I Will Always Return
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CHAPTER NINE
Would You Mind if I Bared My Soul?
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Roth was riding ahead of Elrohir, unable to contain himself as he knew that there was a chance that he could free Legolas, if only he could reach the prince in time. Everything depended on timing. Scowling in determination as he slowed his mount to an agreeable walk, he chanced an impatient glance over his shoulder to see how Elrohir's progress was coming along. The Noldo was not far behind, and he returned Roth's inquisitive look with an irritated glare.
Suddenly his glare melted away and he sat up straighter than he had ever since he was first wounded. At first Roth had thought that he had upset the other Elf but when Elrohir's eyes looked past him, he saw that it was not so and he turned slowly, half-expecting to see a gigantic warg ready to jump down his throat. His expectancies were disappointed when only a lone horse came plodding towards them, its head hung low as though it was the most depressed creature ever brought into existence. Frowning in mild confusion, he looked back at Elrohir, who was already starting forward, his normally flawless forehead scrunched in thought.
Not to be outdone, or look like a fool, Roth straightened himself on his horse and heeled the animal into a trot, going to intercept the lone horse that seemed to be walking towards him, unfazed. It seemed as though it wanted to greet them.
Upon closer inspection, the Elf's sharp eyes noticed the Rohirrim saddle and the intricate bridle on the creature's beautiful face.
He intercepted the animal within minutes and it allowed him to nab its bridle without protest, probably halfway hoping to get the piece of metal taken out as a reward for its good deed. It snorted and flicked it ears as Roth stroked its face calmingly. His hands were gentle and soothing to the animal as they undid the straps of the bridle and slid it free of the slender, long face.
"Is this the horse that you saw?" Roth questioned Elrohir softly, still stroking the animal's face and head to ensure that it would stick around.
Elrohir assessed the animal's build and nodded after a moment in confirmation. "Yes, that's the one. It appears she has lost her burdens." His voice trailed off as he wondered what that might mean under these circumstances. But no –he wouldn't think about the darker meanings. Legolas could be alive. He could have escaped. He was, after all, a very resourceful and bold Elf.
"Yes," Roth looked at her bitterly. "It looks as though she has." His agreement was deadpanned, his voice bled white of emotion. His hands fell limply from her face to his sides and he sighed and shook his head.
Elrohir apprised him gently. "Roth, don't talk like that. You'll call it down on us, for Elbereth's sake!" The last thing that they needed to do was speak the worst fate possible into existence.
Roth stared at the horse for a moment, as though trying to decide what should be done. "Maybe she can lead us to Legolas. He probably is hurt and needs our help."
The suggestion was met with a dubious look from Elrohir, who raised two sculpted brows in unspoken appraisal. "I realize your desperation, but Roth…it's a horse," he finished in exasperation and disbelief. He didn't lack a respect for horses, but he doubted that the animal was conscious about who they were looking for and even more doubtful that it would be able to trace its trail back supposing that it knew where Legolas was.
"Yes, but when you can come up with something better, then let me know. I promise to give you my undivided attention." Roth's sarcasm had more of a bite than he had intended but he wasn't in the mood to take it back. He knew that Elrohir had a good point, but there was precious little left to go on besides trusting the beast and as a matter of fact, besides wasting valuable time searching, there were no other alternatives.
Elrohir cast him a scathing glare and then frowned. "All right, I consent. We can try. But what if we are wrong? And what is this animal's pace anyway?" Looking at the horse scrupulously, the Elf obviously had already made up his mind that it wasn't the fastest animal on earth. The mare suddenly popped her head up, shook her lengthy, but scraggly mane, and snorted, jerking her head up and down defensively.
Roth scrunched his face and shook his head at Elrohir in a chiding gesture. "I don't think she likes you very much."
Elrohir chose to ignore the comment; using selective hearing… something Dwarves thought was another talent the Elves' possessed. Roth noticed, but said nothing. There was no time and even if there was, this pointless bickering was just ridiculous.
Elrohir brought up one more question, with his voice bordering on condescending. "How exactly do you follow a horse? How do you tell them we are ready to go?"
Roth half-winced/half-shrugged, his wound protested the nonchalant gesture, and he locked hazel eyes with Elrohir's grey ones before looking at the beast that looked eager to prove its capabilities. The warrior was at a loss for answers. "Turn her loose? Start moving first, ourselves?"
Elrohir found himself at a loss as well and so there was nothing left but to experiment and find out what worked and what did not.
But the horse did not need much encouragement and as soon as she saw them start moving she trotted ahead, flaring her tail out behind her like a brown, rippling banner of many strands of tattered fabric. Elrohir scowled and looked sidelong at Roth, trying not to smile despite the dark circumstances, but losing the battle. "Congratulations Roth, you got her to move, now can you explain her that she needs to wait for us?"
The warrior frowned and was quick to chastise. "She is fine. I don't think she is going anywhere without us." But Elrohir noticed that Roth sped up the pace of his own horse with his heels, and the Son of Elrond smiled.
But when Roth looked over a few moments later, Elrohir's face was crestfallen, and his eyes were clamped shut as he bowed his head. Anxious, Roth inquired. "Is it your wound?" Elrohir shook his head and then straightened up, trying to mask his emotions. He shouldn't have concerned Roth; the other Elf already had enough troubles without this one being added. "It's your brother, is it not?" Roth's voice had sunk below a whisper, but Elrohir still managed to catch enough of what he said to understand the question.
There was no use denying it or lying, which would only stress the warrior out even more. Roth had such a freely giving and sweet nature that to have anyone else hurting gave him hurt caused by sympathy. "Yes, it is." Sighing, he shook his head remorsefully. "I should have never entrusted him into anyone's care but my own. He doesn't take kindly to that sort of thing and I, well, I let him down."
Roth was about to venture a response, when there was a distraction caused by the end of the mare's motion. She stood perfectly still bent over something that was not discernable yet. Whatever it was had been obscured by her billowing tail and the bulk of her body that stood directly above it, casting it into shadow.
Elrohir was grateful for the reprieve from Roth's interrogation, but at the same time terrified more than death of what they would find. The sprawled figure was unmoving in the sweeping grasses that were crushed about it in a fanned pattern, but the closer they got, the more obvious it became that the form was either a human or an Elf.
Roth didn't wait for his horse to stop before throwing himself nimbly from its back in one fluent motion and stumbling over to where the mare guarded the prone body of the being that he now recognized without a shadow of a doubt as Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood, Son of Thranduil, Grandson of Orophir. Gently guiding the mare away and thanking her liberally, Roth quickly returned to Legolas' side, where Elrohir was already crouched, grave concern etched into his typically timeless features.
The first thing that either of them noticed was the copious amounts of blood that had dried or was drying along the prince's shoulder, originating from a deep laceration that had laid the joint open to the bone. Grabbing Legolas' outstretched hand to check his vital signs, Roth jerked back, releasing the appendage with surprise. Legolas' hand fell to the spongy grass and Roth gapped at the red liquid coating his own hand.
Elrohir immediately took note of what had happened and fearing that Legolas had slit his wrist by mistake or out of despair, he grabbed the prince's bloody hand and turned it palm upwards, supinating it. The supple skin of his wrist was completely intact except for some nasty rope burns and scrapes that had taken off the first layer and left purple welts in their wake.
It was the palm that was leaking all the blood from the appendages. A deep cut zigzagged across the soft skin and it looked ugly. Biting his lip, Elrohir then moved to check his pulse, using the side of the Elf's neck and pressing his fingers against the clammy flesh. The dancing pulse was weak and erratic and could give out any second under his gentle touch. Afraid of the thought, he recoiled and rocked back on his heels to assess the situation and Legolas' condition from a bit of a distance.
Roth had a green tint discolouring his face and he looked like he was going to faint at any given second as he saw what he had feared all along. "Is he…he…dead?" his voice squeezed off as he had trouble imagining a life without his best friend and sworn brother. How could he possibly return home and say explain to Lord Thranduil that his only son was dead?
Elrohir shook his head, "Not yet. His heart is going too fast and isn't steady enough." He looked pointedly at Legolas' lips, that were almost white. If they couldn't staunch the bleeding and provide the prince with some warmth he would surely die a quick death.
Roth's chin quivered and he sucked in a guttural, shuddering breath. His eyes fell on Legolas' bruised and battered frame and the strange, intricate marks, three of them, that were inflamed on his abdomen and obviously burns. The prince was thinner than when they had last seen him and his beautiful, long hair was sawed short. His fair face was smeared with darkened, dried blood and abrasions with a deep purple bruise from repeated abuse. He couldn't understand how Legolas would let anyone do this to him unless he was brutally restrained. Rothinzil knew that Legolas must have fought and fought and incensed his captors to accumulate this many welts and abrasions.
Elrohir had already removed his cloak and was pressing it to Legolas' shoulder wound. The prince's eyes fluttered open at the shocking pain the pressure caused and he attempted to struggle free of Elrohir's gentle, but firm grip. Unable to do so because of his blood loss and exhaustion, Legolas submitted to whoever was restraining him and whimpered slightly as the full pain broke over him.
He didn't look up at his captor, preferring that his tormentor remain faceless. It was easier then somehow and this last struggle with Ceorl and this continual struggle with death itself were draining his body of every scrap of energy. He didn't possess the strength to fight anymore.
When Rothinzil's hands gently began to stroke his face, Legolas shut his eyes tightly and twisted away in his delirium, thinking the worst possible torment ever was about to be forced upon him. He didn't say anything, because he had nothing to say to this man, and he would rather take everything in silence. However, his breathing sped up and he stretched an arm out from where it had been pinned against Elrohir's chest, grabbing at the grass in an attempt to pull away. He would never forgive himself if he didn't resist.
Elrohir gently attempted to sooth the prince and he murmured, "You are safe. It is I, Elrohir. Legolas, shhhhhhh…"
"Thorongil…" Legolas cried out softly, sounding a bit strangled, and his blue eyes swirled around looking feverishly for his friend amongst the four different faces he saw. Oddly enough, he thought he saw two sets of twins. One was recognizable, but the other was not.
"We will get him, Legolas. Now stop struggling, you foolish Wood-Elf," the younger twin chastised calmly, continuing to apply pressure to the prince's wound. He then directed Roth to bind the prince's lacerated hand and bring the bleeding to a close.
Legolas turned his face into Elrohir's tunic and hid it, feeling the proximity of his friend. A feeling of relief broke over him and he started shaking uncontrollably. As a lucid train of thought began to return to him, he broke down, remembering Aragorn. Seeing blood on himself and on Elrohir, leaving dark red stains and a sickening smell, he panicked. There was still a part of his reason that was fogged up and dysfunctional in the lingering confusion and it was out of his control. "A-A-Aragorn! A-A-A-Aragorn's b-b-b-b-blood-d!
Elrohir looked at Roth, who was finishing up wrapping the prince's hand. The warrior stared at his liege and then back at Elrohir, not understanding Legolas' reaction. Elrohir felt Legolas' sobs against his chest and he cradled the Wood-Elf closer against him as he sought to slow and ultimately stop the perpetual bleeding. While he did this, he tried to think things through. Time to think, however, was a luxury that he didn't have.
Legolas resisted with his arms, unwilling to rest while Aragorn was out there, somewhere, dying. His addled mind could not comprehend that he was in no condition to be attempting any such efforts. All he could think about was that when he had left Aragorn, the man had been dying and the light in his eyes had been fading, making them look lifeless. He had remembered the knife and the blood and the way Aragorn had cried out as the weapon sliced through his skin. "Let me go!" he demanded frantically, trying to wriggle free of Elrohir in a fit of hysteria. "He needs me, let me go!"
Legolas desperately tried to touch Aragorn's consciousness with his own mind, but the bond had remained void and he could sense nothing. This didn't exactly serve to help as he strove to break away from his friends, whose only desire was to help him. His fear for Aragorn had taken an unreasonable turn that knew no rationalities as it mingled with the pain and weakness of his own deplorable state.
Nothing that Elrohir or Roth said for ten minutes could assuage the panic of the prince, no matter how much they tried to rationalize and explain things to him in patient tones of voice. It was like trying to comfort a half-wakened child from a nightmare in the middle of the night.
Finally, when his spent body could fight no more, he ceased his frantic struggles and merely broke down in Elrohir's arms. There was a time when he would have never done this, and would have bottled everything up inside, but his first experience with true war among mortals had taught him that even the strongest cried at some point or another and that keeping everything buried only caused deeper wounds that were harder to reach and to heal. Elrohir felt his tunic growing moist with is friend's tears and frowned sadly, and held the prince against him. Cautiously lifting the cloak that he had pressed against Legolas' wound, he was satisfied to see that the bleeding had stopped and what the wound needed now was a strong set of stitches.
Fortunately, before taking on this venture after patching themselves up, he had had the good sense to pack more supplies into his pack and to be prepared for practically anything that medical aid could cure. Directing Rothinzil, he charged the warrior to support Legolas while he rummaged through his pack for the necessary materials. Legolas didn't even seem to notice the change and he clung to his other friend as an Elfling might cling to his parents. The prince still found no comfort and his sobs alleviated as he quickly became too tired to cry. However, he was too fatigued to sleep, so he lay in Roth's arms quietly, not even shivering. His ear was pressed up against the warrior's chest, listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart, the song of life.
Elrohir laid out all the provisions that he would need and then instructed Roth to lay the prince out on the cloak in the grass. Legolas' bruise mottled skin was already covered in blood, both dried and fresh, so getting any more on him wouldn't make much of a difference. Besides, Elrohir didn't want the grass to interfere with what he was about to do. Selecting a needle and some thread, he moved so he was kneeled by Legolas' face.
Talking to Legolas, but informing Rothinzil at the same time, he explained, "Legolas you have taken grievous hurt and it cannot go untreated. You have lost a fair amount of blood as well. I must apply stitches and suture your wound. Do you understand?" He wasn't sure what Legolas' limits of comprehension were right now and the last thing any of them needed was Legolas throwing himself into a panic and flailing his arms all over.
The Wood-Elf seemed to understand and he nodded in compliance, closing his eyes against the twinges of pain that he knew were coming.
Elrohir looked to Roth sternly. "Keep him still. If he moves he will hurt himself." Legolas heard these words and was determined not to be restrained. He would control himself or no one would. After these past few days in captivity and the cruelties of Harad, he had become even more determined to be his own master whenever possible. Even though he trusted his friends, they simply wouldn't understand.
He could easily hold himself immobile during the cleansing of his wound with herbs. That was easy, because Aragorn had done it often enough.
When Elrohir had threaded the needle and began his administrations, Legolas didn't move except to flinch slightly as the needle pricked his skin and weaved skilfully in and out. It was slowly closing the red, burning gap in his flesh and as it did, Legolas felt the pain lessen and become more comfortable. His shock was gradually ebbing away, but he didn't relax. He had not forgotten Aragorn and the memory was like an open wound that was impossible to close.
Soon the procedure was finished and Elrohir pulled Roth back, giving Legolas his space. Legolas lay there quietly for a couple seconds, observing things and making sure that the process was truly over. Satisfied, he sat up, experimentally putting pressure on his arm. He found that it was not as instable as before even if it still throbbed. Already his strength was beginning to return, but his Elven healing capabilities were still dogged by his weariness and the constant abuse he had been subjected to.
Feeling confident enough, Legolas stumbled to his feet only to find that everything seemed to sway and shift beneath him and around him. It was as though the world was tilting and spinning even as he was standing completely still. His feet were unsteady and he stumbled, only saved from a fall by Elrohir's outstretched arm. "Take it easy," the twin advised critically, eyeing the prince sternly. He knew Legolas' stubborn nature very well, and he wasn't about to let the prince hurt himself.
Legolas accepted the help of his friends while he tried to steady himself. Once he was steady on his own two feet, he demanded a bit grumpily that they release him. Now that he was more conscious of the situation and feeling stronger and less ill, he was ready to kick himself for ever readily showing so much weakness as he had up until a few minutes ago.
He then studied Elrohir and Roth for a minute, trying to remember something. Realizing why he was puzzled, the fair-haired Elf appraised, "I was told that you both were shot." His eyes narrowed as his face scrunched up in suspicion. Realizing suddenly that Elladan was not accompanying them; he felt panic creeping over him again. "And Elladan…is he…"
"No. He is back at camp recovering," Elrohir assured, having not realized the fright he had probably caused the prince at the notice of his brother's absence.
"And, yes, we were shot, but we are patched up now," Roth added, trying to take the edge off of some of Legolas' worries. "Nothing vital was hit, I can assure you."
Legolas was beginning to shake but mentally demanded more of his body, putting an end to the tremors. Forcing his limbs to comply, he started towards the horse that had formerly belonged to Ceorl, preparing to ride. They had had already run out of time to reach Aragorn. The human had been stabbed and as far as Legolas knew, the wound was fatal.
Elrohir intercepted Legolas in a few strides and then demanded. "Where is Ceorl? Where is the man that did this to you?" His arm tightened almost painfully on Legolas' as his emotions transferred into his strength and pinched the other Elf. He had not thought to ask the human's whereabouts earlier, having been too worried for his friend's life, but now that there was a little more control over things he wanted an answer. He should know, after all, the location of such a formidable adversary. Legolas tried to pull away from the added pain and Elrohir quickly released his grip, having not meant to add to Legolas' pain-filled state.
Legolas' face twisted in thought. His head still hurt and it was hard to pull memories forward. "He is dead." His reply was deadpanned, holding no emotion good or bad for his former tormentor and would-be killer.
Elrohir stared at him for a moment before sighing with a small amount of relief. That was one less enemy to worry about. How he died mattered not, as long as he presented no further danger. "It is well."
Legolas shook his head and started towards the horse again, only to be stopped by both of the dark-haired Elves this time. "Take it easy," Elrohir warned a second time, this time with a bit more tenacity.
"We cannot!" Legolas snapped desperately, trying to side step his rescuers, but failing. "He stabbed him! He was dying when I left…whether he is alive now… We cannot afford to wait!"
Legolas had not easily broken the news to the two Elves and the colour drained from both of their faces, but only Elrohir appeared like he was going to be sick. His complexion took on an unhealthy green shade. Legolas regretted being so abrupt but what else was he supposed to do? They had to understand, and they had not listened earlier. He had been left with precious little options.
Legolas wasted no time, but forced his ailing body to carry him to the horse he had been forced to ride out on earlier. The bridle was missing from where Roth had removed it, but because Legolas was an Elf, it mattered little, if at all. He wasn't able to make his usual showy mount but he dragged himself up onto the saddle all the same, patting the creature's neck reassuringly.
Elrohir glared at him determinedly. "You think that you are going to ride alone? Are you mad?" Distress had twisted his voice into a sharp hiss, giving it more of a bite than he had originally intended.
"I don't expect you to carry me-" Legolas' sardonic protest was cut off with a sharp gesture from the anxious twin. He was obviously not in a listening mood and had momentarily turned his back on the prince while he gathered his emotions. Legolas remained silent, not wanting to start a distracting conflict.
"Legolas Greenleaf Thranduillion!" Elrohir finally barked the name out as he spun back around; making sure that he had the prince's undivided attention. "You are not riding a horse by yourself! You could fall and break your neck if you blacked out! Need I remind you of how much blood you have lost?" This was a lecture that resembled one that he would have expected to give to Aragorn in his younger years, not a two-thousand and some odd years old Elf-prince!
Legolas narrowed his eyes, his princely glare slowly regaining its former potency, though still not up to parity. His blue eyes bored into Elrohir, almost burning through the twin. "Elrohir, we don't have time for this! I am perfectly capable of remaining on a horse!"
"I will believe that when I see it! You get down now, and I mean it," he commanded out of habit of ordering Estel around.
Legolas might have complied, had Elrohir's demand not sounded like the order that it was. That was the wrong way to get his acquiescence and Elrohir knew it even before the words had left his mouth. "Then I suggest that you watch closely, mount your horses and get moving! We – Don't – Have – Time," he said, emphasising each word, which seemed to be effective. Roth had submitted to the will of his liege a minute or two back and was shifting uncomfortably.
Elrohir glared and his mouth tightened, but he gathered up his things from his pack and mounted his horse. Rothinzil followed his example. Arguing was a pointless venture.
Legolas had already to begun to ride out, and he glanced over his shoulder to make sure that they were following. Satisfied, he looked down at the horse's neck. As his hands rested on the horse's mane, he noticed they trembled and looked so much thinner than before –almost lucent. Silently he prayed that he would be given enough strength to merely rescue his friend and then, after Aragorn was safe, he could die if that was how things had to be. He just wanted a little more time, just a little more time.
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Elladan had regained a portion of his former strength, just enough to make him stubborn. He still could not travel or even stand for long periods of time, but he liked to try. He couldn't stop thinking about Elrohir, or Rothinzil, or Aragorn or Legolas and it was eating him that he could not be at their sides, fighting with them. Chances were that they all sported some injury or another and he didn't appreciate the idea of letting them do this by themselves.
He had given up trying to sleep. Their faces, white and ghastly in death, woke his dreams and he couldn't escape the horrible visions of them. It was easier if he was awake and could reason with himself and remember the good things instead of dreading the worst. But even when he was awake, he still would see them when ever he closed his eyes or whenever the pain of his wound sent him into a state that bordered on delirium.
Even though Elladan simply couldn't resign himself to seeing their ghastly faces, he couldn't escape them either. He was caught somewhere in between in a place that he was beginning to wonder if it could possibly be one of the seven hells, or some sort of extension of them.
The boy often tried to stay out of his way, a bit fearful now that the Elf appeared to be on the road to recovery. If at all possible, he kept the room between himself and the older twin. When Elladan would scowl in deep thought, the youth even appeared to try and dissolve into the sides of the tent. Elladan had thought this amusing the first time, out of some twisted sense of humour attributed to his wicked mood.
Sitting on his pallet he could lay still for long, and this was anything but healthy for his injury. If he wasn't tossing and turning he was sitting up or leaning on the tent pole attempting to stand up and pace the room. Even though Elves recuperated ten times faster than any human with the possible exception of Aragorn, Elladan had taken grievous hurt and it wasn't likely he would be fully recovered for a few months to possibly a year. His experience in the healing arts told him this, but then protective, brotherly part of his reasoning only considered it to be an obstacle to his job, and therefore, ignorable.
Well, it would have been ignorable if it didn't sap his strength to stand up for more than four minutes, or take a battering ram to his chest to breathe too deeply. Lately, as of a few hours ago, his left side had started this strange, pulsating throb that had absolutely nothing to do with his injury. Unable to explain it, he was beginning to wonder if there had been a hidden poison in the arrow that Elrohir had removed. The younger twin should have known how to look for such venoms and been fully aware, but he couldn't be too sure.
Placing his head in his hands, he massaged his temples in an attempt to ease his dizziness, but with no affect. Looking between his fingers, he chanced a glance at the boy. A small smile pulled at his lips' corners. The child was sitting in the corner asleep with his head of dirty blonde hair leaning against one of the corner posts. His breathing was coming in slow breaths and Elladan was reminded of when Estel would sleep in his father's study.
Grabbing the tent post with one hand, Elladan winced as the stretching of his arm shot pain across his chest and caused stars to whirl into his line of vision. Coughing as his lungs were upset by the wracking pain, Elladan struggled to stand up for about the fifth time. His entire body was shaking and he was helpless to make it stop. His muscles were convulsing as they were forced to try and flex.
Finally, after a few failed attempts, he had managed to pull himself up into a crippled standing position. The room was swirling in odd, warped shapes and his hand subconsciously was laid over the arrow wound, trying to assuage the pain and support the injury. His mouth was open and he was gulping air.
The ground was getting closer, and closer, but he couldn't seem to piece together why. Then, his knees hit the pallet and his hand slid down the post as his body crumpled over his knees. Abandoning his hold on the tent post, Elladan crossed his arms under his stomach and whimpered in horrible pain as well as despair.
He was heartbroken. He had tried and tried to get to his brothers, or at least walk on his own and he simply could not bring his broken body to respond properly. Fresh blood blossomed in the centre of his bandage that swathed his chest, and began to slowly spread. He did nothing to prevent the flow, his strength bleeding out with it.
Remaining doubled over, Elladan didn't even consider laying onto his back. His thoughts were not on himself, but of what would happen to his brothers and friends without him there. If they were killed, he would never forgive himself for not being with them.
He had to try one more time…
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Hot agony rushed through his thoughts, and his body shuddered unchecked as Aragorn no longer had the strength to control his tremors or his pain. He was neither unconscious nor conscious. The two had sort of made a truce and merged together and in doing so created a waking nightmare. Voices were slurred and everybody seemed to be speaking some unintelligible language that had never been in any of Elrond books. Images, sounds and feelings faded in and out into varieties of intensities.
Unable to sort all this out, Aragorn had given up trying as he had discovered that it only drained more energy and that it was so much easier to submit. Legolas would understand…would understand…once he explained to the Elf that he was so very tired…yes, so very tired. Blinking seemed to require an extraordinary effort and so if at all possible, he kept his eyes closed. His chin hung against his heaving chest where his heart beat erratically, struggling to maintain a strong enough beat to keep him alive.
At first he had thought that he was flying, or at least found the secret to levitation, but had soon discovered that he couldn't move his arms. They were somewhere behind him, but were completely immobile. Some rough, biting material was tearing at his wrists and he couldn't seem to recall that he possessed a pair of hands. He certainly didn't feel them there.
His feet he could feel, but he might as well have not because they refused to move as well. His body had slowed itself down and started to close down certain parts to try and maintain enough energy to keep his vital organs operational. Voluntary commands that were unessential to life ceased to be recognized and therefore keeping any bonds on the dying ranger were unnecessary.
The men, though, were hardly interested in Aragorn at all. They only needed him for a little while and whether he lived or died afterward was of little concern to them. They had never meant to end up in a situation like this one. They would not have even followed Ceorl but for the promise that this very thing would not happen. Success had been promised to them laid out on a silver platter, but they were fast beginning to understand that Ceorl's definition of success had to differ greatly with theirs. The platter it had been served on had turned out to be made of no more than steel, not silver, and tarnished steel at that. It had quickly lost its appeal and now they were desperate to escape by any means necessary.
It had been easy for them to decide that their lives far outweighed Aragorn's and had dragged Aragorn out into the open, where Thengel and his Riders would easily be able to identify him as well as witness what was happening. It was a clear message that it they were not released, then Aragorn would pay the ultimate price.
But what they overestimated was the amount of time that they had to strike a desirable bargain. Aragorn's body was rapidly failing him and given a few more hours he would die and there was nothing that they could do about it. It was beyond their expertise as warriors. Even if one of them had experience in the healing arts, there was a heavy lack of supplies and no way to relay any through. Thengel had them sealed in.
The ranger's face was not only pale and nearly translucent, but it had acquired a sickly hue of green. Not enough blood was circulating throughout his body as his heart laboured. Blood covered his left side, but there was no perspiration on his body. He didn't have enough water. Most of his body liquids had drained away with his life's blood, and the state of dehydration that he had entered would kill him if nothing else did.
If his captors had possessed more sense or less self-intent, they could have cured him of at least that ailment, but they hardly cared.
Drawing a shuddering breath, Aragorn opened his eyes and looked blearily around his surroundings. He couldn't understand where he was and he could feel a sense of panic, but it wasn't registering. "L-L-Legolassss?" his plea for his friend was slurred and beneath the pitch of a whisper. Nobody could hear him. "L-L-Legolasss?" his voice became choked as memories progressively floated through his mind.
He had failed the Elf. Legolas would be sold to this man…Sharky…and tormented until he became the thing he hated most. Only the Valar knew what cursed machines and devices they would have to use to force Legolas into compliance. The prince could be very stubborn, but Aragorn knew that there were ways of breaking him and he was terrified of what they would do to his friend. Legolas would die before he allowed himself to become an orc, but it was what would kill him that the ranger feared.
His eyes throbbed with the starving for tears that they were incapable of creating in his dehydrated state as he thought of Legolas dying alone, terrified, and in horrible pain. He had promised Legolas that he would get them both safely home and he lay here, dying while Legolas was suffering a worse fate.
Voices spoke again nearby and he blinked, raising his head to look and see what was happening. There was yelling, frequent yelling back and forth and Aragorn couldn't understand a word of it. Moaning, he blinked tiredly and allowed his head to slip back down to his chest, too tired to hold it up anymore. Somehow, holding it up made breathing difficult and it made his heart work harder.
Then, a voice nearby, obviously muttering to someone standing nearby became semi-intelligible. "He is dying. He isn't going to live through this hour."
This was the first thing that anyone of his captors had said that Aragorn had agreed with. He was going to die, but he had accepted that. He had never feared death and he wasn't going to start now. Frowning, he wondered what the chances of he and Legolas meeting again were. He had never said farewell to the Wood-Elf and he dearly wished that he could tell the prince exactly how much his friendship had meant. Legolas had always claimed to know, but Aragorn doubted that he could ever truly appreciate it the way he thought he did. Aragorn had always expected Elladan and Elrohir to be there for him, but for Legolas, an Elf with no reason to love him as brother, to open up his doors, was unthinkably generous. Aragorn's chest hurt as he remembered how Legolas had even been perfectly willing to give up his immortal life if it had meant that he could live despite the fact that Aragorn would eventually die anyway.
Smiling in memory, he recalled how Legolas had made one desperate attempt to save him before being dragged away. He doubted that the prince had even once considered the consequences.
In Harad, through they both had been captured. Aragorn had eventually been freed by Legolas, as had been the Elf's first intention, though it had cost the prince dearly. Aragorn wished that he had been able to reciprocate the Elf's efforts when his turn rolled around, but he had not.
There was more yelling back and forth but Aragorn still could not discern any words. As a matter of fact, his senses, such as hearing and feeling, seemed to be fading. It was like going deaf, blind and dumb all at once as his body continued to shut down any process that was not essential to life preservation. It only possessed the energy for so much.
:0Ї0:
Legolas blinked wearily, his body was continuing to send him distress signals, but his determination and their frequency had made him immune to their effects. He knew that they were there, but his body made no response to their request that he rest and allow himself to replenish his diminishing strength. His head kept pitching forward against his chest and he would bring it up with a jerk.
Roth didn't miss the constant struggles to remain conscious or awake. His worried eyes scrupulously studied his prince with mounting concern. He had known that the blood loss and lack of sleep had not been a good combination. "Legolas, are you all right?"
Legolas was quiet for a minute, using that time to focus his bleary eyes on his friend. They didn't have time or energy to waste through argument and he was in no position to be deceptive. A drunken spider could see his deplorable condition all of it's thousands of eyes poked out but one. "No, I fear that I am not. We cannot stop here, though."
Roth watched his liege for a few more seconds before averting his eyes. "You know that I am going to kill you when this is all over, don't you?"
"If I survive this, of course you will, and Elrohir as well as my father would probably love to help." It was hard to prevent his words from slurring together. The bobbing of the horse's head and the rhythm of beast's loop was lulling the beaten Elf into a slumber. His head felt light, like it was detached and hovering somewhere above his shoulders. Blinking, he tried to maintain eye contact with the warrior.
Elrohir had passed them some time ago, his horse at a gallop. It had been understood that rather than forcing Legolas off of the horse or slowing their pace, one of them would fall back and make sure that he didn't hurt himself. This task had unofficially been placed on Roth's shoulders, and he had accepted it willingly.
Fearing that Legolas actually could die, Roth swallowed and cleared his throat, preparing to speak. There were some things that Legolas needed to know. "Your father loves you still, Legolas. All has been amiss since you left. He has missed you, as have others. He wouldn't choke you, unless it is in his efforts to bury you in an embrace of affection."
With a small frown, Legolas moved to spur his horse and catch up with Elrohir. He wanted to end this conversation. Roth's concern was appreciated, but misplaced. Legolas knew his father still loved him, but he was afraid to go back home nonetheless. It wasn't rejection that he feared, though that had been his first dread. Legolas feared having to face what harm he had done and all the turmoil he had inadvertently caused. He knew his absence had not done any good but he was afraid it had done plenty of evil.
Roth reached out and grabbed his horse's manes, halting them both. "Look, are you going to be all right? You look like you are ready to faint." His voice was laced with concern and he reached a hand out, gently placing it on Legolas' good shoulder in a form of consolation. He wanted to provide the prince with reassurance, but he didn't know how.
Legolas smiled weakly, trying to belie his weakness as well as assure the warrior. "Ask me that question after we get through with this and the answer may change, but as of right now, I think I will manage."
Roth returned the smile, but he had not missed how his friend's body was still trembling. Legolas was slowly losing control over his body's nervous systems, but he would never admit it, even if he were on his deathbed. "Just take it easy. If you need help-"
"You will be right there. I know. You sound like Estel." As soon as those words left Legolas' mouth a cloud seemed to darken his face. Turning away, he fought to keep his emotions constrained. There might be no more Estel.
The smile on Rothinzil's face turned upside down in a frown and he tightened his grip on Legolas' good shoulder. "We will get him back. If that ranger is half as hard-headed as I think he is, and then trust me, he will be there; ready to ask why we took so long."
Legolas wished that he could believe his friend. He was so tired and frustrated and hurt so much that he was almost ready to believe anything. However, Rothinzil's statement contradicted reality and the way things really seemed to work. Inside, he believed that Aragorn could face anything but life had found a way of testing everything that he had ever believed in these past few years. Shaking his head jadedly, he differed, "Everyone has a breaking point, Roth." Looking ahead, he chastised himself. "We had best catch up. Elrohir will be worried." Legolas could not verify his suspicion, but he suspected that Elrohir had felt some bond that he and Estel shared, sever, or at least weaken to almost non-existant.
Roth conceded. "He has enough to worry about already." Before spurring his horse or releasing Legolas shoulder, the other Elf reprimanded. "Just promise me that you will look after yourself. I just got you back, Legolas." Roth looked sorrowfully at his friend. "Promise me."
Legolas didn't want to make a promise that he could break. A broken promise, intentional or not, could do more damage than never saying anything at all. "I promise that I will do my best." The prince didn't understand how Roth could ask more of him than that.
The warrior didn't disappoint him. "Hannon le."
The two then spurred their horses forward and caught up with Elrohir, who had slowed his horse ahead with his form silhouetted against the pale sky. The youngest twin heard them approach and twisted his neck around to acknowledge them and assess how Legolas was faring. He knew Legolas' stubborn personality well enough to understand that the prince could hide the most extensive injury with a bleeding smile and seem totally surprised when someone asked why he looked so sickly. However, for the moment, even if he wasn't completely satisfied, Elrohir was pleased that Legolas had not blacked out and dropped off his horse yet. He had expected him to long before now.
Turning his attention back to the land spread out before him, Elrohir focused his eyes on the ring of Riders that had encircled the couple hundred treasonous men. Sighing, he wondered why they had not engaged them and finished everything. Something was holding them back and he had a sinking suspicion that he knew exactly what. Feeling unwell, he closed his eyes shortly to try and fight the dark nausea swarming in his stomach.
Legolas and Roth flanked either side of him and soaked in the situation with a single glance at the layout of the siege. "Estel is still alive," Roth murmured quietly, surprised. He glanced sidelong across Elrohir, towards Legolas. The prince looked positively ill.
Elrohir felt the waves of a sort of dark energy coming from the friends and he looked at Legolas, who he was sure was the source. Scrutinizing the fair-haired Elf, he assured, "It was never your fault mellon nîn."
Legolas didn't say anything for a minute and everything seemed unnaturally quiet. "Why couldn't we have just gone home?" He didn't understand how their intentions to merely go home, embrace their family and all that they had left behind, had gone so astray. Things had seemed so simple, but he supposed that when you broke them down and digested them they were actually quite complex. Survival was never easy and if everything was simple then things would be rather boring, but in his opinion he had gotten more than his fair share of excitement these past few years.
Elrohir had given his attention back to the fallout being played out below them, of which everyone looked like toy soldiers being manipulated on a game board. Somewhere down there, Estel was caught up in this madness but even his keen Elven eyes could not pick out the man and his anxiety was spiking. Fear was wrapping its icy tendrils around his heart, and constricting to strangle it. He couldn't even feel his little brother like a burning in his veins anymore, like he could still feel Elladan. Looking at Legolas, he asked worriedly, "What do your eyes see?"
Legolas shaded his eyes with his slender hand that was still trembling in weakness. Staring intently, the Elf narrowed his eyes as he tried to pinpoint Aragorn's whereabouts. But his vision was blurred by a mixture of tears and weariness and things tended to slide in and out of place in a very confusing way. Angry, Legolas tried harder, but the more he tried the more frustrated he became as his vision deteriorated. The amount of injury and blood loss combined with little rest that he had been subjected to in this short amount of time was lowering the potency of his Elven senses and dulling them. It was a bit frightening and Legolas was glad that this was only temporary. He would never understand how Aragorn could stand this, unless if it was perhaps because the human had never known better. Biting his lip until he tasted a coppery tendril of blood, Legolas admitted. "He is not within my range of vision either." He had underestimated how badly these words would burn and stick in his throat and the Elf swallowed compulsively trying to choke back tears of frustration.
Roth tried as a last resort, but he could not see Aragorn either. He could make out individual people, but Aragorn was swallowed up in their midst…or simply not there. Shaking his head, Roth felt a stab of guilt when he heard Elrohir sigh miserably. "I am sorry," he tried to make amends for his deficiency. Elrohir shook his head to silence him.
"'Tis not your fault."
Roth didn't agree, but he knew that arguing was a futile venture and he shut his mouth. Turning his face away and directing his attention to the clustered men below them and the surrounding, found an escape. Likewise, Elrohir knew that it was absolutely no use to try and convince Roth that the error was by no means his own. He looked to inspect Legolas' condition and discovered that the prince was looking sickly green.
"What are we to do, then?" Legolas asked softly, shifting uneasily under the scrutinizing eyes of his friend. He appreciated the concern, but he didn't wish to be coddled or taken lightly. Sitting up straighter, he tried to make himself look a bit more presentable and lift his own spirits.
Elrohir didn't answer. He didn't like to admit that he couldn't do something or that he didn't have all the answers. Granted, he had already gone ahead and admitted that Estel had passed beyond his vision, but he didn't want to say that he didn't know where to go from here. He wanted to be able to assure everyone and put their anxieties to rest but this action was inhibited and was burning him from the inside out.
Legolas sighed wistfully. "You don't know either." It was not a question. Tilting his head to the side, as though looking at the scene splayed out beneath them at a different angle might bring new ideas, Legolas thought hard for a few minutes. Sitting up straight again, the prince frowned. "He could still be alive. What else is there to do but simply go and fetch him?"
Elrohir blinked before giving Legolas a forbidding glare. "Legolas, I am honoured that you value my pest of a brother so highly, but I don't believe walking into about two hundred spears being held by two hundred angry, frightened men that you only just recently eluded has been one of your more brilliant suggestions as of late. Do you?" There had to be another way than sending Legolas or any of them into that little valley that was close enough to being a point of no return.
Legolas had to admit to himself that it was a rather stupid plan of action but there were not that many options and even less time than when they had had none some hours ago. Shaking his head, triggering a light headache, the Wood-Elf argued. "He did no less for me. Valar knew that he was well aware that he would get captured." Thinking further Legolas added, "He told me as much himself. Are you asking me to do less?"
Elrohir's grey eyes turned steely. "I am asking you not to get yourself killed. Blessed Manwë! You blasted Silvan Elf!" He burst out loud, not caring who overheard. "Roth, Elladan and I only just got you back! Are you asking us to lose both you and Estel? Your wounds won't even permit this, Legolas! You look like a herd of irate Oliphaunt's used you as their door mat for a couple weeks!"
"And I can't accept it, Legolas!" Roth put in helpfully. He didn't intend to rebel against any orders his prince would give, but Legolas had not set anything in stone, even though he might as well have.
Legolas lashed out at his Woodland friend. He didn't want to feel protected; he just wanted to get Aragorn and himself through this. "You keep your two bit's worth to yourself, Rothinzil or as sure as Ulmo can stir the waters to wrath I will have you home and packing! Valar as my witness!" His voice squeezed off at the end as he realized what he was saying. Normally he wouldn't have been so harsh, knowing that his friends only had his best interest in mind, but his fear of losing Estel and going home without him had pushed him over the edge. In Elrohir's as well as Rothinzil's mind, their friend had changed and they were both a bit startled.
But Rothinzil didn't look wounded. His eyes had turned stormy. "You wouldn't!"
Legolas threatened, "I would." His voice was deadpanned as his couldn't find the heart to even pretend to send his friends away. "I am going to go down there and bring him up to you."
"No, we are going to bring him up together," Elrohir argued stubbornly. If he couldn't stop Legolas from walking into his death, then he could at least accompany him there. Roth's agreement went without words even though he didn't look the least bit ecstatic.
Legolas was beginning to look irate. "At least one of us three has to go and tell Thengel not to attack while we are there. Otherwise none of us, especially Estel, are going to get out of there alive."
"If we can convince them that they will be granted clemency, then not only could it win them over to Thegnel's side or at least calm them and give us a chance, it could heal things. They are only fighting because they believe that they are going to die for their trespasses." Elrohir tried to speak reason into the desperate situation. They had to have a plan to present to the men unless they wished to be killed out of hand. Irrational desperation could only bring them so far.
Legolas didn't say anything against Elrohir's proposal. The twin was right, after all. But the flame burning in the fair-haired Elf's blue eyes was unmistakable to a blind man. Legolas was by no means angry with his friends anymore, even if he was frustrated with them. However, he would rather that these two hundred traitors that had caused him so much misery did not live to see another day. If they all died here it wouldn't bother him in the least. His heart was not cooled as he remembered the abuse and rejection of the boy who had been so kind to him and been sent to his death.
Elrohir had his father's talent for reading eyes and hearts.
He rationalized, "Legolas, they weren't responsible for all that happened to you and Estel. Ceorl was, as well as Deor, and they both have paid."
The fire in Legolas' eyes didn't lessen any and in fact, became more virulent if it undertook any change at all. "They weren't responsible?" he seethed bitterly, as he drew a shuddering breath. "They are just as responsible! There are more of them than two tyrannical leaders! If they had cared, they could have put an end to everything! Ceorl and Deor would have been nothing if it weren't for those who chose to follow!"
Elrohir conceded with a nod. "But why did they follow them, Legolas? Fear can rule lives. The truly bad ones will meet their equally bad end some day. It isn't our responsibility to deal it out to them."
Legolas' voice turned dangerous and his body trembled as his weakness combined with his fury. "I will not advocate the sparing of their lives! You didn't see what they have done! You cannot ever know even a tenth of it and you ask me to grant them mercy and forgiveness that they never asked for!" He and Estel had been tortured at the hands of these people and the ranger's cries still ghosted, resounding throughout his mind. There was nothing that could ever erase those from the caverns where they had been stored in the back of his mind.
"Would you advocate it to save Estel's life?" Elrohir ground out a bit too fiercely. He understood Legolas' resentment and frustrations all too well. To be honest he felt them too. He would have liked nothing better than to unsheathe his sword and run every last one of those hapless men through without a bit of remorse. But this would solve nothing and if anything, it could make things much worse. Thengel would be seen as a tyrant and that would never do if they wished for things to smooth over. He also didn't want to cause more trouble between Elves and men. "Too much innocent blood has been spilled by their hands. Need the ground be further saturated if it can be prevented?"
Legolas looked as though he was about to make a heated retort, but his lips pressed into a thin line as he paused to take in all Elrohir had said. He couldn't argue with any of it. It had felt so satisfying to remain angry and he had to admit that he had partially been strengthened by his anger. He had never considered that the very thing that had fuelled him could interfere with saving his best friend's life. "Your point is well taken Elrohir." The frustration and anger had bled out of the prince's voice, making it lose its sharp edge. "Forgive me, both of you?"
Elrohir smiled warmly, accepting his friend as he always had and Roth grinned encouragingly. "I would if there was something to forgive, Legolas." Elrohir's voice was sympathetic. "Your pain and anger is understandable. But they will answer for all of their deeds some day."
"Yes," Roth advocated, shooting a grin across him to his liege. Despite the gravity of the situation, both of their smiles were genuine and Legolas thanked them for that. The warmth of their trust in him and their understanding added lift to his burdened heart, something that he had desperately needed these past few days. The situation had not become any less dark but it had become slightly easier to bear.
Forgetting their short-lived quarrel in almost no time at all, the three Elves were soon in making preparations for recovering Estel from the traitors' midst. Although, this had started another heated debate over how much of a role should be required of Legolas. His strength was visibly meagre and even though some of it had been recovered as an end was put to his blood loss, Rothinzil was desperate not to let the prince press himself too much. But Elrohir and Rothinzil's arguments combined could not deter Legolas from being one of the two that would enter the middle of the traitors' throng and collect Aragorn. Elrohir, of course, was going to be accompanying Legolas since Estel was his brother and it was his responsibility to get him back. Elladan would kill him if he didn't manage to bring the human home, disregarding the poor shape the ranger would probably be in.
"Roth, that leaves you." Legolas eyed the warrior carefully, already knowing what Roth's reaction would be. He knew that Rothinzil didn't like men and on top of asking him to fraternize with people that he hardly knew, Legolas was asking him to leave his side. There was simply no way plausible that this could go over well. Despite all of this, Legolas expected Rothinzil's reluctant compliance. Things had turned desperate a long time ago.
Roth knew what his prince expected and the reasons why, which was the only reason he obeyed. Had it been any one else with any other intentions, he would have flat-out refused and be unmoved by any attempts to persuade him otherwise. Legolas was different and their mutual respect for each other ran deep, as did his respect for Elrohir. "You both had better be careful," he cautioned as a manner of good-bye.
Suddenly, it had somehow occurred to the warrior that he may never see either of them again unless they were on a burial pyre. Guiding his horse between his two best friends, he leaned over and gave them each a hug in turn, starting with Legolas. Legolas held him for a minute before whispering softly in his ear. "You know that I will be returning, with Elrohir and Estel in tow."
"I know." As Roth broke the embrace, he felt Legolas' body trembling and took in how pale and drawn his face was. The prince had to be miserable. It looked almost as though he had been bled white. As a departing jest, the warrior teased. "If we are lucky they will think it is your ghost returned to haunt them."
Legolas forced a light chuckle that actually hurt his chest. He carefully masked his pain and tried to play along. "We can only hope."
Roth an Elrohir hugged without any words until after the embrace was broken. "Look after Legolas?" Roth asked quietly, but he was sure that Legolas had still heard him and he chanced a glance over his shoulder. Legolas was staring accusingly at him with narrowed eyes, and Roth shook his head before turning his attention back to Elrohir. "You know how he is. And don't hurt yourself either. I know how you are."
Elrohir shook his head. "I will do what I can."
Roth smirked over his shoulder at Legolas before turning back to Elrohir. "That is all that I ask."
Legolas and Elrohir then parted with Roth and the warrior spurred his horse into a speedy gallop towards where he had estimated King Thengel and his men would be. Elrohir and Legolas didn't watch him leave. Time was too precious and the seconds were ticking by.
Starting without delay, the two Elves descended into the valley of little hills with their horses at a cautious loop that would discourage an immediate rise to arms. An even pace that gave the opponents a brief warning made them seem less imposing and it was less likely that they would be drawn upon.
When they passed unhindered by the few Riders of King Thengel that had been stationed at intervals in surrounding ring, the men looked at the Elves as though they were a bit insane. Legolas had to agree with their misgivings, but he suspected that it was by more than just a bit.
At the pace the two were riding it did not take them long before they found themselves threatened by a host of spears held by the traitors on the outmost part of the defensive mass that they had created. Legolas and Elrohir advanced on them a few more yards, until the spears' tips were tickling against their horses' chests and necks. The animals nickered and snorted anxiously, but obeyed their Elven masters unquestioningly, with ultimate trust in them.
Elrohir looked somewhat reasonable and sociable, as though he was capable of holding a civil conversation. Legolas, however, was a different matter. His blue eyes were darkened and swirled angrily as he looked at each face in turn. The men could not withstand the gaze of either of the Elves, but especially Legolas. They had not thought him to be dead exactly…but they had not held much hope for his survival.
The prince ignored the gawking faces of the mortals and began to search fervently for Aragorn among their faces. His breathing was uneven as his heart hammered against his chest and sweat started to glitter on his face and chest. He was more afraid of what he could not see and the possibilities of what he could find, than anything else. Putting forth as much of his strength as he was capable of without destroying himself, Legolas tried to formulate a message to send to Aragorn's subconscious, but with no success. The channels were not able to get enough strength to be used and Legolas abandoned the attempt. They had used them too much as it was and it was bit frightening that they had relied on them so much.
Elrohir could tell that Legolas was in no position to speak. The Elf-prince obviously didn't trust his own voice or preferred that Elrohir lead the negotiations. Either way, Elrohir picked up on the cue. "We have come here for one Thorongil, which we know is under your captivity. He is to be released and no harm shall come to you, if you repent of your deeds and use your arms in the name of Rohan's king."
There was a long silence of uncertainty. The air seemed to tingle with two different wills set against one another.
It was more than Legolas could bear. His face twisted into a snarl and he hissed threateningly. "Where is he? My patience grows thin!"
The men exchanged fearful and uncertain glances among themselves and then all glared at the two Elves. "How do we know that you will keep your word?" One of the bolder ones addressed Elrohir, who had named the terms. He eyed the dark-haired Elf as though the twin ate human every night for dinner and quite possibly breakfast.
Legolas could tell that Elrohir was already exasperated. "We can give you no assurance other than our word, now if you aren't going to show us to him, step aside and let us pass."
When the men didn't step aside, Elrohir set his jaw. However, Legolas wasn't about to wait for them and he moved his horse forward, advancing into them. Three spears supported by others immediately tickled against his throat, stretched up by their bearers to try and deter the angered prince. "Don't move," snarled one human menacingly. Turning his glare from Legolas, the man spat at Elrohir. "Either of you."
Elrohir looked disapprovingly at Legolas, but the prince turned his face away to level the deterring humans with a scathing glower. He wasn't going to parley with these humans any longer since they obviously were in no more of a sociable mind than he was. Pressing forward some more, Legolas snapped his head around to darken his scowl at a single man. "I warned you, Elf. Don't move!"
Elrohir could have slapped his forehead with frustration. However, leaving his brother behind wasn't an option and so he followed Legolas' example. The men that had confronted him during his first attempt to come forward countered his new movement with their spears, forcing him to stop of skewer himself and his horse. Legolas was stopped with the same actions, and these negotiations –if they could be called negotiations -seemed to be getting them nowhere.
Elrohir had heard and seen enough. "Let us pass! We grow tired of asking you!" His voice bore the authority that had so often been heard in his father's, causing the men to flinch and recoil a few steps. A quiet murmur ran through their numbers as they began to second-guess their decision to inhibit the Elves from their aim. It was obvious that they both were hurt to some degree, one more than the other, but both still seemed perfectly capable of dealing out death in droves.
Simultaneously, the decision was made to give the Elves their space and let them find the ranger. It wouldn't be a bad idea to add the Elves to the list of hostages. After all, should Thorongil die, they needed some other bargaining chips, and as far as they were concerned, either of the Elves was expendable if Thengel was still indisposed to come and consort with them.
Legolas and Elrohir exchanged suspicious expressions before starting forward through the parting men. They had a feeling that the sudden compliance of the humans had been bought with a high cost, but they would deal with that when they finally found Aragorn. Not heeding the cruel and angry looks the men shot at them, the Elves shouldered their way through, weaving between men in their desperate search.
It didn't take them long to find the ranger and the condition he was in made Elrohir freeze in mid-step while fury bled into his paled features, giving them a touch of red. The man's back and arms were the first thing that he saw –and all the blood. The welts were extensive and the bruises were already livid and darkened to black in places. Their placement above some of his lower ribs made the twin's blood pressure raise another notch as a realized that at least one or two ribs were broken. Aragorn was doubled over and it took Elrohir a moment to remember to breathe and sidestep around the human to see his face.
Legolas was already crouched before the ranger, his trembling and bloodied hands bracketing the human's bruised face. The man's face was white and clammy. His eyes were closed tightly and his chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid heaves. Feeling someone touching his face, he tried to withdraw but was too weak. Legolas choked up, his throat constricting painfully. "Estel," he cast aside Aragorn's pseudo name. He didn't care about it anymore. "Please, friend, please answer me! I am begging you!" Legolas' entire body was shaking uncontrollably and he fell to his knees in front of his friend.
Aragorn didn't respond for a moment and Legolas and Elrohir both feared that he was too far gone. Suddenly he moaned softly and his eyes slowly cracked open. He blinked in surprise as he saw Legolas' concerned, pale face, staring at his own. The Elf's eyes were wide, but flooded with a strange relief. How did Legolas get here? "Leg'las?" he finally managed after a couple tries. His speech was slurred, but still intelligible to the Mirkwood-Prince. "W-W-W-W-W-Where are…w-w-w-w-we?" Were they dead? He had seen the Elf being dragged away and by all standards, Aragorn knew that he should be a dead man.
"Still in Rohan, mellon nîn," Legolas informed sadly before reluctantly giving Elrohir space to collapse on his knees before his brother. The dark-haired Elf's face was now stark white and his hands trembled as they reached to hold themselves over Aragorn's gaping wound.
Leoglas' voice sounded garbled and unreal as it resounded in the human's ears. It didn't sound like it should belong to the Elf at all and Aragorn closed his eyes again as another spasm of pain ran through his body. Shivering in agony, he bowed his head a little closer to the ground and it slipped from Legolas' fingers.
Elrohir placed his hands firmly on Aragorn's shoulders, steadying the ranger who gasped at the touch. Some of the twin's fingers had inadvertently brushed against some of his welts and bruises. Elrohir quickly adjusted his grip to a more bearable position.
Elrohir had been taught that hating people was wrong, and that it only bred evil inside of you. But he was sorely tempted to push aside his father's teachings. He didn't want to hate, but feeling Aragorn's life slipping between his fingers like smoke and seeing the human's arms bound tightly behind his back with unreasonably as well as unnecessary cords burned hotly in his heart and soul. "Oh gwador nîn, I am so sorry," he murmured around his tightened throat. His mouth had gone dry and he bowed his head, resting it gently against the crown of Aragorn's. He had only just gotten Aragorn back and he didn't want to have to say farewell so soon. He wouldn't say farewell so soon.
Pulling a knife from his belt, Elrohir was not repressed by the surrounding men as he sliced through Estel's bonds with a soft snick, allowing the human's arms to slide to his sides. Legolas kept a vigil, ready to fight any interference to lessen Aragorn's agonies. He was too unsteady to help calm the ranger, but he could certainly keep others from impeding on Elrohir's efforts to save the man's life. His blue eyes were swirling dark with passionate anger.
Aragorn's hands went instinctively to his wound and clasped immovably over it, blocking Elrohir's view of the laceration. It had stopped bleeding but it was evident that the ranger was fighting the shock that had already starting shutting down his system. He needed warmth and ten blankets at least. He needed a throng of highly trained healers. He needed his Ada.
Elrohir helped the man spread out on his back, smoothing his hair away from his face. Aragorn made no sound until Elrohir tried to move his hands from his wound. A low moan forced itself past the man's pale lips and Elrohir flinched in quiet sympathy, almost recoiling to give the man his space. Legolas had scooted closer to his friends and he stared at Aragorn's face.
Elrohir looked at Legolas firmly, but pleadingly. "I need you to hold his hands. Gently, but hold them please. I can't have him interfering. I have to see what damage has been done. The fact that he isn't dead yet makes it a bit more hopeful but…" He trailed off, knowing that he didn't need to say anything else. Legolas obliged quickly, grasping Aragorn's blood-slicked hands in his own. Rubbing his thumbs on the back of the human's shaking hands, Legolas tried to soothe him and relax his muscles so that Elrohir would have an easier job inspecting the wound.
A few times to gentle probing from Elrohir caused the young human to hiss, flinch and try to jerk his hands free of Legolas'. Legolas grimaced, almost feeling Aragorn's pain channel through the man's hands and into his own. He hated restraining the man like this and he hated being so helpless in this situation. Despite the fact that they were able to attempt to treat Estel, they were still held captive, even if the surrounding men were not going to any great extent to remind them of it just yet.
Elrohir looked to Legolas and informed bitterly. "It is the shock that will kill him Legolas, and perhaps the blood loss." Shaking his head sadly, despair tugging at his heart, Elrohir felt sick as he saw his hands were slicked and stained ruby-red with Aragorn's blood. "Legolas, I need my supply bag, could you…?"
"Of course," the Wood-Elf reluctantly released Aragorn's hands, which instinctively moved towards his wound. The prince struggled to his feet, battling fatigue and light-headedness, and made a move to go towards the horses. He was forced to pause a couple of seconds until the horses and traitors' all stopped whirling around and merging in a swirl of rapid colour. Once everything looked and felt relatively stable and he thought he could trust his balance, Legolas started forward. A spear smacking across his already sore chest caused him to stiffen and stop. Two more spears criss-crossed in his path and Legolas' eyes smouldered with frustration. He may be feeling ill, but these men were making his demeanour and general temper worsen.
"Stand aside," he growled threateningly. His voice was hoarse from his torments and the men were disinclined to act in accordance with the Elf's demand. Legolas glared. "We are in no position to be fleeing anywhere! Do you honestly think I will leave my friends behind after risking my neck to be with them? I severely underestimated your intelligence, I suppose."
The scowls that pulled the long faces of the men to an even longer state made Legolas sigh inside. The Elf clenched his hands, feeling Aragorn's blood drying on them. His already depleting supply of patience was rapidly draining when one of the men asked, "What is it you want, Elf?"
"We need the medicine bag that is with our horses! Move aside so that I can fetch it! Don't force me to exert myself. I am already weary." Legolas' warning was completely serious and he started forward, expecting them to clear a path for him. There was no reason for them to hinder him, but that didn't appear to matter. The men held their ground, shoving Legolas' back with their crossed spears. Legolas had to extend a great effort not to stumble backwards in his leaden weariness. When he had steadied himself, he promised. "I am not leaving until those supplies are in my possession."
The men seemed to exchange irritated expressions before the one closest to Legolas sighed in frustration. Damned Elves, they didn't seem to understand when it would be to everyone's mutual benefit to stop. "We don't require you alive, Elf!" He suggested, removing his spear from the makeshift barrier and jabbing the point beneath the Elf's chin, tracing the prince's jugular.
Legolas raised a sculpted brow, unimpressed. Coolly, he responded. "No, you don't need me alive, but it would better for you if you refrained from slaying me. Thengel's men could come in and wipe you all off the face of the earth and will if all three of us are not surrendered to our friend, who is waiting for us. If we are not returned to him, he is under orders to advocate your demise."
The men were not as unimpressed by Legolas' threats as Legolas had been by theirs. Fear and uncertainty lingered in their eyes and was so strong that the sensitive Elf could almost taste it, like an astringent tang in his mouth. "Elf, what makes you think that we care?"
"Besides the fact that you smell of fear and that you thought you had to secure three hostages to come out of this alive? Oh, I don't know." Legolas was mockingly nonchalant and smirked knowingly.
"Very well, Elf." The men allowed stiffly, not liking how this Elf had a knack for piercing through their facades and exposing every emotion. Grudgingly removing the spear barrier, they reluctantly allowed Legolas to pass. However, they didn't restrain themselves against trying to trip up the Elf's feet that were nearly weaving with weariness. Legolas narrowly missed an embarrassing stumble. Looking accusingly over his shoulder, Legolas snapped. "Do not try that again!" While his head was over his shoulder, the prince checked on Elrohir and Aragorn. Things didn't look much worse than before, but time was still precious.
Legolas continued unhindered to the saddle bags of Elrohir's horse. Fumbling with the straps in his haste, the Elf's nimble fingers seemed to be sluggish as he worked the clasps. Finally he managed to free it and promptly relayed it to its owner.
Elrohir fairly snatched it from his friend's hands, not meaning to be abrupt but understandably desperate. He didn't even bother to rummage through it, but poured the contents out onto the ground, rapidly sorting through it with his hands, tossing aside what could not be used in these circumstances. There were so many kinds of herbs and his vision was becoming blurred in panic.
Finally, he found the components that he sought. Legolas looked at him quizzically as he sectioned off the selected herbs from the others. Elrohir spoke as he started created the desired mixture. "He is still bleeding too much and his body is too tense. If he doesn't relax it will be that much harder to treat the shock. He is battling it now. Keep him warm Legolas. Talk to him, keep him awake. I need to blend together a sedative."
"But what if he doesn't wake up?" the prince asked apprehensively.
Elrohir sighed and fixed the Mirkwood prince with a firm but exhausted glower. "Legolas, mellon nîn, he is your friend, but I am his brother. I am looking out for his safety as much as you if not more."
Legolas just nodded, not meaning to insult Elrohir in anyway, but his hurting heart had learned to lean only on what he knew. Elrohir knew this and brushed off Legolas' anxious remark without any second thoughts. He was grateful for Legolas' companionship as well as his devoted friendship with Aragorn when all the ranger needed was a friend. There was no way he could pay Legolas back for looking after Aragorn since they both had left and he was sure that the prince's protective nature had only managed to increase over the years.
Besides, Elrohir didn't plan to put Aragorn to sleep. He needed to be conscious. He just desired to soothe the human's pain and ease up the tension in his body so that his adrenaline would slow in its production.
Looking up momentarily from his work, he smiled inwardly as he saw Legolas gather the human up carefully in his arms. Holding him close, Legolas allowed the human's ear to settle against his chest as he let the ranger listen to his heartbeat. The speed of the Elf's heartbeat had evened out as much as was to be expected in these circumstances and even in his weakness had become stronger. "Do you remember how you climbed a tree and nearly broke your neck in Mirkwood during our first camping trip? All you wanted to see was the sunrise, because you said it wasn't dawn until the rays had splashed across your face. I forbade you to climb the tree but you didn't listen to me or your brothers…and have developed quite a habit of that ever since, actually."
Aragorn opened his eyes cautiously, staring up at Legolas' face. Legolas smiled down. "Tell me…" his voice was weak and his speech was still slurred in places. "How was it…that I nearly broke my neck…w-w-w-when you w-w-were the one w-w-w-who f-f-fell out of the t-tree?"
Legolas' weak smile faded a little. "You obviously need the story retold to you…I didn't fall, I jumped and you caused me to twist wrong…"
Actually, Aragorn remembered the story quite vividly, or would have if it wasn't for his failing senses, but it helped make him forget about his pain to hear Legolas' story as well as the prince's voice, even if it was scratchy. Settling more into the Elf's arms, he allowed the prince to depict the entire story as he saw it, leaving out the more humiliating parts, of course.
TBC...
Well, I can only take literally five minutes to post this as I seemed to have contracted very detestible case of the flu coupled with a sinus infection. Even the "medication" causesaviolently sickstomach and such. As a result, I have not been able to contact Tinlaure and so the review reponses for chapter eight will have to be put on hold until I either: A. contact her and she can find time to do them, or B. I get better soon. I am terribly sorry, but that's the way the dice rolled.
However, we btoh still would love to hear from you and so if you find time, please drop a review! ;) They are very encouraging and each one makes us smile!
