Scars-Chapter 12- Requiem
Disclaimer: This story is being written for enjoyment only. I do not own any of Tolkien's characters.
Author's note: Thank you all for your kind words regarding chapter 11! I'm sorry it took so long to get chapter 12 posted. I had an important meeting I needed to prepare for. I will be leaving to go out of town again after this chapter, but I hope I can post the next chapter before three weeks (my usual time frame lately). :) Well, we are back in the present- LOTR's time- for chapter 12. I will eventually get back to what happened in Aragorn's past, but that won't come until at least chapter 13 or possibly 14. I hope you enjoy what follows. :)
"Please, no! Do not let it be so!" Legolas gasped yet again before collapsing into a motionless heap beside his friend.
"Legolas? ..."
With a great deal difficulty, a stunned Elrohir struggled to gain his feet. Legolas lay beside him now as still as death. Elrohir had been so caught up in the tale he had been telling that he failed to notice until moments before the Silvan Elf's collapse, the distress his friend must have been experiencing. In those final seconds, Legolas' countenance suddenly drained of all color, while his body seemed consumed with uncontrollable trembling. But what had alarmed Elrohir the most, was Legolas' obvious struggle to draw breath. And now he lay in a lifeless heap about his feet.
"Legolas?" Elrohir gasped once again as he finally managed to approach his fallen friend. "What is it, mellon-nin? What ails you?" The raven-haired Elf petitioned desperately as he sought to turn Legolas over onto his back. The impediment of his bound hands, however, hindered his further progress, but pushing aside the acute pain that accompanied his motions, he was able to complete the task with his next try. What his renewed actions revealed proved even more disconcerting.
Legolas' lips had taken on a bluish hue, while the remaining flesh covering his face and body appeared dangerously pale and covered with sweat. One of Elrohir's bandaged hands flew to his friend's chest as he tried to ascertain whether the stricken Elf still drew breath. Once again, his injuries sought to hamper him, as he was unable through his bindings to detect even the slightest rise and fall of his companion's chest. "Legolas, please!" He countered, unable to contain his alarm. "How has this happened, mellon-nin?" Elrohir cried out yet again, while desperately lowering his face toward that of his lifeless friend's. His hurried actions were rewarded when the barest trace of exhalation left Legolas's blue lips to brush lightly against his own cheek. The raven-haired Elf's emotive, grey eyes next turned from his friend's face toward his seemingly lifeless body to scrutinize further whether this was to be followed by the necessary intake of breath. Legolas' ailing body complied though weakly as the rudimentary rhythm set forth by the Valar from their primeval days maintained its mandatory cadence within the Silvan Elf's chest.
Elrohir breathed a monetary sigh of relief as his focus once again turned back toward his friend's ashen complexion. In the chaos preceding, a length of his own dark hair had fallen forward against his strained features working to block his line of vision. With a bound hand, he tried to force it back into place, though his efforts proved useless. Sitting back upon his haunches, he attempted yet again only to fail once more. "These blasted hands!" he cursed. "What good are they to me? They can offer no comfort . . . no aid! I must seek help!"
Elrohir, however, hesitated before leaving his afflicted friend alone. The Rivendell Elf's troubled mind was now plagued with fear. For what if while he was gone in search of succor, Legolas' weakening body should suddenly seek to deny itself the harmony necessary toward sustaining his life? And turning to Legolas once more, Elrohir pleaded with his unconscious friend. "I go to seek help, Legolas. Please do not let go, mellon-nin. I shan't be long. Please, Legolas . . . Please hold on!"
With equal difficulty, Elrohir managed once more to regain his footing. His first few steps proved awkward, while his overworked mind remained beset with troubled thoughts. His head turned from side to side, while he tried to ascertain in which direction he should start off upon to bring back the speediest relief to his ailing friend. Finally a haunting melody weaving its way across the darkened landscape determined his fate. "The Rangers! Aragorn!" Elrohir clamored as he immediately set off at a quickened pace toward the glen where the Dunedain now carried out their burial mass, though his weakened body protested the exertions he was now placing upon it.
As he frantically approached their mournful gathering, the burial mound they had been constructing, illuminated by surrounding torches, came into view. An unsteady breath caught in Elrohir's throat at the sight of this funereal reminder and its possible correlation to all that he had presently left behind him. The dirge the Rangers now sang in tribute to all the departed souls, consumed by the fire's violence, echoed loudly within his ears. Its sorrowful strain doing little to ease the havoc of the coursing tide of emotions racing through his body, nor the swirling tide of thoughts consuming his head. Bursting into the grim gathering, he needed a moment to gather his breath, while his frantic, grey eyes searched through the assemblage for the one familiar face he sought out.
"Estel!" He choked out, forgetting any attempt at protocol. "Estel!" He heaved yet again, while collapsing into himself, while bracing his bandage hands against his thighs as he struggled once more for breath.
Aragorn pushed through the group surrounding him and was immediately at his Elven brother's side to lend his support. His arms went around Elrohir to steady him. Concerned grey eyes, met with those of the distraught Elf's, while the Rangers surrounding them echoed their surprise at this unusual disturbance and the unfamiliar words being exchanged back and forth between both Man and Elf.
In his distress, Elrohir had switched to high tongue as he relayed to Aragorn the urgency of the situation he had left behind him. Aragorn's grim face betrayed little emotion as Elrohir continued to unburden his fears, but as the younger twin's brief account drew to a hasty close, the Human's eyes mirrored the growing alarm so prevalent within his brother's own. And without further delay or any words of explanation, Aragorn broke rank leaving both Rangers and Elf behind him as he sprinted off toward the growing stance of trees where he had first left his three companions.
Halfdan immediately moved forward to take Aragorn's previous spot as he noted the remaining Elf's enduring distress. Slipping his arm about the immortal being's waist, he prevented the Rivendell Elf beside him from slumping toward the ground. Though safe at present within the Dunadan's grasp, Elrohir turned his distraught features toward the Ranger, who aided him, as his urgent flow of words proceeded onward.
Halfdan's confusion was apparent as the Elf's unidentifiable speech continued. Holding up a hand to stave off any further progress on Elrohir's part, the Ranger spoke out. "I do not understand what you are trying to tell me . . . The language you use is unfamiliar to me . . . "
Immediately acknowledging the Ranger's bewilderment, Elrohir reverted back to common tongue as he communicated once again his present desire. "Please . . . " He wheezed. "Please help me back toward my friend!"
Halfdan only nodded his agreement as he assisted Elrohir back toward the direction from whence he came. Though the Elf's body was plagued by injury, it did little toward hampering the speed at which the immortal advanced as he returned to his encampment causing Halfdan to briefly wonder if it were indeed himself or the Elf, who was presently in need of assistance. As they drew closer to the campsite's burning fire, the Ranger noted Aragorn's shadowed presence hovering over the still body of the fair-haired Elf. The pressing and unintelligible words his Chieftain uttered toward the unmoving being remained unanswered as Strider began to work feverishly over his lifeless form.
Even to the unskilled eye of the approaching Dunadan, the situation facing his commander was a grave one. He watched as Strider's one hand first moved shakily along the crook of the Elf's neck as if in search of some continued assurance that the First Born's life force still beat within him, while his other hand moved toward the Elf's diaphragm seeking similar confirmation. Halfdan was unsure if his leader received the affirmation he so desperately desired as his bleak, grey eyes briefly glanced upward to acknowledge their impending arrival before returning his uncertain gaze back toward his friend. Taking but a moment, the Man reached down toward his waist to extract the hunting knife he carried with him. With an unspoken urgency, he rolled the Elf beside him onto his side, while using the blade he held with unparalleled precision to slice through the dressing upon the being's back, never once making contact with the injured flesh beneath it. Both the sight and smell from the now uncovered wound took the Ranger aback.
"How . . . how is this possible?" Aragorn muttered in disbelief. "Only mere hours have passed since I last checked up upon him. How could his condition have deteriorated so rapidly in such a short span of time?"
Turning his puzzled eyes toward Elrohir, Aragorn finally asked, "How could this have happened? Why did you not come for me sooner? I left word with you to have Elladan alert me if there were any changes in either of your conditions."
Ignoring his brother's inquiries, Elrohir answered the human with a compelling query of his own. "Will he survive?"
Aragorn swallowed hard in an attempt to compose himself before replying, but still he could not keep the grievous emotion he felt from roughening his response. "I'm not sure . . . His condition is very grave . . . "
"But surely, Estel, there must be something that can be done for him? ... We cannot let him die . . . " Elrohir responded before Aragorn's choked voice cut him off with a stinging rebuke.
"Where has Elladan been throughout all this? ... And why . . . why did he not come and get me before Legolas' condition became so dire?"
Elladan remained perched upon the trunk of a fallen oak some distance away. His mind and body oblivious to the growing darkness that now claimed the landscape surrounding him. Many hours had passed since he initially left camp, but the passage of time had been lost to his tormented soul. During these increasing hours of retreat, the elder son of Elrond remained plagued by dark and disturbing thoughts from his past. He dwelled upon deep misgivings he believed long since settled within himself until the very events of this day sought to draw them forth once again. Over and over, his troubled mind played back the moments leading up to Aragorn's grisly discovery along the banks of the nearby stream, and hence to the Human's own similar past adversity. Tears of anguish, he thought spent long ago, clouded the depths of his dark eyes, as he searched once more for some resolution toward what he could have done to prevent such a loathsome tragedy from ever occurring. His mind's eye, however, continually returned to that one fateful moment in time. The moment he had denied Aragorn. Though his father had claimed differently and Estel as well when they had finally made their peace, in his heart of hearts he knew he could never find it within himself to forgive this most obvious failing. It had never ceased to haunt him as Aragorn's long ago words sounded once again within his head.
"I shall go too!"
"No!"
One curt word of refusal was all that he had given the boy. 'Why did I not listen to his arguments? Did he not at least deserve the chance to defend his thoughts?' But no, he had dismissed Aragorn with one short rebuff, though he might have stated some reasoning behind his decision at the time. Any remembrance of what such words on his part may have been had long since dissipated from his memory after his discovery of its following consequences. 'Why, Estel? Why did I not even give you the chance to speak your stead instead of dismissing you like some errant pet? If only I had listened . . . "
"If only I had... This world is filled with 'if only I had', Elladan. They are not yours alone to lament." His father's words returned to remind him. "We can not change what has come to pass. We can only learn to live with what has taken place. Do not allow your life to become consumed with pointless regret, my son. For it will only hold you back from living and experiencing all that there is left of this life. There was no way you could have foreseen what consequences Estel's past held in store for him, nor can you remain guardian over what his future has left to bring him . . . None of this is your fault! Do not continue to blame yourself for events you hold no control over . . . for to do so would be fruitless. Instead, seek out your brother. Listen to his words, for he loves you deeply . . . "
He had never doubted the love Aragorn held for him or any of his family members, though for a long time following the boy's tragic misfortune, Elladan had felt unworthy of such love.
"I cannot help but feel responsible toward him . . . " Elladan spoke out into the surrounding darkness as his mind recalled the very first moments he spent with his Human brother.
Hours before, he and Elrohir had come upon Arathorn. His friend was already dead, the victim of an Orc arrow through his eye. Grieving, he had taken the Dunadan's lifeless hand within his own, while pledging to protect the Chieftain's wife and son. It had been many hours following before he and Elrohir were able to fulfill this promise. Night had fallen upon the decimated landscape. Vanquishing Orcs still prowled and looted the surrounding areas leaving chaos in their wake. The foreboding darkness seemed to swallow up any last flicker of hope that remained. But at last, he and his brother had come upon the distraught Gilraen hiding out in the Wilds. Her small son, she held to her breast, clung to folds of her disheveled gown as if he would never let go. The frightened child was obviously overwhelmed by the upheaval that now surrounded them.
At that moment, his heart went out to the widow and son of his deceased friend. Though pained to separate both mother and child during such a troubling time, it was inadvisable for either twin to bear the sole burden of carrying them both upon one steed. The likelihood of doing such would greatly inhibit their chance toward a successful escape. Whereas the odds of misfortune striking upon them if both mother and son were to ride together would be greatly increased. Quickly explaining the difficulty of the situation to Arathorn's mourning widow, Gilraen's concerns were for her son alone. Tearing the clinging child away from herself, she swiftly transferred him into Elladan's awaiting arms. If there had been time to argue the point, Elladan would have ceded the now struggling child into his brother's more capable care. It was not because he scorned young ones, whether elf kind or mortal. It was just that Elrohir claimed an advantage over himself when dealing with tikes. They tended to gravitate toward him over Elladan. Now he held the shrieking child within his embrace. If their movements through the surrounding hinterland did not alert the lurking Enemy to their location, then the child's piercing cries surely would.
"Quiet, young one!" He admonished quickly, while looking hopefully toward Elrohir for aid in his dilemma. His younger brother, however, was already seated once again upon his horse, and had extended a hand toward Gilraen helping her up upon his mount. There was no time for brooking a discussion. Time was of the essence. They needed to fly. Drawing the squirming child closer toward his breast, Elladan did his best to stifle the child's continued wails against his garments. Mounting up was another difficult task, but his hectic actions proved rewarding. For they distracted the upset child's immediate attentions away from his current dismay, hence quieting the boy further. But when his steed readied to take off, the child's grip upon Elladan's tunic tightened fiercely. Noting the child's distress, Elladan crooned softly as he felt Elrohir might have done if given his current situation and stated. "It's okay, little one . . . It's okay . . . I will keep you safe." Large tear brightened eyes looked up at him through the darkness, unsure if he could believe this odd being's words to him. But as they crossed over the many leagues separating them from Rivendell, the boy's firm hold upon his garments grew lax, while his lingering sobs quieted until they were only an occasional hiccup sounding over the muffled hoof beats upon the hardened turf beneath them. Finally breaking his concentrated gaze, Elladan's eyes ventured down toward the charge he held securely within his arms. Expecting to find him asleep, he was taken aback when the same dark eyes that stared back into his earlier were no longer plagued by doubt or fear but revealed the initial development of trust. "We have a long journey ahead of us yet," He spoke out reassuringly. "Sleep, little one, sleep . . . For I shall never let harm come to you . . . "
"I was unable to keep that promise . . . " Elladan's pain ridden voice lamented as he spoke out again into the stillness which now surrounded him.
Author's closing notes: Hmmm . . . wonders If a cliffhanger falls in the middle of a chapter does it really make an impact? (Compares this with the analogy of a tree falling in the middle of the forest, if no one is there to see it happen, does it really make a sound?... :) Well if you've reached this point, then thank you for reading chapter 12. I hope you enjoyed it.
Perhaps it was wicked of me to entitle this chapter, Requiem. No, the requiem was not for Legolas. Well at least not yet. It was for the villagers, who died in the fire. Remember from chapter 3? I know that was ages ago. :) I used it too, to represent Elladan's mourning over past events.
My heartfelt thanks go out to all of you, who are reading and/or reviewing this story. Your gracious words mean so much to me. Thank you!
Okay, so what's wrong with poor Legolas? Well according to my research, he is suffering from the possible effects of shock brought on by the loss of blood volume and dehydration from his burns. It also looks as if they might be infected. Of course, an author never divulges all the medical mishaps and woes she has up her sleeve (Sorry!) . . . As for Aragorn's past dilemma, I will say that though I might not possibly touch upon it again for a chapter or two, I did give you a clue toward its possible conclusion. :) Until next time! Sue a.k.a. Quickbeam1