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Chapter 3: Fears and Memories

The city rose above them, a welcome sight after the scenes of evil and death that the eyes of all whom had fought had been subjected to. It came as the first warm day after a long bitter winter, or the sight of a friend returning from a far off place to talk before a fire and laugh and smile and enjoy all manner of love and comforts.

Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief, and looked down upon the still unmoving face of the Elf, silently thanking Valar and whomever else was responsible for the survival of Legolas so far. It had not been certain, even with the speed at which they travelled to reach the place where healing may come more readily to him.

Gimli still sat beside his friend upon a bale of straw within the cart that made their journey easier and less tiresome. His head dropped forward and loud snores cut through the murmurs of the wheels and the talking all around from those who walked to home with them. He had not rested through the night, when death had seemed to creep a pace behind the Elf and reach its dark and shadowing hand to still his tired and weakened heart. For some long hours Aragorn had held a mirror to the Legolas's lips and watched for every wisp of steam that clouded its silver surface. But then the breathing had appeared to, almost imperceptibly, become easier, and they had continued on their way in exhaustion after such a tense and energy consuming night as that.

For his part, Aragorn would rather fight a thousand battles with all manner of enemy or foe, than spend a night beneath the stars, waiting for his dear friend to breathe again, and fearing this may yet be the last movement of air to leave him. But now they were here, before the gates that stood open and welcoming to all those who made their slow and steady way across the fields. His eyes picked out the damage to the city, his city, and the words of ownership that filled his mind shocked him to his core, at the responsibilities that lay before him, and the things that must be done. But for now, the tending of the elf's still unexamined wounds were the only thing he dared to set in stone for him to do. He had not felt able to examine him properly, with no healing herbs or bandages to hand. He had run his fingers over his body and checked for heavy bleeding from any wounds, but there had been none, save for the still oozing blood from his head that, though slow, managed to soak through any cloth that he pressed against it, never halting in its tracks.

They wound slowly up the levels of the city till they reached the the place where Aragorn wished to lay his friend, to tend him properly and find out what must be done to save his life. He walked ahead as bearers carried Legolas in through the doors, and made his way fast to the empty room, where he set out jars and boxes of healing herbs and clean water that would wash away the last dirt and foul touch of war upon his hands. He turned as they entered behind him, and slid the still unmoving elf onto the clean white sheets, thanking the bearers with a murmur just loud enough for them to hear. He sent a page, anxious to please, to find another healer to come to him, for he feared there would be too much damage for him to deal with alone, and then, with a deep breath of calming air, he began.

Cutting away his shirt, he exposed his chest and saw the bruising spreading purple across his pale skin. Prodding and probing, he ascertained that there were only two broken ribs, a wonder considering the battle they had been through, and rubbed an ointment upon the bruise to help it heal faster. He tended cuts and bruises but no more serious injury did he find than that upon his head, and he turned his attentions there as the other healer entered the room.

With gentle movements they removed the cloth from the side of his head, and washed away the drying blood that caught within his hair and the edges of the wound. They saw that there was a fracture, radiating back and also forward, and Aragorn gasped at the damage done. Feeling with delicate fingers at the front and back of his head, he could just feel the crack beneath the skin there as well.

'Why, they cracked his head in two!' The other healer nodded and spoke for the first time since entering the room.

'It is a wonder that he survived, for I have had others in my care these last few days with lesser wounds than his who have still moved beyond my reach into the lands of dead.' Aragorn looked upon his fair face, and smiled almost to himself.

'A wonder indeed, but I would expect nothing less from this Elf, for he is the strongest and the bravest of all I have met.'

'Strong and brave he may be but he has many hours and days struggle ahead of him if he is to wake and see the morning sun rise over the hills again. We must be wary of fever and pain, for they will set him back upon his road, and always always we much ensure he keeps remembering to breathe, for his downfall may come when he lies so exhausted that his body forgets to tell him what it must do. '

Aragorn nodded, and thanked the man for his words of wisdom, though all that he said had been known to him already. He knew the fight that lay ahead and feared that Legolas may yet not have the strength to win the most important battle he had encountered so far.

Pressing crushed herbs into the wound in the hope that it would stop the bleeding and stave off infection, he bandaged his head again and sat with thoughtful look upon his face.

'Ah Legolas, if I had to choose one tough enough to survive such a wound, it would be you. And yet my heart bleeds to see you lying in such silent fragility, for I know that if I had to choose it would not have been you cut down upon the field of battle. How can I ever hope to cope without my faithful Elf beside me every step I take?' Exhaustion caught up with him then, and tears of tiredness, worry and sorrow stung his eyes and threatened to fall with abandon, as Gimli's had when he feared his friend had died.

And Gimli then walked through the door, clean and with new clothing on, trousers that reached down to his feet and stretched for a good foot behind him as he walked, and a shirt with sleeves that hid all of his tough hands. Even amid his faltering hope, Aragorn smiled at such a sight, and Gimli grunted at the humour in the situation.

'I am hoping they will have found clothes to fit a dwarf before the elf wakes, for I am reluctant to allow him to laugh at me while I remain so appareled. When might he return from his enforced slumber?' He moved closer to the bed and watched his dearest companion's pale and lifeless face, and heard Aragorn's sigh that past his lips without his knowledge.

'I wish it were now Gimli, but I fear t'will be some long hours and maybe days before our Legolas wakes, for the blow he had taken has shaken his head so hard it will take much time for it to recover, if indeed it ever will.' He sighed again, and took his eyes off Legolas for a minute as he gazed out over the bright day that greeted all who stepped outside.

'Do not speak of such despair to the hobbits,' Gimli said 'for they lie worried as it is and I fear their hearts would not cope if they were to hear such despondent news. Let them laze and eat for now, because that is one thing that even a dwarf cannot beat them at, their hunger!'

Aragorn smiled at that, and yet inwardly he scolded himself for his lack of care in finding out how those young masters fared.

'How are they all?' he asked and Gimli gave a smile that told him there was naught ill within their friends.

'Tired but happy, for the task is completed and they can spend much time talking to one another of heroic deeds, for stories they have plenty of. There never ceases to flow words from out their mouths! I think they would do well to learn some silence but even such a dwarf as I neither has heart or courage to tell them so.'

There then fell silence around the bedside, which hung for many minutes, and they sat companionably with one another as they watched their friend. Aragorn's thoughts drifted, to fights with snowballs at Rivendell, and camping out amid the beauty of the stars in Mirkwood, home of the Prince. He remembered laughs with Ellandad and Elrohir as they pelted the most beautiful elf in Middle Earth with so much snow that his hair was like a rats nest by the end, and his clothes were in disarray as they had climbed upon his back and attempted to put ice down it.

'Ester, stop it, let us join forces and deal with those twins together for it is the least they deserve' and with smiling faces and laughing gaiety, the Elf and Man, best friends even then, had turned upon the twins and ran at them with fierce expressions and so much snow that they didn't stand and do battle but fled toward the house where snow was not allowed. But Legolas and Estel (as he was then) paid no heed to rules, and skidded along corridors with fast melting snow still clenched within their hands, before they turned a corner sharply and Estel in front collided with a solid person walking in the opposite direction. As Legolas slammed into him from behind, the snow he held spilled onto the person, and he raised his face with apologies ready in his mouth.

Elrond looked at his adopted son and friend, and scowled at such behaviour, while somewhere behind him he heard hard stifled laughter coming from voices he recognised.

'And what...I ask...is the meaning of this?' but although the words sounded harsh there was a twinkle in his eyes and Estel knew there was to be no painful punishment for this.

'I'm sorry Ada, we...we got carried away.' Elrond looked down at the wet patch upon his front, and the snow melting at their feet.

'I believe it to be the snow that got carried. You two walked upon your own feet and chose your path as you saw fit, and straight into me it lead you! Well, there shall be no more playing in the snow today, you will go and learn something from some book that may better prepare you than chasing each other with snow will ever do.' And turning to his indiscreet sons, he looked at them with stern glance,

'And you two can go with them.' without another word he walked away, and they had obeyed him for a good three hours before the snow called to them and asked them to play again.

Aragorn sighed at that memory. Such happiness unblighted by evil and death, though they had known of both long before that time. And now they sat, a King and a Prince, one close to death's door.

His head fell forward onto the bed, and his hand found his patient's one, his fingers seeking out his pulse, resting on it carefully. He would allow himself to doze, but he ordered his brain to wake him the moment there was a change in the weak but regular beating of his heart.

Sun drifted through the window, waning as the sun set vibrant behind the silhouettes of long standing hills, and night crept in to darken the air where the flickering, beautiful light of candles didn't reach. Both slept, one with no knowledge of his surroundings, nothing but the basic fight for survival, while the other heard all noises around him, and felt the pulse beneath his fingertips. Both slept, with no future knowledge of what may yet come. Both slept.

Please review if you have something to say. I have the story plotted up to chapter 13 but not written, so your reviews won't change the way it goes but might make me write faster!