Story Name: Echo of the Night: What
if?
Pen Name: ElenaRoan
Disclaimer: Don't own any of them,
written purely for enjoyment.
Rating: M
Warnings:
DEATHFIC!
Summary: What if Legolas and Aragorn didn't return
to their homes in time during Echo of the Night?
Betas: Geris
(Grammar and Spelling), Michelle (Comprehension)
Timeline: III
2991 (Aragorn 60 years old)
Chapter 3: Desperate Race
The elven patrol raced through the forest, avoiding the spiders as much as possible. Each one taking turns carrying their captain, their prince. Each one listening desperately to the laboured breathing of said elf to know that he was still with them.
Legolas had fallen unconscious shortly after they had begun their journey through the darkened forest and the worry on the healer's face had only increased as time passed and the prince descended deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.
Abruptly the elf currently carrying Legolas stopped and looked at the blond with a horrified expression.
"He...he..." he stammered, not able to put it into words. The healer knew what had happened; he'd been listening to the ragged breaths intently as well.
"Lay him down!"
Quickly the elf complied and the rest of the patrol gathered fearfully around. The healer wrapped the other elf's hand around the pulse point and instructed him to say something if it should stop. He felt a brief flash of panic; he was a combat healer, not a full healer like those at the palace. Quick as it came he quelled it; he needed to save his prince, now was not the time for fear.
Quickly but calmly he began forcing air into Legolas' lungs, praying as he did so that the prince would begin breathing on his own again. He had been doing that for what seemed like an eternity when the elf he had monitoring the prince's pulse spoke up with a look of panic.
"It has stopped!"
Quickly he included chest compressions in his routine; Elven healers had discovered that many centuries ago, sometimes it revived the stricken being, sometimes it didn't. It was his hope that it would this time. It was not to be.
Moments later they all froze as they felt his faer flee, headed for the Halls of Waiting. Whatever it was that had struck him during the night had claimed his life, leaving a devastated patrol behind. Soon the entirety of Mirkwood would be grieving and they all knew that while the King gave them strength to fight it was the Prince who gave them the hope to continue.
With tears in his eyes the second in command of the patrol carefully gathered what was now only the body of their prince into his arms and they resumed their trek towards the palace slowly. The time for speed had passed, tragically and unavoidably.