Scars 25- Oceans of Night

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

Author's Note: My continued thanks for all your kind words and continuing support. They are appreciated more than words can say and make writing this story all the more worthwhile. I hope you enjoy Chapter 25. :)

For you will not leave my soul among the dead. (Psalm 16:10 )

Immediately the iron was withdrawn and thrown aside as the Ranger previously performing the abominable task called for his companions to release Strider and quickly turn him onto his back. The hovering Ranger's hand then shot towards the neck of his Chieftain in search of a pulse. For it was a widely known fact that the shock brought on by the use of a cauterizing iron could very well cause a Man's heart to stop beating.

Elladan looked on in horror now from the sidelines as the Ranger's questing fingers continued moving frantically against the column of his brother's throat searching for some sign of life, but as the seconds gave way a pall of despair spread through the crowd huddled around Aragorn.

"No!" Elladan's stark voice rose above the maddening silence surrounding him. His denial ringing out as his earlier promise returned now to taunt him.

"I shall allow nothing to harm you further, Estel…"

"No!" A forgotten voice echoed his misery, joining in his unimaginable grief before continuing on further. "No! Please do not let it be so!"

Darkness and silence were all that followed. Not even the sounds of night echoed forth from the surrounding hinterland. It was as if all of nature and every nocturnal beast that dwelled within its hollows or brush, out of reverence, were in keeping with the onset of a mourning vigil. Likewise the bleak, cloud strewn heavens above were veiled like a widow in her grief and spoke only of sorrow and despair. No light of star broke through its heavy mantle to offer comfort or solace. Death alone knew this place, and every vulnerable creature or being, which stood within its exacting shadow, trembled now beneath its touch.

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Only one, far removed from the rest, still rebelled against this most certain knell as he shouted yet again, "No! Please do not let it be so! You cannot give up on him!" His strangled appeal was lost, however, to the constant roar of the mighty waves now crashing onto the beach beside him, Their salty spray rising up to meet his fair face before mixing with the heaviness of tears forming within his disbelieving blue eyes.

"He cannot be dead!" Legolas shouted out. "He cannot be dead!" He argued again. "He was just beside me…he held my hand… I felt his warmth…It cannot be so!" Legolas pressed on though his continuing denial went unanswered. For, he found himself alone now except for the sprawling sea beside him and the looming vessel drawing ever closer to its white shores.

Once again the Elf's eyes drifted towards this approaching ship and with a look of utter longing, the Silvan archer set his sorrowful gaze upon its beckoning prow. For a brief moment indecision lay heavily upon his breast, but just as quickly, remembered cries of torment returned to touch his soul.

"No, please no! Do not do this!"

"Hold on, mellon-nin!" The Silvan archer cried out turning his back to the welcoming presence, which was advancing towards him. He focused his attentions instead upon the barren wasteland leading outward from these calming shores. No trace of hope lingered upon its bleak horizon to offer any sign that Aragorn still breathed life upon this land. Yet somewhere out there, the fair-haired Elf knew in his heart that his friend now languished in despair.

Fighting back his own intense pain, he struggled to take a first step forward while uttering determinedly. "I will not abandon you, mellon-nin!"

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The few flickering flames of the now withering campfire were the only sign left that earlier two great races, Men and Elves, had joined together here towards a common good. But, like the dwindling light and heat of this once roaring blaze, their shared hope was all but extinguished.

In its wake, Elladan intermittently turned over a now rust colored fragment within his restless hands while keeping a mournful vigil beside his lifeless brother.

"Estel…" He attempted hoarsely, but the familiar endearment caught within his throat.

Unable to keep watch over the Human's still body any further, his woeful grey eyes moved towards the shard of wood within his grasp in morbid curiosity. What cruel hands could have fashioned so primitive yet so deadly a device; sharp enough to tear through garments and flesh, yet fracturable enough to splinter apart when twisted inside its victim's body? How could so small and so insignificant a piece of debris prove so costly as to take a once thriving life?

All about him upon the forest floor lay similar traces of wood that were trodden over day after day by the feet of this woodland's creatures or trampled upon by long sojourning wayfarers passing beneath its canopy. Never once to be afforded so much as a cursory glance, until finally over time these forgotten remains of timber would disappear from sight completely through rot then decomposition to at last sustain the bountiful grace flourishing about them. 'Was this to be Aragorn's fate as well?' He wondered unable to drag his troubled gaze away from this one remaining fell sliver left behind from the weapon used to visciously stab his brother. For, instead of supporting life, this accursed fragment stole it from them, threatening to take the life of one, whom he loved well, as Aragorn now hovered somewhere between the worlds of the living and the dead.

Earlier, following Legolas' unexpected outburst, when all others had given up hope that the thread of life still coursed beneath his brother's flesh, Elrohir, sparked on by his Silvan friend's shouts, had rushed forward to claim final control over his youngest brother's care. Immediately the Elf surmised that no beat of pulse could possibly be felt nor any hope of breath be taken from such an awkward angle as his brother's now distended neck lay. Yet, none surrounding Elrohir paid any mind when the raven-haired Elf called to them to take action. Instead, the Rangers and even Elladan milled about Aragorn in a stupor of disbelief thinking the once able-bodied Human was now dead.

Elrohir deemed otherwise and taking matters upon himself, he pushed forward. With no thought towards his own ailing body or the pain such precipitous actions might bring to himself , he struggled to place his bandaged hands on either side of brother's drawn face, doing his utmost to straighten Aragorn's neck out before tilting the Man's head backwards to open up his airway. The immediate ragged intake of breath which followed proved his estimation. Never had such feeble gasps, which followed the Human's first struggling attempt, sounded so sweet for they proved that Aragorn was indeed alive. Yet the jubilation that followed was short lived. For, the same heartfelt relief spreading through the others about him did not reach Elrohir, his features remaining schooled as he continued hovering above his Human brother.

Elrohir's continuing wariness, however, was not due in part to the aftermath of the cauterization. For, when Aragorn was rolled over once again and his wound inspected, those surrounding him noted that the iron had done its job well. No further hemorrhaging appeared to flow forth from the puncture site. The flesh surrounding the wound was then carefully washed once more and healing herbs applied, before Aragorn's torso was loosely wrapped with clean linen bandages by Elladan under Elrohir's close scrutiny. Surprisingly to the Men present, their Chieftain's stab wound was not immediately stitched closed by the second Elf. The injured First Born, overseeing their leader's care, stated to all who listened that if any infected tissue were to have survived the iron's scorching heat, then to close the wound would only increase its chance of festering further bringing further harm to the Ranger. As long as there was no additional bleeding the Elf counseled, then leaving the wound open for the time being would be the wisest course of action to follow allowing time for any drainage that needed to occur to take place and providing also for the under layers of tissue to begin to heal naturally upon their own before the outer layers of flesh were sewn closed.

After all this was achieved, the remaining Rangers, who had been in attendance, satisfied now by the Elves' altruistic behavior towards their leader, felt comfortable enough to give these First Born more space and leniency with which to attend their Chieftain and the still suffering member of their own company. Only Halfdan, acting in their stead, was to remain close at hand to offer assistance if his help should be needed or to summon them back should any drastic turn in events take place. And so Strider's fellow companions backed away to focus their attentions now towards the other tasks that needed to be performed to keep this group viable and insure that no other enemies struck out against them.

Elrohir breathed a deep sigh of relief to at last be free from such suffocating scrutiny. Never had he been in doubt of his prowess as a healer, but being impaired by injury and the weariness of overseeing such meticulous care was at last beginning to take a heavy toll upon him. Yet still the ailing Elf lingered on long after the others left, hesitant to leave his Human brother's side causing his elder twin to speak up.

"You should rest now, brother. You are not well yourself. You've done all you can for now. I will stay with him incase he awakes."

Finding his bandaged hands useless, Elrohir used his forearm to rub against his tired eyes before answering, not bothering now to mince his words. For too long he had tried to spare Elladan from the ugly truths of the past. If this grievous situation he now found himself in had taught him anything, then it was to learn from his past mistakes. He would no longer hide the truth from others and speaking up regretfully he stated at last. "There is a chance that he won't awaken, Elladan."

"That is good, for he needs his rest to recover." His elder twin answered assuredly.

Shaking his head sadly, the younger Elf continued on gravely. "No, you do not understand, brother. This is no natural rest that his body has fallen into. He was grievously wounded…the shock to his system severe…Even though we've managed to tackle the immediate threat to his life and stop any further flow of blood, his body has been greatly compromised…If he had acknowledged his condition sooner…if had not pushed himself so hard…But the lives of Men are fragile enough even under the best of circumstances…more so than our race. They can only take so much stress before their bodies become too overwhelmed, and the vital functions sustaining them begin to shut down."

"No!" Elladan uttered in dismay as he tried to comprehend all that Elrohir was now trying to relay to him. " No!…He will get better…He must, Elrohir…"

"I pray thus will happen like you, Elladan, but Estel has experienced much trauma…His body no longer registers pain. Yes, one would think that such a phenomenon would be a good sign…something that we should pray for, but this effect is not due in part to any herb I've administered. Instead it conveys to me that he is slipping further from us. His pulse is weak…his respiration shallow and rapid… his reflexes almost nonexistent…and as time passes further, the fever consuming him takes a firmer hold upon his flesh…You know of this as well as I… For you have been my eyes…my hands… Once such a downward trend begins to take place in a victim's state of health, the likelihood of a turnaround from such grave circumstance is highly unlikely."

"What are you are trying to tell me, Elladan… that our Estel is dying?"

"We should not speak of such things… especially with his Men about to hear. Let us not create unneccessary havoc…"

"Why? Why, brother? All that you have just relayed tells me that thus is so! That it is likely to happen! Do they not have the right to know that they will soon lose their leader?" Elladan bit out, his voice heightened by emotion.

"We mustn't give up hope, Elladan," Elrohir counseled attempting to quiet his now distraught brother before continuing. "Estel has been victim to turmoil before and has survived through it… He has a strong will. More so than any other mortal being I've ever encountered… If anyone was to recover from such duress…"

"We mustn't give up hope?" Elladan echoed his brother's words incredulously. "Hope? You know not how my heart thirsts for it, Elrohir!" Elladan now turned to confront his twin, the many explosive emotions rushing through his body clearly visible upon his expressive features as he continued. "Hope? Have you not ever wondered how ironic it was for Father to have named him thus? Hope speaks of fulfillment, attaining desires…When in his short life has he realized any such dreams? His youth was stolen from him…His path in life decided before the day of his birth… And now he suffers…his short life held to this world by only a tenuous thread…"

"Do you believe he ever wanted any of this? Asked for such a lifestyle?" Elladan motioned wildly to the vast woodlands surrounding them. "To live like a fugitive among the Wild? Never to be safe…never being able to keep to one place... to be able to stop and make roots… to live like others of his race…to know the love of family…a wife… Whose hope are we speaking of, Elrohir? Surely not his! For long has it been since he has lived his life for himself alone! He carries the burdens of so many upon his shoulders…Hope? Hope?…It was mine to spare him from such a fate…Do not speak to me of hope, brother!…"

"Elladan, you are overwrought…" Elrohir retorted trying to calm his brother's unforeseen outburst lest others should become aware of the strong words being passed between the Elves, but Elladan interrupted him again.

"Spare me, Elrohir! For I do not need to be told how I am feeling…" Elladan lashed out before turning back to look grievously upon their supine brother. A sob sounded in his throat, but he held up his hand for fear Elrohir might try and approach him. Many moments passed before the elder Elf was able to regain some measure of composure, and when he did, he finally beckoned gruffly. "Tell me, what can I do for him, for you must rest… You cannot continue at your present pace or you will suffer a relapse…"

Ruefully, Elrohir turned his eyes back towards Aragorn as well before looking to Elladan again and responding. "Continue to cool his body with dampened lengths of cloth. If you can get him to swallow even a small amount of water from time to time, it would be beneficial, for his body needs to restore its fluid level to combat the effects of his blood loss…" Elrohir's words trailed off as he noted the regret now shining within Elladan's dark eyes and he finished instead with. "Let us not fight, brother. For we both love him… I cannot bear the possibility of losing him either…"

Immediately, Elrohir was hauled into his eldest brother's arms and clasped soundly to his twin's breast as Elladan whispered apologetically into his ear before kissing his brother's cheek. "No, let us not fight! It was only a short while ago that I stood the risk of losing you as well, Elrohir. But the Valar were watching over us and did not allow such a tragedy to occur. Perhaps their eyes are still upon us, and they will see us through this crisis as well by bringing Estel back to us and Legolas too. You were right. We mustn't give up hope for it is all that we have left to us…"

Those last words were spoken well over an hour ago, and now Elrohir lay resting beneath a nearby tree. Though his younger twin had fought valiantly in his struggle with exhaustion, sleep was at last the victor. And, it was now that Elladan found himself turning the bloodstained shard within his hand as he knelt nearby.

A sudden moan sounded to draw Elladan from his consuming thoughts. Turning hopefully towards Aragorn, he was disheartened to find no change in his brother's obvious condition. Instead it was Legolas, he observed, who had begun to move restlessly upon the ground beneath him once again. Immediately Elladan drew closer to the archer to offer him comfort, doing his best to quiet his friend's frantic motions while replacing the damp cloth upon the Elf's fevered brow.

"Ah!" The Silvan Elf cried out in reaction alerting the raven-haired Elf to the torment still wracking his lean frame .

"Be still, Legolas." Elladan encouraged, placing his hands upon the Elf's writhing body as he gently tried to still his agitated motions without causing him further pain.

"No…no! He is not dead! The archer exclaimed. "I will not abandon you, mellon-nin….I will find you Estel…" Legolas called out emphatically while throwing his arms out to his sides reaching blindly for his unseen friend.

Grasping the seeking hands within his own two, Elladan answered his troubled friend, his voice raw with emotion . "You have not abandoned him, mellon-nin, for he is close beside you, though he can no longer come to your aid. But know that he is near…"

"Near?" The Elf questioned anxiously as his head began to turn from side to side in mounting frustration. "But I cannot find him…Where…where… where has he gone to?"

"Hush now, Legolas… For you cannot help him at present. You must rest yourself, my friend, if you are to recover… Do not fret so… Be still…"

Ignoring Elladan's request, Legolas beckoned wildly. Where are you, Estel? I cannot find you…" The archer gasped one last time before succumbing to the war that waged inside himself, and he slipped back into fevered unconsciousness once again.

Feeling the Elf grow slack in his arms, Elladan held his friend within the comfort of his embrace before laying him back to rest upon the ground beneath him while responding. "Rest easy, my friend."

Then looking longingly towards the one, whom Legolas had just called out to, Elladan inquired tearfully. "Yes, Estel , where are you? Where do you travel to that I cannot follow? And why…why have you set off upon this path alone, without me again, like you did all those many years ago?"

TBC

Author's Closing Notes: Well if you've reached this point then I thank you for reading chapter 25. I hope you enjoyed it.

The next chapter will once again delve into the past.

I guess I should explain the reasoning behind why Legolas' scene was and will be for a while in italics, and why it has been separated from the rest of the story's text. The Elf is still mostly in the state of unconsciousness, and what is taking place during these sequences is happening in a dream world/another realm.

I also wanted to include a brief explanation as to why I chose to wound Aragorn as I did. If he had been stabbed with a knife, dagger, or other such puncturing device, then the weapon, unless it remained in his body, would have made a quick entrance and exit. If any blood vessels or internal organs had been compromised during such an attack, Aragorn would have bled to death in a matter of minutes unless given immediate medical attention. To have him manage to stay upon his feet for so long after his attack, there had to be some impediment to slow down the rate of blood he would be losing, hence the shard of wood embedded in the wound.

I would also like to include a few brief facts I found regarding blood volume, blood loss, and hypovolemic shock that might helpt to explain this decision further. All of this information gathered was taken from various internet sources for my medical knowledge is extremely limited.

The human body contains approximately 6 quarts (or 5.6 liters) of blood (around 12 pints). Loss of approximately one-fifth or more of the normal blood volume produces hypovolemic shock. Hypovolemic shock is always a medical emergency, but there is wide variation in both symptoms and outcomes depending upon the amount of blood volume lost, the rate of loss, the underlying illness or injury causing the loss, and other factors. In general, patients with milder degrees of shock tend to do better than those with more severe shock. However, in cases of severe hypovolemic shock, death is possible even with immediate medical attention. Complications resulting from hypovelemic shock can be: kidney damage, brain damage or death.

What type of weapon then was Aragorn stabbed with? I would envision something along the lines of a crude wooden stake. I know such a weapon was probably not used much in Middle Earth, but I will try to explain my reasoning behind the decision to use this type of weaponry in one of the following chapters of Scars.

Until then! Sue a.k.a. Quickbeam :)