Scars Chapter 10- Try and Stand the Tide

Disclaimer: This story is being written for enjoyment only. I do not own any of Tolkien's characters.

Author's Notes: Thank you all for your kind words regarding chapter 9. :) I apologize for taking so long in getting back to you with chapter 10. It was a combination of being away, where I wanted to go with this chapter (And, Yes! It's another short one!), and finally computer troubles. But here it is. Read slowly, then perhaps it will seem longer. Lol! I hope you enjoy it. :)

Use all wisdom to teach and strengthen each other. (Colossians4: 16b)

--Hopelessness once again attempted to swallow him up, but he jerked himself free from its relentless claim. He had not just made a promise to Elladan to now give up upon it so easily. And his vow was not only to his eldest brother, but to Elrohir and his father as well . . . both of his fathers. To the one, whom he knew and loved and was loved by in return. And also to the one, who had given him life and had loved him though he had no memory of him. The one, who had forfeited his life to protect his own, and those of his people. He would not roll over now and die . . . Not without a fight.--

Moving a shaking hand, Aragorn felt along the ground beside him for some assistance. Cursing lightly he admonished himself. "Why did you not think to do this beforehand?" But any subsequent thought had fled him during those dark moments of crisis. Attempting to swallow against the tightening dryness now consuming his throat, the boy sought to steel himself for whatever maneuver he must now undertake. Weakly, he turned his head from side to side, while his over taxed brain tried to pinpoint all that he needed. The shadowy landscape once more worked against him drawing back the fears he thought placated, but Elladan's words returned to calm and help him push aside these new anxieties. Finally, fevered grey eyes were able to located two fallen limbs a short distance away, fairly equal in size and within close enough proximity to each other that would aid him in his endeavor. Now his only problem was dragging his ailing body toward them, as the boy wretchedly acknowledged that any movement exerted on his part would be companioned by pain.

"But I shall not lie down here and accept defeat . . . " He muttered tightly in a painstaking effort to rally the spirit within him.

Once more he steeled himself against the agony ahead before stretching his good arm forward. Using nature's bounty, he grabbed hold of some underbrush carpeting the forest's floor around him and began pulling himself toward his goal. His progress was both slow and exacting as the offering he accepted in good faith also acted against him as it clawed and snatched at his flesh and garments adding additional torment to the already excruciating pain he was experiencing. Little by little, he struggled to gain distance over an expanse that at one time would seem trivial. Tree roots, shrubs, littered branches and scattered foliage now threatened to become insurmountable obstacles to his failing body. He could not suppress the groans of anguish brought on by his pursuit while his battered form raked across the rugged landscape. By the time he reached his first objective, he could hardly catch his breath. The short, harsh gasps he was forced to take acted toward depleting his remaining strength, but gritting his teeth harder, he did not relinquish his quest until he held the second branch within his hand as well. Then collapsing toward the dampened earth beneath him, he lay heaving for breath as he struggled once again to regain some composure. Each new battle wearing down the resolve he so desperately sought to maintain a little more.

Finally finding some small reserve of strength still left within him, he attempted to push himself upward. Instead he doubled over as pain knifed through his injured side stealing away both his breath and his hard fought for self-assurance. Instinctively, his hand drew toward the wound clutching it until the pain was once again bearable. Shakily then, he shifted himself toward a nearby tree coveting its solidness. Resting his back against its roughened bark, he tried to calm his ragged breathing. A cold sweat now broke out upon his flesh causing him to shiver in reaction to it as it clashed with the effects of the heightening fever that flared within him. Both his hair and clothing now clung uncomfortably to him as a result adding to the misery he felt and causing despair to gain the upper hand.

"Why? Why? Why is this happening to me?" He lamented, while closing his eyes against this new wave of pain and hopelessness. "How can someone continue to fight when the odds are stacked so high against them?" He continued to question as tears of hurt and frustration, which could no longer be held at bay, slid beneath his closed lashes to wet his ashen face.

He was caught off guard by the steadfast voice, which provided answer to his distress.

"Ours is not to always know why, my son. But to deal with to the best of our ability what has been placed before us."

"Father!" Aragorn breathed in grateful release though his body still shuddered from the pain it suffered. His prior exertions weakening him so that he had not even the strength to open his eyes to the welcoming sight he believed in front of him.

"Estel," The Lord of Rivendell began tenderly. "There is always a path before us, though it might not be open and inviting. Sometimes its course proves narrow and frightening, filled with unknown obstacles that we fear might overwhelm us. But we do not often realize the strength we carry within ourselves until we are confronted by such times as these. Your pathway now, Estel, is one such journey. Do not allow the fear of its strife or uncertainty disable you. For you claim possession to gifts that these enemies to the spirit can never strip away from you. The gift of love, which you hold within your heart and also that of knowledge. All that you've learned thus far and that, which you have left to discover, will bolster you. Do not close your eyes to this fact, but use it to your advantage. For strength comes not from size alone, Estel, but from the keenness of our minds and the capacity of our hearts."

"But I hurt so, Father . . . " Aragorn answered weakly as he tried to open pain-filled eyes.

"Yes, I know, my son," Elrond responded regretfully, the deepness of his sorrow reflected in his words.

"Father . . . " Aragorn began again as his glassy eyes finally reopened to the darkened world surrounding him and tried to refocus. "Father?" He interjected again, this time in alarm as he scanned the periphery and his search came up empty. The Elf lord was not there. He was alone and this revelation caused Aragorn's heart to pound even harder within his chest as it labored in accord with the increasing effects of the shock that his body was slowly succumbing to.

"Father?" He beckoned yet a third time before crying out bewilderedly. "What . . . What is happening to me?"

As his body began to give way, so the lines between reality and illusion were increasingly becoming blurred to him as well. 'Was he losing his mind along with the growing amount of blood that was seeping from his body? Was this what happened to one when death approached seeking to make its final claim? Had his own father experienced this same frightening disorientation when he lay dying alone in the Wilderness?'

"For I am all alone too . . . " Aragorn rasped. "Father . . . Elladan . . . Elrohir . . . even Legolas . . . They've been nothing but apparitions... They are not here with me . . . not even their voices really . . . It's just my mind playing tricks on me . . . offering me hope when there is none to be had . . . I am all alone . . . "

"No! NO! You are not!" Came an emphatic reply. His father's words resounding within the aching depths of his overworked brain as Elrond's assurance rang out clear and strong.

"Do not allow yourself to accept such resignation, Estel! Hope still lives within you! Do not forsake it even if the shadows press down upon you! For you are never alone! Never! Even in the furthest reaches of These Lands, we are with you. For nothing can separate you from the love we hold for each other. Do not lose heart, my son. For no matter what lays ahead of you, this truth can never be taken from you. Never! Remember this! Remember this . . . "

Aragorn remained still for long seconds following as the wind blowing around him and through the branches swaying above him seemed to echo his father's closing sentiments until they could no longer be denied.

"Remember this. Remember this. Remember this . . . "

"I will try . . . " The boy stammered shakily, though the strength in his conviction was ebbing alarmingly along with that of his body's.

Moving a trembling hand back toward the earth beneath him, he once again resumed the task he had started before pushing himself to grasp the two branches he had earlier obtained. He would need their support he reasoned uneasily if he was to embark upon this journey his father spoke of. Struggling hard, he fit the boughs along either side of his injured leg. Next, he tugged at the cloak he still wore about his shoulders. Using his teeth, he attempted to hold it in place as his good hand groped toward his waist seeking the hunting knife he still carried. Though his claim upon the weapon was now shaky, he managed to withdraw it and use its blade to cut through the material of his cloak. Observing his efforts, he was thankful for a moment that Elladan and Elrohir were not here to witness his pitiful results as unevenly hacked strips dropped into his lap. Even in his misery, he was unable to hold back a snort of laughter as he imagined their appall.

"Nay, brothers. Though ghastly in size and proportion, most will serve my purpose." He commented toward the now slashed fabric before finishing with. "Though a few are almost large enough to treat an oliphaunt should he be in need of them."

It felt good to the boy to laugh again if only for a moment. His brief and precious diversion soon halted, however, as unwelcome pain accompanied his prior mirthful response and he grasped his ailing side in reacion to it. As he drew his hand away when his current discomfort finally subsided, it was covered in blood. The wound was bleeding freely again he grimly acknowledged. Trembling with returned uncertainty, he knew not which injury he should address first. 'Finish the splint he had started or staunch this renewed flow of blood?' An eery buzzing, which started to sound within his head, was warning enough relaying to him that there would be no need for the splint should enough of this life sustaining fluid leak out from him. So with a wavering hand, he felt about his lap for one of the strips he had previously cut. His efforts proved worthless as the trembling, which affected his appendage, knocked the contents he sought toward the ground beside him.

He was not to be deterred, however, and trying once more, his quavering hand moved down toward the terrain beneath to him to feel around for his elusive quarry. What he discovered was something completely different instead. Something, which took root within the soil and traveled up the bark of the tree he sat against. Something soft and damp.

'Moss . . . ' He reasoned as his fingernails scraped against the soil enabling him to dig up a small amount to examine. 'Why had he not thought of this before? Surely most of this woodland about him would be moss grown.' Bringing the pale green sample even closer for further inspection his brow wrinkled with confusion because this particular species he now held did not fit with the landscape surrounding him. This variety was more prevalent among marshlands seldom growing within the forest.

His father's words sounded within his head as he allowed his good hand to drop yet again to the ground beside him and encounter the velvety growth once more appreciating the cool dampness it offered to his fevered flesh.

"Bryophyta . . . " Elrond counseled. "This species being Sphagnum found primarily among the wetlands . . . "

"Which could mean that I'm not far away from the Bruinen . . . "Aragorn whispered weakly as hope once again stirred within his breast. For the plant he held within his trembling hand might be his first good sign. 'Not only that,' he acknowledged as his weary mind struggled to recollect all of the useful information his Father had imparted to him regarding the benefits of this specific species, 'But one use in particular might provide aid to him in his grim circumstance.'

Gouging his fingers into the soil one more, he unearthed a larger clump of the greenery before bringing it upward toward his lips. Squeezing the vegetation, the coolness of the moisture it held seeped into his opened mouth providing a small amount of relief to his parched throat. There was not enough of the welcome growth to slake his thirst, but there was enough of it, if squeezed dry, to create a makeshift dressing for his wounded side.

Little by little his fingers continued to claw at the ground as he gathered up what the terrain offered to him before next partaking in its earthy wetness. Finally when Aragorn had extracted all that was left about him and had wrung it dry to the best of his ability, he lifted up his tunic. The boy shivered as the coolness of the night air hit his fevered flesh. His glassy eyes studied briefly the angry laceration just below his ribs. The skin surrounding it appeared both red and puckered. He did not relish the task ahead of him, but he acknowledged that there was no other course. He knew the moss he was about to employ as a dressing should be thoroughly dried before its use, but he had not the luxury of time for his wound still bled and he was fairly sure that his pursuers still followed him as well.

Bracing himself, Aragorn pressed the first bit of the plant to his side. The pain of its contact proved severe, and an inarticulate cry escaped him followed by tears he could not hold back. His body trembled as he thought about inflicting similar torment to himself. He forced himself, however, to continue onward with his efforts until the last of the medicinal plant was used up. Then reaching toward one of the longer lengths of cloth he had cut previously, he wrapped it around his middle and tied the dressing in place with much difficulty before collapsing back toward the tree behind him. All of his energies now spent.

Aragorn startled awake sometime later to the sound of birds hearkening in the distance the impending approach of dawn. "The sun's rise is almost here . . . " He croaked, his throat and mouth uncomfortably dry once again. "The birds sing of its advent. If I can just hold out through these last waning hours of nighttime, I should be able to reach the river by daybreak and then onto Rivendell . . . " He reasoned numbly. And attempting to gather some renewed strength, his fevered eyes scrutinized what was left to be done before he could set out upon his trek. His journey homeward to those, who waited for his return.

Author's closing notes: Well if you've reached this point then thank you for reading chapter 10. All of your kind words are greatly appreciated and you have my heartfelt thanks. Your messages bring smiles to me as I read them and make writing this story all the more worthwhile. Thank you!

Well, I aimed for a longer chapter, but this was what I ended up with. Trust me, you would have hated me if I had ended where I had planned to anyway. :) Once again, there was not too much action, but my goal here was to show Aragorn's attempts at survival and how despair can be one of the worst enemies you can confront in his situation. One's attitude is one of the most important factors between whether a person stays alive or succumbs.

To provide answers to a few questions posed last time, yes, I too have been a little bothered (worried) by the fact that Elrohir has not noticed Legolas' deteriorating condition. But then again, he is emotionally absorbed in the tale he is telling to the Silvan Elf. Sometimes during times of crisis, we lose sight of the needs of others because we are so overwhelmed by our own set of circumstances. Though the unraveling of Elrohir's story concerning Aragorn has been long in coming from a writing standpoint, actually not much time has elapsed in respect to the current day story involving the rest of the group. The effects of shock can come upon a person ( or in this story an Elf) fairly quickly. So I don't believe Elrohir has been negligent in not noticing that something is wrong with Legolas. :)

I'm glad I finally got a chance to add a bit of the herb lore I've researched for this story. I like the idea of Elrond and his brothers imparting their knowledge of the land and its flora to Aragorn while he was growing up. I wanted to use other elements of it rather than just athelas, because I envision the Ranger/future King as being knowledgeable about all herbs and plants in his surroundings though Sphagnum moss is usually only found around wetlands, bogs, and moors.

Well until next time. (Which I promise will be shorter than three weeks if my computer cooperates) Sue-a.k.a. Quickbeam1. :)