*shakes self awake* Oy. Hm, please note I have never fallen in a river, never been in rapids, never tried to revise someone who is very cold or been licked by a horse. If I have screwed something up while dealing with any of the above, do tell. I like to do things right. And just so everyone knows, I try to keep a posting schedule because I'm horrible about procrastinating. "Oh, just a little longer, mom. I have plenty of time. . . ." *g* Say tell me to get my butt in gear, and we'll all be happier.
*purses lips thoughtfully* If anyone's wondering if there's going to be a sequel to this one, the answer is likely not. If anyone is wondering if there are going to be stories after this one, well, yes. I just don't know when. Before I can even dream of writing another story, I have to finish the two I've started, one of which is this very story, and the other is an Aragorn/Arwen romance that I have to somehow get in the mood for. Romance just so isn't my thing, but after that, we're going to go time-traveling. *g*
So, enjoy. Review. Responses are at the bottom, and I have to figure out what qualities or unique characteristics I have that will allow me to contribute to the University community. *glares disconsolately* Stupid colleges. So you'll cheer me up, right?
*gives great big sad puppy dog eyes*
Chapter 6
"Move, you lazy beast!"
Elrohir winced at the snap of the whip against the horse's hindquarters, his body remembring the pain of the strike even if he did not feel it. He felt Talme increase his step and did not fight the anger that curled through him, lending him an energy he did not have.
Talme was his horse, a gift from his father, and the misuse of his steed burned his heart. He could not imagine his brother feeling any different, though it would perhaps be more complex. Falshov, after all, had been left behind. Neither twin had any idea of what had happened to Elladan's steed. Or rather, no suspicion that either wanted to contemplate. A twang of a bow, the whistle of an arrow, and a cry of pain that was suddenly cut short were all they had to work with. His mind would not turn to the most likely outcome.
A groan drifted to his ears from before him, and he leaned forward anxiously, trying automatically to get a look at his brother's face before his mind registered his inability. All he saw was darkness. Frustration bit through him and he forced himself to rock, pretend nothing was wrong. Their captors were watching; they were always watching, but they did not know everything.
After the twins' last escape attempt, these men had decided to take no chances. In an effort to discourage ambitious notions (and, Elladan suspected, to release their frustration), the elven twins had been beaten. Painful bruises covered their backs and chests, stomach, arms, legs. . . . Elrohir suspected Elladan had cracked ribs, but he could not reach his twin to check, could not see him, and Elladan would not answer.
Cloth had been wrapped around their eyes so they could not see to run. Their arms were bound securely behind them, the ropes wrapped securely around their wrists so that he could almost clasp his elbows with his hands but could not take them away. These men knew their business well. Ropes attached to his arms were held by other men to keep them from fleeing, and though they were bound on the same horse, neither held any hope of escape. Even if Talme ran, they would be pulled back, yanked from the steed's back, and without sight or hands, they would not make it far; their captors were too skilled.
Eventually, he determined attention had dimmed and it was safe to speak with his brother. "Elladan?" he whispered softly, for his twin's ears alone as their "hosts" did not like talking.
"Mm?"
"How fare you?"
"Well."
The younger of the two knew better and he frowned. "I do not believe you."
"Then why did you ask?" The elvish words drifted back to him tinged with amusement and he could not help but smile slightly.
It faded quickly, and his lips straightened into an anxious frown. "Please, brother, tell me how you fare."
A sigh, more felt than heard, ghosted the air between them. "I am well, Elrohir. I have been better, true, but I have also been worse. In the middle is good."
"I was hoping for something a little more inclusive, Elladan," responded Elrohir wryly, the instinct to joke prompting him.
"You do not need to be burdened with my problems, brother."
"You nift!" he exclaimed, rocking back slightly before edging forward; he felt like pacing, no matter how undignified it was. "I am your twin; your problems are always mine, just as mine are yours. Whether I or you wish it or not."
Elladan chuckled softly, acknowledging the point grudgingly and certainly not aloud. "How are you?" he reversed, turning his brother's concern against him.
The younger twin sighed, shifting slightly. He did not want to tell Elladan anymore than Elladan wanted to tell him, but he hoped that telling would get him the information he desired. "Sore," he answered reluctantly. "I would like to stretch and walk a bit, but before long I would likely be wishing to ride again and these sadists would probably hear nothing of it."
"Likely."
"Well?"
"Yes."
Elrohir frowned. "Elladan."
The other was silent for a long moment, and Elrohir found himself wishing he could see the other's face since he could usually tell what his brother was feeling by his expression. They had grown up together. They knew each other very well, but even twins could not always tell the other's thoughts in blind silence.
Finally, he spoke. "I, too, am sore," he admitted. "I wish to be back in Rivendell, confined to bed rest by Ada and driven crazy by Estel's antics. I wish we were far away from here in the shadowed forests of Mirkwood, pulling a prank that could possibly get us cast out. I wish we were being lectured about recklessness and acting our age. . . . I wish we were anywhere but here."
Elrohir sighed, feeling the same, and dropped his head onto his brother's shoulder. "I know," he breathed. "What fortune was writ that so much ill would befall the sons of Elrond?"
"All three of them," murmured Elladan, a hint of humor in his voice that darkened quickly as both their minds turned to the fate of their youngest brother. When last they had seen him, shadows had hung about him, and their only hope was vested in the friendship between man and elf prince. It was a narrow thread upon which to balance the fate of one, never mind the fate of men.
"Their friendship is strong," Elladan murmured, as if in response to his thoughts. "Legolas will help him."
Elrohir nodded, the motion known to his twin by the increase and decrease in pressure upon his shoulder. The steady clomp of horses' hooves beat ceaselessly in the silence, broken occassionally by short voices saying clipped words in a tongue neither knew. Tension surrounded the group, but the twins were too tired to truly feel it.
Gradually, the roar of a river shrank in their ears, the days long even as they had no true way to measure them. Far in the distance, nearly overwhemled by other sounds, thunder boomed. At least, he thought it was thunder, but it came from so far that it was hard to tell, the barest hint of a sound that did not even seem to exist.
"Estel is probably hale again and back in Rivendell driving Ada crazy."
Elrohir started from his daydream, then nodded again and swallowed thickly. "Do you think Ada realizes we're missing yet?" he breathed, lowering his voice out of habit, though he was pretty sure the humans already could not hear him and would not understand him if they did.
"I don't know."
"If he has, I wonder who he would send." Elladan did not reply, but he tesnsed, so Elrohir continued, the tiniest bit of humor reemerging in his thoughts. "Mayhap we should hope Estel is not in Rivendell, then. I do not think Ada would be able to stop him, hale or no."
Elladan leaned backwards against his brother, demanding his attention, and addressed the worries that even Elrohir had not yet thought. "Estel is fine. Estel will stay fine."
*~*~*~*~*
He felt the reigns slip in his grasp, burning a line down his palm with the friction, felt his rear slide alone the leather of his saddle and reach its end, felt as he went one way and his horse the other, his vision dazzled by the brilliant flash of light he had not expected so close.
Then he was falling.
The reigns pulled from his grasp, sending a flash of pain through his arm as the loop caught around his fingers and was jerked free, wrenching him from any connection to the world. He reeled as that last platform was snatched away and he was left in free fall, a space without boundaries--no sky, no ground, no walls; his stomach fluttered at the feeling, his spine tightening at the realization that he was no longer in control, that he could no longer stop himself from reaching his inevitable conclusion. For a brief eternity, he was in no-man's-land, feeling the moment of weightlessness before gravity established its hold on its victim and sent him crashing down with all the force it could muster. He felt a stab of fear. Then he fell.
SPLASH
His back impacted with the water, and he would not have been surprised to discover he had, in fact, actually hit a wall, that solid edifice somehow shattering on contact. For a brief moment, he did not register the cold, nor the wet, could not feel anything save the startled force of two objects colliding and jolting the other from its placidly separate existence. Then the freezing cold churning mass of glass he had fallen among shattered beneath him, stabbing him with razor sharp points of pain, ice, and he was accepted among them, swallowed whole into a world he had no desire to enter and could not easily escape.
His breath, which had stuck in his chest as he was caught in transit, was forced from his lungs, shoved from him with merciless force. Bubbles floated from his mouth, lost in the edying swirl before they even had a chance to reach the surface, blotted from existence before they could proclaim his presence beneath the suffocating mass of the angry Brandywine, egged on by the relentless prod of the rain which swelled its ranks.
The current he found himself caught in swirled him around, twisting and turning him as it pushed him further down its length, wrapping his heavy cloak about him, wrenching it around as he tumbled out of control, unable to tell up from down or left from right. Panic tightened his chest, threatening to force the remaining air from his lungs and plunge him into darkness in a watery grave. His arms flailed helplessly, catching in the cloak that whirled around him, a deadly hindrance in his quest for air. Adrenaline kept him moving when cold would have frozen him to the spot and had him curled as tightly as he could manage. That would not last long.
Already, he could feel the chill creeping into his bones, his toes and fingers burning in that odd way, so cold they felt hot, numb but all too vividly voicing their displeasure, like they were going to shrivel and turn to ash or explode and he would really have liked to cut them off, but a more immediate concern vied for his attention. He needed to breathe. Panic surged through him.
His chest ached, burned. The young man fought fiercely against his ever growing desire to breathe in and his ever shrinking ability to stop his body's natural impulse, fought with a strength that shrunk with every moment that passed, just like his air supply. His mind was hazing as the world swam before him, though he had a hard time telling if that was not just the swirling water before his eyes, and lights--circles that looked like the first flash of one of Gandalf's fireworks that spread in an expanding circle--danced across his vision at varying speeds, hindering his vision. HIs knew what this meant. It meant he was running out of time.
With a strength born of panic, he clawed at the water, kicking despite the tangling quality of the robe around his neck that desired nothing more than to choke the life out of him (something that seemed to be a kind of race between the cloak and the water) and hit solid rock beneath him. Pain flared up his leg despite the numbingly cold water at the unexpected impact but he was propelled upwards. His head broke the surface not a moment too soon.
Desperate, beyond controlling his actions, Aragorn sucked in breath, gasping in as much air as he could, which was not enough for his starved lungs. He breathed out harshly even as he slipped back beneath the surface, and only barely managed not to breath back in. He struggled desperately to reach air again, his head tipped towards the surface. He kicked hard and pried at the choking cloth around his neck. Darkness closed in quickly once more as his oxygen supply dimished, already dangerously low from the beginning.
Suddenly the cloth came free, and a heavy weigth dropped from his shoulders, getting him to the surface where he sucked in air and did his best to keep his head above the water, flailing comically but it was all his frazzled mind could remember to do. He took another deep breath and got about as much water as air. He choked helplessly as his lungs rejected the offering they had been giving and plunged once more under the surface, unable to remember to stroke while coughing.
Completely submerged in the freezing water that kept rushing him further down the river, he pried at his boots which hindered his movements, dragging him down like lead was tied to his feet, managing to kick them off and once more make for the surface. His head broke free and he had never before known the bliss of breathing as he did at this moment. He managed five deep breaths before water washed over his head, and spit out a mouthful when it had passed.
Kicking to maintain his position with his head above the surface as he moved his hands through the water, he shook his head to get some of the water out of his eyes so he could look at his surroudings. He could see the trees moving past and blinked. He had not thought the current was so quick.
With a last pause to gather his strength, he reached out and began swimming, trying to reach the shore. It was an impossible effort, the river working against his every move, pushing him backwards with every stroke he took, draining his strength with the chill of the water, his helpless shivering doing nothing to aid in his struggle. Still he kept swimming, kept reaching for that elusive safety that receeded from his touch.
His head went under as the rushing water's fury became more palpable, his strength not enough to keep him above the water. It was so tempting to give up, to stop struggling against the flow and let it take him, to let the cold push him into sleep and never know any more pain. That would be the easy way. He could not accept the easy way. Legolas, I could use some help, he thought, but there was no strength in him to voice the thought aloud, and not enough air to do so if he could find the strength. He doubted the elf would hear him if he could manage either anyway.
Suddenly, the current shifted, pulling him backwards and spinning him, yanking him away from the shore. He reeled, reaching out for the bank that had never been in reach even as he found himself looking back upstream. Then there was a dip, and he splashed against the feeling of falling, fear clutching his heart with the knowledge that he had no control.
He was spun again, whipped among the foaming waters by an invisible hand. His hand splashed back into the water, and he struggled to remember to kick, listlessly moving towards the bank that still stayed out of his reach. Then his mind lit on what he had noticed just moments before: there was foam.
Oh, no, he managed to think, his eyes going wide. Then he met the reason for the foam.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The wind howled, reemerging with a vengeance to shout its triumph to the skies, and the sky fell. Rain once more drenched the earth, cast from laden skies, and soaked the lone figure upon the Brandywine's banks. For an endless heartbeat, the flicker of an eye, an eternity, Legolas stood numb, staring at the turbulent waters that had swallowed his friend with so little complaint with wide, expressionless eyes. His mind would not register what had happened, could not grasp the enormity of what had happened. He was stuck at the lightning flash, the rearing horse. He was caught watching his friend fall, too far away for him to catch him, and then he was gone.
He stared into the water, strained anxiously to see through it, to penetrate the roiling mass and see what lay beneath, hidden from view, perhaps seeking to glimpse his friend just past his sight resting comfortably in its depths, smiling contentedly as he waited for the elf to deny nature and find him, perhaps hoping that if he stared long enough the scene would reverse and flow backwards until Aragorn was back on his horse and once more rode beside him, no harm done. Perhaps either passed through his mind, or both, or none, too stunned to form coherent thought, and his thoughts were simply still, halted in a way the river would not, could not.
Then the moment was passed and Legolas moved, starting out of his trance like a flash, urging Ardevui on downstream as quickly as he could, all sounds melding into a single, wordless roar and nonessential surroundings fuzzed into an indistinct blur as he raced the water and ran against time for the life of his friend. He did not know how long he had stood idle.
Quick eyes darted across the water as he rode, forward and back and side-to-side, frantic lest he miss an important sign, desperate to see all at once. He knew not how fast the water pulled, nor how far Aragorn might have gone, how long he had to get there while Legolas was held inactive by horrified shock. Alternatively, he feared passing too far or not passing far enough, fast enough, coming too late or passing too soon, all hope held on a single chance that he would find that which he sought in a flowing tapestry that was never the same in any two seconds, that he would be where he was supposed to be when he was needed.
His mind whirled. How did one find a lone person on a long river when he knew nothing but to go on? How did he know Aragorn was alive? He had to believe, but what if he was not? Would he find him? Would he ever truly know his fate? Legolas' hands trembled faintly where they clasped the reins that were more for show than need.
Could he breathe? It was difficult to stay above the water when the river was so angry. What if he could not? What if he had hit his head and was not conscious, his mind trapped in a dark abyss while his body floundered without direction? What if he drowned? What if water filled his lungs and choked his heart before he could get to him? What if he was crushed, bashed against cruel stone?
What if after all they had been through together, he never got to say good-bye and Aragorn had to die alone? Of all the thoughts, the questions, that tormented him, that one was the hardest to bear, the most painful. Imagining ways he could die was far easier to endure than imagining him already dead, imaginine life after he was gone, continuing after he had failed to save him, going on with the knowledge that he had not even been able to offer comfort to his best friend, much less render aid, in his moment of need.
His heart froze in his chest, a painful lump of ice deposited cruelly near his heart, and he closed his eyes against the agony of his thoughts, only to fling them back open as that same heart and mind protested. If he could miss Aragorn with his eyes open, how much more sure was that outcome with his eyes closed?
Resettling in the light saddle that was secured on Ardevui's back, Legolas used the physical action as a guide for his mind, hoping to slow his tortured thoughts and bring them back into some semblance of order and focus. If he could not think straight, he would not be able to find Aragorn, and the human would need his help. He urged Ardevui faster.
The riverbank flowed beneath his feet in a mottled green and brown blur, the grass and mud seeming to form a solid carpet beneath him. The water at first matched his stride, then fell increasingly behind as Ardevui's legs carried him faster. Trees whipped by unmarked, too far from the bank to hinder Legolas' task, so he paid them no mind. His blue eyes fixed unwavering on the water that held both his hope and his dread. The distance fell away beneath him.
So focused was he, so obsessed by this single, all-important task, that he never noticed the darkness shift from the air and drift down through the rain filled sky to surround him, wrap around him and the river both, blocking them from the view of those from afar and from the view of the trees, never heard their whisper of distress against his thoughts, never marked the shift of the ground beneath his steed's feet, nor her small snort of consternation as she noted the shift. Had he looked up, had he turned away from the river for a brief moment, he would have seen pitch black on every side. But he did not.
The water, a deep gray under the forbidding sky, was an unbroken expanse, no change in its surface descernible save by its angry rumbling which gave away its motion. His heart beat wildly in his chest, rapid as the pounding hooves that pushed him onward, and he stood in the saddle to gain a better vantage. Then he was among rapids, churned white surf twisting through the dark gray, writhing against obstacles stuck in their path, a sharp contrast to the placidity of their surroundings.
Legolas' eyes widened as he registered the new danger, hoping his friend's fate was not already decided. He turned to peer over his shoulder at the river behind him but could find no cause to believe he was yet in front. However he was to find Aragorn, it was not by looking back.
Blue eyes once again turned forward, he scanned the rapids his friend had to pass, both praying and dreading to find evidence of his presence, fearing what that evidence would mean even as it would allow him to find the human. He glimpsed a lump in the water and his heart thumped to a stop, only to stutter back into rhythm when he realized it was but a rock.
"Come on, baby," he murmured distractedly in elvish to Ardevui. "Just a little further. A little further." He could feel her building fatigue in the trembling muscles of her shoulders, the heaving of her sides, and was well aware they had already run quite far to reach this point. "We must find him."
Ardevui ran on, finding a new burst of speed and strength, and Legolas kept scanning the water. A flash of something different, too dark to be foam, too light to be water, in his line of sight grabbed his attention.
It protruded from the water, slick and pale, then faded to dark brown or gray and tried to disappear back into the water from which it had appeared. At any other time, he might have looked away, but he could not. Something about it demanded his attention, aided in that he could not figure out what it was. It could be little more than a rock pulled lose by the quick river, but his heart demanded he be sure before he move on.
Still watching the shape that desired to disappear, Legolas urged Ardevui on faster with a gentle word and watched as the object grew closer and resolved itself before his eyes. A gasp escaped his lips and he urged his horse faster, anxious when he realized she could go no faster. His friend was in trouble and he could not yet get to him. His form rolled and he splashed weakly, struggling to stay above water. Closer.
Hold on, my friend, he thought desperately. Hold on, I'm almost there. With quick movements he undid the cloak about his shoulders and secured it to the saddle, then followed it with his quiver, slidding the straps off his shoulders and attaching it near his cloak where it bounced slightly as the horse ran. He swung his left leg over the side and perched on the right side, waiting for the perfect moment. He shifted, then tensed, time an ever quickening spiral in his mind, running down.
Finally, he moved up beside his friend. He caught a glimpse of his friend's face, his lips tinged with blue and he felt a thrill of fear up his spine; he had forgotten about the cold. Then Aragorn jerked, and the little slivers of eyes he had been able to glimpse rolled back into his head and the human slid under the water.
Without thinking, Legolas jumped.
*~*~*~*~*
Pain exploded through his head, seeming to shatter his brain, and it was all he could do to stay afloat and keep breathing. The current pulled him down and around and pain exploded in his hand, a sharp stinging that brought tears to his eyes that mingled with the water that dripped down his face. He pulled the hand in close, cradling it, and was promptly swallowed by the freezing flood.
That would not do, so he released his hold, the water already stealing the pain and forced himself back to the surface, attempting to maneuver so he could see where he was going, what was coming. He knew his brothers said he should take more baths but this was ridiculous. If he did not get out soon, he did not think he would ever get out.
Too late, he saw a boulder in his path. It struck his legs and stomach, sent shocks of pain up his arms to his elbows. For a moment, he could not breathe. He clung with his fingertips to rock, but they slipped off and he was swept past the boulder, scraped away by the tide. He flowed on, pushed first one direction then pulled back the other, the water sometimes rising on either side of him to crash over his head when he least expected it. Breathing was difficult even without the pressure on his chest, lest he desired to breathe water. A handy skill, that, but one he could never master.
A rock scraped against his foot, noticable only because of the pull, and he twisted slightly, turning towards the bank. Another rock appeared in his vision, scraping by barely an inch away. He breathed a sigh of relief, then felt fire across his back, never mind it faded quickly. He was thrown by the impact and slipped beneath the water. Seconds passed, and it was more difficult to regain his previous position. His limbs did not want to cooperate, and despite his stubborn arguments, his mind was beginning to agree: it was better to just give up.
That, though, was out of the question. A part of him, not affected by the cold, rejected the idea of simply accpeting defeat. If he gave up, he was dead; the chill water that desired to convey him to the sea would see to that. And he had just come back from that fight. Having just won, he could not abide to lose. He could not do that to Legolas, to his family. His death would tear them apart, he knew, having been privy to their greif at some of his close calls. Having faced this and rejected it as wrong, he could not give in again.
His body did not agree, nor did it share his desire to live. At this point, it would be more than willing to simply shut down and never move again. His teeth chattered, and he clenched his jaw tightly to still the sound, a dull pain beginning to throb through his skull. What did not hurt was numb, and the effort to stay above water with arms that increasingly felt like lead, was draining him. He rolled into the water, his face to the bottom of the river. A distant part of his mind realized this was a dangerous way to lay, but it was a few moments before that part managed to convince the rest of him, aided by the need to breathe, and he rolled over, turning his head from the water.
Silver eyes drifted towards the shore. If he could manage it, he would have wished himself upon dry land and out of the freezing water, or even into a tree so long as he was not here, near drowning. They half-closed as he could not find the strength to keep them open and his body temperature dropped low enough to stop his shivering.
He felt himself drifting away, his mind retreating, and recognized the feeling from his youth. Then, he had been snatched from the jaws of death by timely aid. He could not see such a rescue coming this time. Ai, Legolas. I'm sorry, mellon nin.
Even as the thought passed through his mind, his friend seemed to appear before his eyes, like a ghost out of the mists. He wished he could say good-bye, wished he could impart all his gratitude to his friend before he left. It hurt terribly to simply leave without a word, but he had not the strenth to utter a word even if his mind had been able to formulate it.
It caught him by surprise, then, when he felt the last of the world fall away from his grasp with a sharp snap. The last he knew was an icy caress against his face.
*~*~*~*~*
Cold does not bother elves, but that did not keep the water from kicking him in the chest and knocking the air from his lungs. What it did allow was for Legolas to ignore the shock and head immediately for his friend. He started swimming, the strong current of the river pushing him quickly towards his friend with his own efforts. The human floated face down before him. His time was nearly gone.
With a frantic burst of speed, he gained Aragorn's side and wrapped an arm around his chest and hauled back, pulling the limp body backwards with him. Aragorn's head flopped forward as his face was pulled from the water. Legolas slipped under as he pulled the human against him, and his heart trembled when his friend's head flopped back against his shoulder and connected with his temple, jolting the prince. Aragorn was so cold in his grasp, so still. He did not think he was breathing, but there was nothing he could do until he got the human back on dry land.
He twisted around until he was in front and holding Aragorn above the water with his left hand. He knew it would be worse than useless for him to fight the current and that such an endeavor would cost Aragorn his life. He needed to work with it. He began swimming, angling towards the shore with the current's flow. "Ardevui!" he called. "Ardevui! Come!"
The horse whinnied in distress and appeared in his line of sight, galloping along the river. Rain glistened on her fur and dripped from her mane. He returned his efforts to swimming, turning worried eyes momentarily on Aragorn to ensure his head was still above water. He could just see himself losing his friend through his own carelessness, with the human drowning because he was too worried about the goal to heed the the path he trod. Slowly, far too slowly to his mind, he was gaining the shore, and the current was slowling, but the river was also widening. He needed to reach the side. Now.
He heard Ardevui whinny behinid him and kicked hard with his feet. Looking up over his shoulder, he saw the reins that dangled just above him and reached up. His fingers caught the braided leather, snagging in the loop, and he quickly shifted his hold to a more certain grasp.
"Hold, Ardevui!" he called, even as the river pulled him and Aragorn past. The faithful steed planted her feet and pulled back as the reins were pulled taught. It pulled her head to the side and she resisted. "Back!" Legolas ordered, and she began slowly walking backwards, one step at a time. The elf struggled to help her, struggled to gain purchase on some rocks even as the river tried to steal his feet.
After endless seconds, both horse and elf managed their task and Legolas carefully laid Aragorn down on the back. He immediately placed his fingers against his neck to find a pulse and was more relieved than he could ever say to find one, no matter how weak. He leaned down as if listening, hoping to feel the young ranger's breath ghost against his cheek. No air stirred.
Feeling his mind racing in helpless circles, he pulled back and looked down at the still man before him. He could not do this. He did not know what to do. How could he help him? What did he do now? Drowning was not something one had to worry about in a forest. Falling out of trees, tripping, running into trees, sure, if one was clumsy or foolish or not paying attention, but drowning was pretty much out. One could not drown without standing water. But how did you help one who had?
Legolas shook his head and rocked anxiously back and forth while sitting on his legs, his hands clenched in helpless fists by his side. If he did not help his friend soon, it would be too late, might already be too late. He had no idea how long it had been since Aragorn stopped breathing. Maybe there was nothing he could do.
No! There has to be something! There has to be. I can't have come so far just to lose him because of my stupidity!
The elf reached out and clenched the wet material of his friend's tunic and tried to force his mind to cooperate. He had to think. There had to be something he could do. Aragorn was not breathing, how did he make him start? Why was he not breathing? Water. Water was in his lungs. Had to get it out. He rocked forward on a half-formed idea and placed his hands on his friend's chest, moving them until he found the man's daiphram. Praying, he pushed.
The motion was sharp and short, a spasm of activity that reversed almost before it had begun. Two inches only, and Legolas watched intently for any change. Finding none, he tried again. Then again. And again. This had to work. He did not know what he would do if it did not.
Tears streaming down his face that he was not aware of, he tried again, compressing the ranger's chest once last time, hoping to convince the lungs to expel the water trapped inside so his friend could breathe again and stay with him. His heart nearly stopped when Aragorn choked.
Quickly, he pushed the man onto his side and watched with a kind of childlike fascination as water ran from the corner of Aragorn's mouth and dribbled down his cheek. Violent coughs shook the still form, but when it was done, the human was breathing, and that was a blessing in and of itself, never mind what it required to get there.
Legolas was happy, ecstatic. His friend was alive and breathing. He had not lost him to the chill waters of the Brandywine and all would be well. A belief that comforted him for all of five seconds. Then he remembered.
Aragorn was still cold, ice cold, and his breathing grew shallower with every exhale. His lips were still an unhealthy shade of blue (no shade of blue is healthy! his mind shrieked), and this Legolas recognized, even if he had never seen it in person. Elladan and Elrohir had explained to him what happened when humans became very cold, that they could freeze to death, and that if they were exposed to the cold for long enough, their body temperature would drop past a level where that body could continue to function. The human would die.
At least for this, the elf knew what he had to do: he had to warm Aragorn up. How to manage it, and quickly, was another matter entirely. The only thing he had to be grateful for at the moment was that the rain had stopped, at what point he was not sure, and the wind had died down until it was nonexistent. Perhaps the weather had decided to work in their favor for once.
His movements feverish, Legolas undid his friend's shirt and pried it off the still form before jumping up and retrieving his cloak from Ardevui. He wrapped it around the ranger then began chaffing his arms and chest, creating heat, and praying it would be enough to raise the young man's body temperature. He could tell his actions were creating heat, but he could not be sure it was enough to help his companion. He was so cold.
He moved down and began the same treatment on his legs, rubbing the wet material quickly back and forth. The water was so cold. Shaking his head, he undid the laces and pulled the wet trousers away from cold flesh. Whatever the pants were doing, they were not helping his friend keep warm. He returned to his horse and grabbed a spare cloak before dropping unceremoniously back beside his friend and returning to the rapid administrations that he hoped would save him, revive him.
"Come on, Strider," he whispered. "Wake up. You have to wake. You're too stubborn to quite on me. Please, mellon nin."
He rubbed faster, then moved back up to the man's arms with a short hop, one that would probably look quite funny to anyone watching, but he did not care. He chaffed the man's arms, then his chest, then tapped at his cheeks, trying to provoke a response. Nothing changed.
With a frustrated sigh, he moved to pull Aragorn into his arms, then realized he was soaked and thought better of it. He quickly pulled off his own wet shirt and tossed it aside, before pulling out a dry one and pulling it on carelessly. He picked off his shoes and stipped off his pants, then replaced them also. That taken care of, he dropped down to the gound and pulled Aragorn against his chest, rocking them both as he continued to rub the man's arms.
"Wake up, Aragorn," he began, his voice encouraging, like one would speak to a willful child. "Come on, mellon nin. It's well past first light and time for you to be up." He was comforted by the fact that even if the ranger had yet to wake up, he also had yet to stop breathing.
Ardevui came over and pushed at his shoulder with her nose, distressed. He ignored her and continued rocking his friend, chaffing his arms, and hoping it was not all in vain. He was caught by surprise when Ardevui lowered herself to the ground beside him, but he scooted closer just the same, thinking that maybe he could use her body heat to help warm his friend.
And even as he moved, he kept talking. "Come on, Aragorn. Time's a-wasting, my friend. Your brothers need you. Who knows what trouble they've managed to find. We have to help them. They need you." The rocking faltered a moment and he squeezed his eyes closed tightly, as if against incredible pain. "They need you, Aragorn. I need you. Please wake up. Please. Please, Strider, don't do this. Please." His voice choked, and he bit back tears he would never have believed he would shed over a human before he had met him.
Oh, the Valar, he thought. Let him live. Please help him. Help me help him, please. He chaffed at the still body and plead again. "Please, Strider. What would your father say? He loves you. What would he do if you didn't come back? What if none of you come back? Come on, Aragorn. I can't find Elladan and Elrohir on my own, not without you." His voice wavered on tears, strained by the effort of holding back sobs. "Strider. Please. . . Wake up. Don't leave me alone. Not now. Not yet. I could not bear it. Strider. . . ."
The first of increasingly building sobs wracked his slender frame, jolting his body and that of the human he held in his grasp. He pulled the man tighter to him and laid his cheek against the top of Aragorn's head. Roughly, he whispered, "Please don't leave me, mellon nin. Don't leave."
Then the body pressed against him shuddered fiercely and fine shivers wracked the frame. The body held against his stirred, the movements small and faint. Almost fearing to hope, he pulled away just a little and looked at his friend. "Aragorn?" he questioned warily.
Eyelashes fluttered weakly. "Cold," the man murmured. At least, Legolas thought that was what he said.
Relief flowed through Legolas with the strength of the river that had carried his friend away. Aragorn was awake.
*~*~*~*~*
It was quiet, nearly calm, yet there was no peace. Sounds came hesitantly and many seemed disinclined to break the quiet. The sun shone innocently, the sky a clear blue overhead, yet fear hung heavy just out of reach. There were whispers, whispers that few understood but all heard, whether they knew they heard it or not. The ones who understood knew trouble was coming. The whispers spoke of a storm.
In a quiet little town north of Minas Tirith, in a ramshackle building that passed for the pub where people could gather for a drink and talk, most of the patrons went about their business with nervous smiles and gratefully accepted drinks to warm their bones from the chill outside. But most is not all.
On the far side of the room, at a table with a mug clasped firmly between its hands, sat a slight, hooded figure separated from the general commotion, alone and quiet. It bothered no one so no one bothered it. Most even forgot that it was there, still as a statue and dressed so like a ranger that it faded into the shadows, though ranger it was not. Those who did not forget had decided it was better to leave whatever it was to its own desires and trouble it not in the hopes of continuing to be overlooked.
Serious eyes surveyed the surroundings beneath the darkness of a hood, marking the comings and goings in the pub, each person who passed through the doorway to get a drink or meet with friends, to what purpose none could say. The noise of the pub was a tense din that remained nearly constant, a bit of stability in a shifting world, punctuated by moments of clarity and light laughter or pregnant silence.
The mundane trivilties of the general populace were a passing fancy, a means of escaping the harsh realities of its own life, a sometimes pleasant pasttime that allowed it to see the varying sides of the people it had suddenly been thrust among. Sometimes what it saw was less than promising, but it was the promising gems in all the filth that kept it from giving up hope and kept the silent figure watching, even as it was the darkness that necessitated the watching in the first place.
Eyes were drawn to the front of the building by the opening and closing of the door, a brief flash of pale light slipping past the figure who entered. The new arrival was a man, fairly tall and simply clad with dark brown eyes and hair a couple shades darker. A hedged silence fell over the establishment while the patrons decided his measure. When the man walked over to the bar, they looked away and went back to their talk, picking up where they left off with nary a stumble to mark they had dropped the conversations at all.
It was a peculiarity to the silent observer how these men could be so suspicious of other people yet accept this man they did not know with only a glance in his direction, a single measuring glare, that allowed them to dismiss him as little more than another person like themselves, years of living together allowing them to identify one of their own in a flash. That was, perhaps, why rangers met so much trouble within their midst. To judge on looks alone was to leave the most important aspect of a person out, though their were those who banked on just such occurances and complacencies.
The man perched on a stool about the middle of the bar, nearly drunk patrons seated on each side, merrily chatting away. He took a swig of his ale, then swiveled in his seat to regard the rest of the establishment with a vague smile, his eyes sweeping the tables without hesitating on a single one until they found the only empty table in the room, too close to the silent figure for the rest of the pub's comfort. Briefly, his eyes flickered to the silent figure before turning back to the table.
With a slight push, the man gained his feet and began making his slow but steady way towards the back wall, angling toward the empty table that had caught his attention. His progress was marked, but the figure moved no more for him than it had for any of the others, and his passage was unobstructed, even when the man's path took him right past the lone figure.
A large hand gripped a mug carelessly, his stride easy and ranging as his path carried him past the silent figure. No one paid the fool any mind. The hand nearest the table dropped to the man's side, curling briefly, and a bit of parchment fell into his palm. When he was closest to the table, drifting so close as to brush it in his passing, he flicked his wrist and the paper dropped onto the table near the figure's hands. It gave no indication that anything out of the ordinary had occurred, and none of the patrons had marked the event.
The man continued past without pausing and took a seat against the wall, the mug clinking down onto the table as he leaned back in the chair and propped the back against the wall behind him. Any interest in him faded when he crossed his feet over the table and settled in. A few minutes later, two more men entered and joined him. They began talking loudly about the latest yield of crops and their prospects for the winter. Everyone had their own concerns, there was no need to trouble themselves with his.
Slowly, after the pub had returned to its original carelessly loud state, the hands unwrapped themselves from the mug and deftly plucked the parchment off the table. Without removing its attention from the room, the figure unfolded the parchment and held it flat. Dark eyes flickered down to take in the writing.
They have them. -- Soweerni
Shifting ever so slightly, the paper was held over the flame of a nearby candle, easily catching on fire and quickly burning into ash. The figure lifted the mug to its lips and downed the rest of the drink. Then it stood and headed for the bar, tossing a few coins on the surface as it passed and left, emerging into the weak sunlight of a mid-winter day.
The game had begun.
*~*~*~*~*
*~*~*
*~*~*~*~*
*~*~*
*~*~*~*~*
Review Responses:
MaraJade: *grins widely* Well, here it is. I hadn't thought that other cliff-hanger was so bad. Hopefully, this lived up to the expectations. Struck my fancy, at least.
Red Tigress: *looks delighted* Truly? Wow. *lips twitch* Float up on shore? Naw, I think he'd end up at sea if he simply floated. *looks thoughtful* Though, I suppose if you're going to swim, it's best to be an elf.
Aromene: Did I miss a river? When and where did he fall in another river? *looks bewildered* Have I forgotten? Tell me I didn't forget. *looks anxious* lol. Yes, worry tends to do that. Somehow, I think don't think even gray hair could make him less becoming. Hm, an interesting thought. Very interesting.
Grumpy: Yes, his brothers have something to do with it. He can't exactly help them, after all, and he needs something to do. *purses lips* So far, one group. A weather god? *snickers* He'd likely like that description. Hehe. But I won't te-el. :-P
Rangergril: Squeal away. You have my permission. *smirks* All the problems are more than worth it when it's loved. Thank you! Oh, I'm so sorry to hear about ff.net. I swear it loves pissing people off. And it does it so well, too. *rolls eyes* And I'm glad you like Legolas.
Tychen: Oh, you can be sure of that. After all, they haven't even found the twins yet. The four of them are so ridiculously trouble-prone it should be illegal. Course, if they weren't, we wouldn't have nearly so much fun with them. *g*
NaughtyNat: lol. Mm, well, I've never really understood it either, so I can't answer that. But I could, 'cept I think it would be better served as part of a story. I think I have an idea that works, but I can't start writing it until I finsih the story I stopped writing to finish this one. *g* I'd don't mind, honest. Oh, that's a good idea, one that's crossed my mind more than once. Really, I have a lot of them, I just don't really feel like writing, so it doesn't do me much good. I keep getting side-tracked by other things. *grimaces* *curtsies* The Missus is too kind. Lol. What did you describe? Do you wanna know a secret? Nearly all my vocabulary came from reading stories. I couldn't tell you a definite definition for more than half of them because I've never known, yet I know how to use them because I know how they've been used. Weird, huh? Lol. One step closer to winning the lottery? Never heard that one before but it sounds interesting. Care to explain a bit more?