, the horse as unsteady as the man. "Strider?" Legolas prodded.
Aragorn looked at him, then shifted, quickly sliding from his horse's back and stumbled, moving towards Hodoer's head. Alarmed, Legolas followed. "Aragorn? Are you well?"
The human ignored him, mumbling rapidly words the elf could not make out, as he cradled the horse's head, rubbing his nose then down along his neck, soothing the frightened animal. "You're all right," the young man breathed, the first words that actually made sense.
"Ar--" Legolas moved forward to get the man's attention again, but Aragorn abandoned his position quickly and walked back towards Hodoer's hindquarters, trailing his hands down the horse's heaving sides, trying to comfort the animal with his touch as he moved away from his immediate sight.
"You're all right," the human said, voice just a little too desperate to be calm, but it worked for Hodoer, who seemed to simply want to hear his voice. Aragorn swayed as he walked and did not seem to mark it.
Legolas followed, the rain still pounding down in sheets around them, driven almost horizontally by gusts of wrenching wind, anxious about his friend . . . and realized the reason behind the human's actions. Blood welled on the dark, wet coat, coaxed from dirty scratches down the backs of his hind legs and washed the same way slowly by the water. From knee to hoof, Hodoer's legs were scraped raw, red and tender-looking, painful, with blood just seeping past the abraded skin of the deeper slashes. The ranger hovered about the injuries, not seeming to want to touch them. His fingers ghosted over the bloody welts, his concerned eyes shining brightly even in the gloom with a raw pain the elf could not place having seen before. He did not seem to know what to do.
The elf prince finished approaching him, moving closer until he was in arms reach in case the man fled again, and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. He hoped to get his attention, hoped to ground him as he seemed lost. "Estel?" he said as softly as he could through the rain, his mouth close to the man's ear. He hoped the elvish would get through to him as it had in the past.
Silver eyes slid hesitantly to him, seeming reluctant to fix on his form, eventually locking on his own eyes. For what seemed an eternity but was only a handful of moments, Aragorn looked directly at him without seeming to see him. His friend's gaze was vacant. Fear began building in the elf, rising like a pool as the rain fills it after a drought. Even as the rain continued to fall, the fear continued to rise. Legolas wanted to move, wanted to shake his friend until he got a response that showed his friend was with him; but he could do neither, his friend's steady stare holding him in place with the weight of an entire mountain, locked to his place with only his growing fear for company.
Just when he thought his fear must overflow its brim, when the thought he must scream or move or go insane, the eyes shifted and the light that was his friend returned. He waited breathlessly for his to say something--do something. "We must make for Amon Sûl," Aragorn murmured, stilling staring unwavering into the elf's eyes, this time with the steady desperation as a man seeking not to drown.
Legolas did not move, more concerned about the young man at the moment. "How do you fare, my friend?" he asked warily.
The human blinked. The elf prince had not realized Aragorn's unblinking stare had unnerved him until the spell was broken. "I am well."
The wind howled about them, blowing cloaks and hair, twisting it around anything within reach. The trees swayed. Leaves that had fallen to the ground with the fall flew past in a breathless tumble, rustling rapidly as they passed. The rain continued to soak them, continued to pelt them with super cold darts that stung the skin. Yet for all these things affected the companions, Middle-earth and all that was on it may as well have stood still.
"You expect me to believe you escaped unscathed after what I saw happened to Hodoer?" Legolas demanded, his tone somewhere between sarcasm and exasperation, but was too lacking in force or feeling to be either.
A faint smile touched the man's face. "Yes?"
"'Yes'?" the elf repeated, incredulous.
"It's just a scratch." The man's lips twitched spasmodically.
Legolas just stared at him. He's joking? Now? After scaring me half to Mandos and back? The idea was absurd. Then the realization that that was what he had been waiting for, that it was--impossibly--a good thing, sunk in and the elf smiled. He friend was with him. Which meant he could focus on other things. "How far is Amon Sûl?"
"A little less than a mile. We should be able to make it quickly enough on foot. If Hodoer can walk." The last was added with an anxious frown at the steed, who voiced his opinion with a low chuff and impatiently stamped his right front hoof.
"Good," the elf replied, casting a measuring glance at the fallen tree before focusing determinedly on Aragorn. "I want to examine you as soon as we reach shelter."
Silver eyes snapped around to glare at Legolas. "You're as bad as Ada, you Silvan Elf. You need not mother me."
Carefully, Aragorn walked to the front of his steed and coaxed the horse to take a few small steps, his eyes on the horse's legs, watching how he walked. Legolas saw the same thing he saw and the elf wordlessly stepped forward before the ranger could move and began undoing the straps that held the packs, attaching some to his own saddle and simply shouldering others, before moving to release the saddle. He pulled it cautiously from the steed's back, careful of Hodoer's injuries as the human murmured to him soothingly, and settled it in his grasp. He quietly bid Ardevui follow him as they started forward. A nod and a grateful smile that momentarily dispersed the shadowed concern in the ranger's eyes were his reward. A fine reward.
Legolas followed silently, watching the pair before him closely to ensure neither man nor horse collapsed without his knowledge. He listened to the steady stream of elvish his friend was murmuring to comfort the gentle beast and could not help but remember when he had done the same years earlier, when they were both younger and the only thing he could offer was his presence as the young man fought for his sanity. It was not a fond memory. It was words that came later, after healing had begun, that brought a soft smile to his face.
"Whenever I had not the strength to go on, I always heard your voice, and I knew I was not fighting alone, that the strength was there. All I had to do was find it. . . . You were my strength, my friend. I could not have come back without you."
The storm had not lessened one bit as they traveled. If anything, it grew even fiercer, as if angry they were seeking shelter. It was difficult to see, even for him, but he could still see the pair before him, and his stomach seemed to drop into his knees when Hodoer stumbled, jerking the human off-balance and nearly sending them both to the soaked earth. Then they steadied, and he had to wonder what Aragorn would have done if the horse could not walk. He held onto the saddle tightly to keep from wringing his hands as he watched them stagger in the wind, nearly falling more times than he cared to count. The trip seemed to take forever.
Finally, a good deal longer than even Aragorn had expected, they arrived at Amon Sûl--Weathertop, men called it. The elf thought he could reason why it was called that now, but the reason it would have been named that in the days of its construction eluded him, for surely it had had a roof? He wondered where they would stay as the ranger led them around to a natural, covered corral that provided shelter from even the driving rain that continued to pelt them.
Aragorn immediately set to work tending the injuries, all the while talking softly to his faithful friend as the horse turned his head to watch his master, ears pricked and closely listening to every word. Legolas smiled fondly as he tended Ardevui and removed their packs, piling them in a corner.
"Thank you, my friend," he told his horse with a smile. "You're a wonderful sport to put up with so much." His smile widened as she nudged him with her nose, then licked him thankfully. "Rest well, Ardevui."
The ranger commandeered one of his cloaks once he was finished bandaging Hodoer's legs and spreading a slave over his haunches and draped it over Hodoer's back, checking carefully to be sure the cloth was covering the wounds he could not bandage properly and that the cloak would not be blown away by intrusive wind. Once he was satisfied, the young man turned and joined Legolas by the packs, the elf standing patiently near the wall.
"You make a good mother," the elf prince commented blandly, his amusement belied by his sparkling eyes.
Aragorn turned a wry glare on him. "You should know," he countered.
A brief smile broke the fair being's solemn countenance, then he stepped forward slightly and gestured at their surroundings. "Are we to stay here? Your father would not appreciate the decor upstairs."
The human snorted. "Whatever gave you that idea? He's rather fond of open-air terraces." He bent to gather his bags, and his companion followed suit, securing them over shoulders to free their hands.
"Indeed," Legolas answered. "Of course, the weather is more accommodating in Rivendell."
The ranger adopted a look of surprise. "You mean you don't like the cold, the rain, the fierce winter gales that chill the bones? We humans can't get enough of them."
The elf chuckled appreciatively, then regarded the man levelly. "You're unbearable when you're sick," he observed darkly.
"I thought I was always unbearable," countered the man quickly. "But, fortunately for your peace of mind, I know a place that's clean and dry enough to put your anxieties to ease . . . a you can primp to your heart's content."
Legolas stumbled in surprise. "I do not 'primp'," he objected sharply, glaring darkly at his human friend. He raised his hand to smack him and was thwarted as the human disappeared back into the swirling, freezing mess that comprised the storm. The elf prince followed quickly.
The storm was, if anything, even worse after the brief respite from its fury, making the elf distinctly uncomfortable. He wondered how Aragorn could stand it, especially since the elements effected humans so much more than elves. Of course, rangers wandered the wilds at all times of the year, so he was probably used to it--to a certain extent, at least. It occurred to him to wonder how the young man had survived so many years in such bitter cold (and this was not even the worst of it) when he got sick so much. Something to look into later, he decided.
He was slightly startled when Aragorn lead him to the near opposite side of Amon Sûl and pushed aside what appeared to be solid rock before disappearing. He stepped closer, frowning slightly as he tried to work out what he had seen, the rain distorting his vision. He grinned ruefully as the true nature of the trick was made known to him, nothing more than a cleverly designed tarp, securely attached and weighted so it stayed in place, expertly installed to appear flawless from a distance (even up close if one's eyes were not keen enough).
A neat trick, he admitted as he, too, stepped inside, but--
"It's a cave."
Rich laughter greeted him in the darkness of the stone cavern, and it allowed him to locate the human who knelt in the middle of the floor, making a fire. "It's an enclosure."
"It is made of stone under earth with only one exit; it is a cave," the elf prince insisted, vehement.
Aragorn cast a wry glance over his shoulder at the elf that hung in the doorway, still holding the tarp partially open as if in preparation to bolt if shadows popped out of solid wall to chase him with grasping hands. He nearly laughed at the mental image that created, but settled for primly stating, "I notice your definition of a cave keeps changing." He struck the flint and was rewarded with a spark, the nearly indiscernible glow deftly coaxed to greatness by the skilled hands of the ranger. "It is a shelter," he added, almost as an afterthought.
Legolas glared at the human's back, the expression going unnoticed, then sighed. "It will do." A smile was his answer, thrown quickly over the young man's shoulder, as the elf approached him. He smiled as he remembered the ranger's earlier comment. "And your hair is even unrulier than normal," he teased, reaching out to touch the matted strands in back. He jerked back sharply when the man hissed and leaned forward, curling in on himself tightly, his head by his knees, his hand going to his head.
"Aragorn?" The elf immediately dropped to his knees beside his friend, learning forward in an attempt to see the other's eyes. "Strider, what's wrong?"
Aragorn did not answer and Legolas turned back to have a look himself. As he did so, he caught a hint of red on his hand, the one that had touched the human's hair. It was not hard to determine it was not his. The fear that had faded with Aragorn's return to normal reasserted itself, coming back with a vengeance and wrapping its icy fingers around his heart, squeezing . . . squeezing. . . .
He swallowed hard and forced himself to calm down, ruthlessly banishing his illogical fears. He had suspected the human was hurt, after all, and the man was obviously still able to function so it could not be that bad. Head wounds usually bled alot, he knew that, and there was not even that much blood.
He glanced at Aragorn. The human had not sat back up, but his breathing--while a little heavier than usually--was once again slow and even, his body not so tense. The elf put a questioning hand on the ranger's shoulder and received a nod in response. There was not going to be a fight, then. Good, he could simply treat the injury and see for himself how bad it was.
Carefully, so as not to cause more pain than necessary, he parted the hair, trying to find the wound. It was slightly difficult because of the blood, but the incessant rain had kept it from drying, so he knew his task could have been harder. Once he did, he sighed in relief: it was little more than a flesh wound; one of the branches had knocked him in the head with enough force to tear the skin. It would heal quickly. More worrisome, not to mention more painful, was the knot he felt around it. Still, it would need to be cleaned.
The elf moved quietly to their packs and grabbed some of their water, a rag and some bandages, then settled down near his friend's head to begin cleaning the wound. As gently as he could, he washed away the matted blood and pieces of bark, almost papery in texture, and wrapped a light bandage around it, necessary only as a guard against dirt. The only sound that broke the silence was the inconsistent crackle of fire, sometimes sparking louder, sometimes softer. Throughout his ministrations, Aragorn had not moved, apparently quite content. The elf was sure he could not be comfortable. He rested a hand on his back.
"Aragorn?"
"Hm?"
The sound was sleepy, barely aware, and Legolas smiled as he looked at the young man. "I might suggest you change clothes before you sleep," he answered.
Slightly bleary silver eyes turned to look at him though the human did not uncurl from his fetal position. "I'm not sleeping."
"No, currently you're actually wet. And cold." Neither seemed overly important to the obviously half-asleep human and the young man just stared at him with a look that said "make your point or leave me alone." He raised his eyebrows, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Unless, of course, you want to get sick?"
The ranger blinked slowly, the meaning behind his words seeming to take a moment to sink in. When they did, Aragorn's only response was to painfully uncurl and move to the packs; slowly, one might add.
Legolas frowned, caught somewhere between amusement and concern. "Are you all right, mellon nin?"
"Hum?" The human startled, as if surprised from a daydream, and snapped around to look at him in the middle of pulling out a dry tunic. "Oh, yes." A wan smile touched his lips. "Just tired, I guess."
"Not sick?"
He shook his head, returning to what he was doing with the packs. "Injuries and stress don't go over well with human bodies," he said by way of explanation.
The elf nodded. He glanced towards the closed tarp. "Well, it looks like you have time." The young man opened his mouth. Legolas interrupted before he could argue. "The storm doesn't appear to want to end anytime soon and we may as well stay here. Hodoer needs to rest, too, and you can't tell me you'd risk his health in this storm."
Aragorn looked vaguely amused, like someone who has just heard something odd and cannot decide whether they should laugh or not. "I wasn't going to say anything of the sort," he agreed, barely controlled laughter in his voice. "I was merely going to ask if you wanted me to get out your clothes while I was at it, or if you would prefer to stay wet."
The elf blinked, then had to struggle not to smile. "Wretched human," he grumbled, sitting back off his heels with an un-elf-like plop.
The man grinned. "Presumptuous elf."
He walked over and dropped the elf's bag at his feet before continuing past him and dropping his own bag and bedroll. The elf turned away to rifle through the bag, pulling out a fresh outfit, which he changed into quickly, then arranged his clothes carefully so they would dry. When he turned, Aragorn was already sequestered in his cloak and bedroll, the cloth pulled tightly around his body. His wet clothes were spread carelessly nearby, and it was not difficult for the elf to see why the human always looked dirty, whether he was or not.
He cocked his head slightly as the man's eyes drifted closed and frowned. "Aren't you going to eat?" he asked. Humans were always hungry, yet neither he nor his friend had had anything to eat in nearly a day.
"Not hungry," Aragorn murmured, already well on his way to being asleep once more, his eyelids leaden and far too heavy to open.
"You need to eat," Legolas insisted, agitated.
"You can," the man deflected. He turned his head slightly, body tensing in a slight stretch before he curled in around himself, pulling his legs in close to conserve body heat. At any other time, the elf would have found this amusing.
Instead, he frowned and watched the human closely. "Are you cold?"
A mumble that may or may not have been an assent drifted up sharp elven ears, the effort to actually form words apparently too great, or his mind too far away. Legolas' lips pursed in agitation. The young man had no appreciation for how fragile humans were. He winced at his own thoughts. Of course Aragorn knew how fragile his life was. He was reminded constantly, the fact of his mortality driven more sharply into his mind with every moment he spent in the company of an elf. What was it like to know you would one day lose everything?
His brow creased as he stood to get his own bedroll, grabbing an extra blanket unconsciously. He did not like to consider what would happen when Aragorn died, when he left for the halls of Mandos at the end of his life. It was an uncomfortable topic, and the times when it seemed most likely he would pass, Legolas was usually in the same position or too busy to dwell on it. Why should he dwell on it now?
Because I almost lost him in the mountains. He almost fled this world and I could not help him. I could not even ease his pain, nor hold him as he passed, for he would have simply stopped breathing and been gone.
Legolas looked down, slightly surprised to find himself standing over the ranger's still form. He laughed at himself slightly, then dropped to his knees and draped the blanket over the sleeping young man, tucking in the edges carefully to keep out the cold. Then, determined not to think of the worst, the elf spread his own mat out and lay on it, turning so he faced his friend. He watched the human closely, taking in the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the peace on his face as he warmed up and relaxed inside the warm blankets. Slowly, he slid into elvish dreams.
Outside, the storm continued to rage.
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Review Responses:
Elfmage: Um, Jans is the young man who helped Legolas escape with Aragorn when they were under the mountain. He fought with Kaialian while Legolas dragged the ranger free. Thanks. *g* I hoped Kaia's little background stuff wouldn't go over too badly. I'm glad it was interesting.
Red Tigress: I'm usually lazy, too. Which is why it isn't already proofread and edited and completely ready for posting. If I did that, and felt no obligation, I'd probably get cold feet and never post at all. Hm, well, if you want, and you can think up a different summary, you're welcome to it. *g* lol. Feel free to drop reviews. I truly do go back and read them.
Grumpy: lol. Yes, the twins are truly in trouble. Did you have any doubts? I do? You like my Elrond? Wow. I have a horrible feeling I do him better than Legolas. Did I do him right this time?