Disclaimer: If i didn't own anything before, i'm not going to now, am i? honestly, these lawyers have no sense ;)
Chapter 4: Loss
Sun streamed in through the open window, bringing with it the warm breeze of a new fresh day. Circling round the still sleeping King, sitting by the bedside with his hand resting gently on the Elf's wrist, the wind's warm fingers ran through his dark hair and stroked his cheek, slowly enticing him from the depths of sleep.
He yawned, and then came to his senses, immediately inspecting Legolas for any signs of change, whether good or bad. It appeared that he was a little paler, resembling even more one of the ghosts that had helped them win their battle, but he tried to convince himself this was just a change in light, seeing him by daylight as opposed to the flickering candles of the night.
Leaning over him, and looking closer, he touched Legolas's forehead, and his hand tensed at how cold he was, feeling beads of chilled sweat that clung to his palm. It had not been an illusion, the Elf was worsening and he hadn't realised. He hadn't woken. Moving quickly over to the door, he opened it to find a page boy standing outside, waiting to be put to use.
'Go and find Gandalf. A healer. Anyone.' Aragorn's quiet authority showed through, and acted as if a pack of dogs was biting at the young boy's heels, as he set off at a run down the corridor toward the stairs. The ranger turned back into the room, and lifted the light but warm blankets off Legolas, searching the fragile body for any wound that he may have missed, anything that could be used to explain away the dangerous symptoms. He found the skin looking pale and grey, and the rise and fall of his chest weak, but no sign of damage that he hadn't already contended with. Brushing hair from his face with a weary movement, he sighed with silent resolve. Hope had existed for the elf if it had been simply his failings as a healer, something which could have been resolved. But it wasn't. It was that injury, that blow of evil that meant death still waited for the time it could claim its victim.
As he covered Legolas back up, laying another blanket over his unmoving body in an attempt to bring much needed warmth into the blood and skin that was slowly fading from this world, Gandalf walked in through the door without a knock but with a confidence that heartened Aragorn. Coming to the near side of the bed, he looked down upon the loved and valued member of the Fellowship with concern etched across his old, wise face.
'He is fading. I am losing him and I know not what to do.' Aragorn said, 'I have tried herbs and remedies taught to me by the greatest healer of our time, and yet they do nothing for such a wound as this. He still worsens and I can find nothing that brings him back from the brink.'
Gandalf closed his eyes, holding his hands a mere inch above the Elf's fair, deathly face and concentrating with such an intensity that Aragorn held his breath, fearful that the delicate movement of air could cause distraction for the wizard.
'We must open the wound again. I feel there is a pressure that should not exist within his mind. And we must clean it again, and bind the damaged flesh with fresh herbs. Mayhap this will help. Maybe it will not, but at this time it is all we can try.' He looked down at Legolas and sighed. 'If this does not help, we must keep faith in his strength and his stubborn courage. But I fear it will not be enough to battle such a grievous injury.'
As they began to unwind the bandages from his head, another healer came in through the door, the same as on the previous day. Seeing immediately what they intended, he brought water with a cleansing powder added, and they washed their hands before continuing. When the bandage was unraveled, Aragorn lifted, with firm but delicate fingers, the bloodstained pad of cloth from on the wound. The healer gasped when it came off, as blood flooded from the Elf's head with terrifying speed. He moved to press the cloth back on, but Gandalf stopped him with a gruff command.
'No. It must be released or it will cause further harm. This is not new blood. It has rested between his skull and his brain for many hours.' The healer nodded, and they all watched silently at the stream of crimson liquid that still left the wound and soaked the white pure sheets with complete abandon. Slowly, the rush abated to the trickle of a woodland stream, and Gandalf asked for a cloth soaked in pure water and cleansing powder, and squeezed it into the wound, checking for further bleeding. The water stained the dusky pink of a rose, and he pressed it away.
Aragorn anticipated what he would ask for next with a healer's knowledge, and handed over pungent crushed herbs that would now be enough to stop the bleeding from the wound that had already begun knitting together, faster than would happen in any Man upon the earth. The wizard and the King leaned over together to inspect the clean flesh, and Gandalf spoke what they both thought.
'Only an Elf, and such a brave and strong Elf as Legolas, could survive such a blow. Had this been one of us, we would now rest in another land, and never be able to return again to life.' Aragorn nodded, and reached for a new dressing and bandage to place around his head, saying,
'He is strong indeed, but this is not over yet.' Gandalf nodded in somber agreement.
'No, tis not. The worst may yet come, for the loss of blood and the shock of re-opening the wound will weaken him further. That was the only choice though, for he would be residing in the Halls of Mandos now if we had not done so. You must stay with him, for I have others to attend to, and I know no one better can care for him than you. But you must call me if you need help, and I will come.' Aragorn sat back down next to Legolas, taking his lifeless hand in his.
'I will never leave him. Never.'
Gandalf looked upon him with a sad smile pulling his lips, before gesturing that the healer should follow him.
'Good luck, fairest Elf in all this land, for there is nothing we can do now. Your fate rests with you, and you alone.' And with that pronouncement, he swept quietly from the room, leaving it silent save the breathing of the two beings, and the faint bird call from the trees that stood near the open window. Aragorn closed his eyes for a minute, listening to the purity and beauty of their song, and wished that he was hearing this with Legolas, for the Elf would stop and revel in the sound, loving it with the whole of his body and mind, losing himself within it.
He opened his eyes and looked at him, his face as if asleep, save his closed eyes.
'Can you hear them Legolas, even within your slumber. Can you hear the song of birds and the whisper of the morning breeze? I hope you can, for I know that they would comfort and strengthen you.' As if answering this tender speech from the ranger and friend who sat near to him, a noise came from Legolas, the first sound he had made since he had been felled before the Black Gates.
Aragorn sat up with a start, moving closer to him and pricking his ears for any sign of recovery. The noise came again, and shock streaked across the man's face as he stood up fast, leaning over the elf. Legolas's breath was coming in rattling, pain filled waves, each inward movement agony to him. He was gasping for air, but his body would not give it to him, and the noise came louder as he found with the constrictions on his chest, invisible straps squeezing the life from his body. Death stood over him and pressed upon his heart and lungs, and slowly his lips and fingernails turned a delicate, deadly shade of sea grey blue, and the breathing slowed and shallowed.
Aragorn held tight to his hand, and moaned with grief and desperation at the seemingly inevitable passing of his friend.
'No mellon-nin. Not now. Do not leave me now when the world is so full of peace and happiness. Do not leave me with such a grief, for I will never recover. Please, Legolas. Please.' His begging filled the air, taking up the space that had been inhabited by the Elf's loud breathing, but now he lay as silent as the dead, with only a whisper of air passing between his lips. Aragorn laid his head on his cold and weary body, and cried tears of mourning into the cloth between them, tears that came as blood from his heart as it began to shatter.
His mind, in its grief, brought to the fore loving memories of happier times. Times of games and songs and friendship that had laid the foundations for the bond there now existed between them. Races on horses through the woods surrounding Rivendell, the wind in their hair and laughter on their lips as they sped between the watchful trees to the finish line. Then it was night in his thoughts, the first night he had heard Legolas sing.
They sat around a flickering campfire, watching the dancing flames leap into the darkening sky with joy, weaving their way around each other and changing shape, unconfined within their power. The trees seemed to come closer to the warmth in kind companionship, and all around the fire sat in comfortable silence as they digested their evening meal. Aragorn sat opposite Legolas, seeing the Elf's face lit by the passionate flames. Next to Legolas was Elrond, joining his sons and their closest friend for an evening of pure relaxation. He had not allowed himself a time like this for a long time, and the elder felt he desired the company of young and carefree children to wash away the weariness responsibility had brought to him.
Eldahir and Elladan sat either side of Aragorn, and seemed to be falling asleep, lulled by the movement of the light, and the gentle noises of the woods around them. Suddenly, without a sound, Legolas stood with the graceful elegance he was well known for, and moved over to a tree that seemed to have crept especially close to them. All eyes watched him as he grasped a branch and disappeared into the leafy bulk of branches. Aragorn looked around at the others in curiosity and alarm, but none seemed to think this behaviour strange, and he relaxed again, though his mind raced with wonder at what was going on.
Then all other thoughts fled, as pure music streamed through the air and surrounded those sitting in the darkness, and they lifted their eyes to the stars and moon that scattered the night above. Words and emotions cradled them all, drifting through their very veins, and as Aragorn listened, it appeared that this was the world singing, of love and grief and all the meanings of life. This was the stars dancing, the trees sharing their wisdom and the moon comforting them all with love. The earth warming their hearts and all the beasts and birds joining in unison and celebration of this world. He turned to Elrond with wonder in his eyes and the Elder smiled at him.
'It is Legolas. He learned to sing the songs of the world before he could string a sentence of speech together. And the world welcomed him as one of them and taught him all they know. He is the voice of all, and the only one who can sing with such beauty and such purity as this. He is the only one who sings to the stars in their own voice.'
They sat for many minutes and hours, soaking up the sounds and beauty, and hearing tales of the old and the forgotten, and many times Aragorn felt tears of happiness stream down his face. When the night ended, and the dawn broke through the trees, Legolas had returned as silently as he had gone, and all looked upon him with love and respect, and greeted him with honour. For he held the love of all living things, and all good and beautiful things upon the earth. And they were proud to know him.'
Now it was tears of grief, and he cried for many minutes, unaware of place or time, but still the whispers of air came, weak but regular into the space above his head, mixing with the lingering taste of sorrow that emanated from the man. They came, and they were there when the tears flowed no more, and lay in stains of salty trails upon his weather worn skin as he lifted his head and looked at Legolas. The Elf was still breathing, something Aragorn had neither expected nor dared to wish for, and where grief and sorrow had just made its way through his body, now the beginnings of hope travelled that path.
For minutes that seemed as impossible to count as they had when he had sung for the first time, Aragorn watched him breathe, and his heart leapt and missed beats when it seemed that it would grow stronger or weaker again. But after many hours, the blue had faded from his lips; his skin, though pale, was not the colour of death; and his breathing was still shallow but stronger and more regular.
Aragorn dared to stand and go to the door, asking for food and the company of Gandalf, and both came with equal welcome. As Aragorn ate quickly, the wizard inspected the still sleeping Elf and breathed a sigh of relief that was the sound of both their hearts.
'For the moment, he is out of immediate danger. Whether this will last, I cannot say, but hope now has a place within this room, and maybe it will drive death away altogether.' He looked over at the man, weary after so many hours watching Legolas. 'You should sleep. You can do nothing for him if you fall sick yourself, or collapse with exhaustion.'
Aragorn nodded, knowing that Gandalf was right. Night was encroaching on the room again, and the chair he sat in was comfortable and soft. He could easily fall asleep if he so allowed himself too, now that the fear and tension had lessened somewhat. 'You're right. I know.'
Gandalf noticed the reluctance with which he said this, and understood immediately.
'Do not worry Aragorn, I will sit with him and wake you at a moment's notice if there is any change in our dear friend. I promise.' With those gentle words, the King relaxed back, his eyes closed and he was asleep within minutes, breathing deeply and dreaming well. Gandalf sat in silence as the stars spent their night dancing in the sky above them, and he watched as more colour came into Legolas's face, and the breathing deepened so it almost matched that of Aragorn's. He had made it through the hardest day and night, and was now healing. All they had to do was wait for him to wake.
When morning came, it found Aragorn refreshed and alert as the sun made its entrance through the window. Both he and Gandalf smiled at how improved Legolas looked, though they knew the real healing could be declared started when he awoke from his long sleep. They sat and talked in low murmurs as sounds of life came from behind the closed door, and they waited. For how long they did not know.
There was darkness. Darkness and pain. There had been darkness and pain for so long that he couldn't imagine what there had been before, though he knew there had been something. He remembered how hard it had been to breathe, and a light in the darkness that he had been pulled back from with warmth upon his cold skin. Pain, such pain. But now there was less pain, though it was still coursing through his body, and the darkness seemed to be clearing from his head.
He pulled his mind awake a little more, and realised that he was drifting towards consciousness, though whether in real life or nightmares he knew not. He could sense light through his closed eyes, and, letting his thoughts travel through his body, he felt a bed beneath him, and blankets on top. A pillow lay beneath his head which still hurt so badly he didn't dare move it.
The light made him believe it could be day time, but something was wrong. There was something missing in this picture he was building up, and he couldn't work it out. Deciding that opening his eyes was the only way he would solve this mystery, he did so, and immediately closed them again as the light of morning hit his long darkened eyes and shot through his head, increasing the pain. After a few minutes, and when the pain had subsided a little, he attempted to repeat his action.
Aragorn leaned closer to the Elf, not daring to believe what he had just seen. He thought Legolas's eyes had opened, just for a second, and he looked at Gandalf as if hoping he would confirm this as fact, rather than his own imagination wishing it.
The wizard was leaning forward as well, watching Legolas's face with the same intensity, and he spoke, his gruff voice gentle and calming.
'Legolas? Its time to wake up Legolas. The morning is here.' Aragorn held his breath and waited.
Raising his eyelids, he saw the ceiling of a room, and sunlight coming in through a window. Daring to move his head a fraction, his eyes focused on a shadow leaning above him. He recognised him, though it took his mind a little time to pluck the name from the darkness. Aragorn. Moving his head again, he saw the white beard of an older man, and knew this to be Gandalf. The wizard's lips moved, but no sound came out. Legolas looked at him with confusion and irritation. Why was he mouthing words at him? Why didn't he speak properly?
Gandalf was doing it again, and ignoring the rising pain in his head, he turned to Aragorn to ask him about the wizard's strange behavior. But to his horror, Aragorn was doing it as well. Legolas closed his eyes again in despair, his mind attempting to make sense of what was going on, where he was, and what had happened. The darkness seemed to have numbed and slowed his mind, and it took great effort to form thoughts that made sense.
Then, it struck him, like a bolt from the sunlit sky. He could see the shape of trees outside the window, but could not hear the whisper of the leaves. Nor was there the singing of birds, or the sound of his companions breathing. He couldn't even hear his own breathing. Maybe...
He opened his eyes again, and looked at Aragorn. The ranger's mouth moved, but still no voice came from it and the panic rose even more in his chest.
Gandalf and Aragorn looked at each other. Their relief at the waking of Legolas after so long was now tempered with concern for his behaviour. He had opened his eyes, and looked at them with recognition, and yet he did not open his mouth to speak. Why didn't he answer them?
Legolas tried to stop the desperation from being released, but he couldn't. He felt it coursing through his veins and rushing through his mind, pushing all other thoughts away, at the same time as Gandalf and Aragorn looked at each other again, both realising the same thing as had just overcome the Elf.
Legolas was deaf.
They looked in shock down at him, seeing that same emotion mirrored in his terrified eyes, and tears ran down Aragorn's face as a scream of fear, excruciating pain, and desperate agony, cut through the air. A scream that came from Legolas, but a silent scream to him. He could not hear.
I know all that was pretty predictable - him nearly dying, grief scene, then making it through. In fact, this whole fic is going to be pretty predictable! and I know the idea of a disability has been done looooads before, but I hope this was a bit different.
Please review if you have something to say. I really really appreciate all your comments.