Outside the fortress, Mithrandir immediately came to meet Aragorn, pushing past the shocked, whispering Rohirrim with expansive gestures. Hefting Legolas' body over his shoulder effortlessly, as if he wasn't a year older than 20, he headed for one of the castle's few sick rooms still empty after the battle. The anger of a sun burning out glowing in his eyes discouraged anyone from even trying to address him.
Aragorn spared just a quick moment to give Brego over to one of the highly busy stable hands, after firmly patting the stallion's neck for a last time. Once more, his loyal new companion had proven his steadfast endurance, but now he needed food and care urgently; his auburn fur was soaked dark with sweat. If the animal got sick, Aragorn would have another friend less by his side in the next days, that would surely not be any easier than the last. Which was why Aragorn was relieved that by now, Brego reluctantly let other people at least touch him again. He couldn't have cared for the animal himself on top of everything else now.
Gimli and him got back together in the treatment room after the dwarf had told the other members of the Fellowship, the King and Éomer what had happened. Silently, they watched Mithrandir attending to tasks that Aragorn should have been busy with, like putting Legolas down on the clean covers of a freshly made bed, shooing everyone away who had no business being here right now, and gathering up first utensils for the healing.
When Aragorn couldn't stand the icy silence anymore, the unspoken reproaches in Mithrandir's eyes, in his posture, his movements, he finally spoke up. Hardly anyone could communicate so much without saying a single word like the wizard, at least if you spoke his very own language. "Don't you think I would have stopped him if he'd given me half a chance?"
His voice contained so much guilt and grief that Mithrandir's little outburst quickly came to an end. Still shaking with anger, but not anger on Aragorn anymore, he turned to him. "Take him outside." He nodded towards Gimli. "Rest for a few minutes, especially you, Aragorn. I'll be needing you for this."
"Why is everyone treating me like a fool?" Now it was Gimli losing his head, tossing his ax into a corner and stamping his foot. Until now, he had controlled himself to not delay the risky ride. Now it became obvious how much he wanted to be out there right now to mutilate Legolas' torturers even further, but his wish to support his friend was be stronger. "Do you think me blind, Aragorn? I was in battles long before they even talked about you. You think me naive, Gandalf? I know exactly what these two stinking bastards did to him. I smelled it before we were even close. If you think I'll hide like a scared child now …"
"Heavens, be quiet! This is a sick room!" Aragorn harshly grabbed his arm to put a stop to his rant. Apparently, he had indeed underestimated Gimli's instincts and his experience. Maybe he should have told his companion the truth right away. He'd have to apologize – again – for that later. For now, it was vital to take care of certain gruesome wounds. Especially of the ones on the inside. "We all want to help, but there is nothing that can make this right. We aren't of any use if we stay to witness what comes next. There is no time for debates, don't you get that? Do you want him to die, is that it?"
Gimli clenched his fists. For seconds, he seemed close to attack Aragorn with more than words. Then he turned away abruptly, took his ax and left, with heavy footsteps.
Aragorn followed him without another word. He hated leaving a patient out of sight, but Mithrandir knew ways of healing that in spite of all of his experience, Aragorn himself, due to the absence of any kind of magical powers, would always be barred from practicing. Maybe such powers were the only thing capable of saving a lost soul today. No healing herbs and no bandage in this world could make a heart beat on that just wasn't willing to anymore.
By a short wave to the windows, the shutters were closed, leaving the room in darkness. Actually, it was much too late to intervene. Now, only spells could make a difference that usually had to remain hidden. Under normal circumstances, Mithrandir wouldn't have used them, not for a foolish young elf who had left a safe fortress out of nothing but hurt pride. He would have delivered Thranduil his son's body the next chance he got, and wondered for a long time to come if he had made the right choice.
Now he just made it. The Fellowship needed Legolas, just like it needed Gimli, Aragorn, everyone whose fate was bound to the Ring. Even though this would demand much of him, though it would set him back in his studies and expose him to the danger of losing control over himself, just like Saruman had not too long ago: He would not allow the last of life leaving Legolas' body.
With another gesture, pointed at the bed, he pulled back the cloak hiding the traces of torture and stared at the wounds expressionlessly, already focused on the magic that should detox them. Men … once more.
In the last few hours, Legolas had doubtlessly suffered more than ever before. And if even a small part of him was fully conscious, this part already had the time after his rescue to look forward to. For the worst was yet to come. The life afterwards with the scars, without the comfort of the comforting, reconstructive powers in the Halls of Mandos. And all of that only because of his own stupidity.
Mithrandir shouldn't have felt compassion, especially not one so deep that the sight had him sink onto the mattress for a moment. He shouldn't let such things move him.
Maybe it was his fate that he still did. Maybe that was what distinguished him from Saruman.
"I will not let you succumb to shadow." He carefully rested one hand on Legolas' forehead. "We go through this together, even when we're apart. That's how it was, that's how it will be. Let the light of the elder heal your wounds, Thranduilion, and do not turn away from life."
Night was falling on Helm's Deep, and still none of the people waiting either in front of the sick room or in the few non ruined parts of the fortress learned how that one elf was faring who had not only fought for the Rohirrim with the King and Aragorn of the North along with some of his kind, but who had accompanied the Fellowship of the Ring from the start.
After Aragorn had been called to join Gandalf, Gimli had to endure the wait just as idly as the men around him. Constantly grouching, annoyed, he was sitting with King Théoden, Éomer and Éowyn in the hall where a cautious victory celebration had begun. He was neither in the mood for drinking nor for singing. Éowyn's clumsy attempts to comfort him all failed.
Several times, he moved to just jump up and run to the sick room but was stopped by an immensely strong hand on his lower arm every time, and pierced by a pair of hard dark eyes. Éomer's reward each time was a glance that would make an orc's blade melt. Unfortunately, the man seemed to be immune to that by nature, probably thanks to his not overly affectionate uncle.
So Gimli sat down again, every time. But each of those times, his expression turned even darker.
When Éowyn ran off unexpectedly, he was too stunned to react for a moment. Only when a well-known muscular silhouette scurried past the open doors, like a shadow, he hurried outside as well. Just in time to hear Éowyn's fearful question that was answered with nothing but an absent-minded look.
"Go to him, Gimli." Maybe Aragorn hadn't even really noticed the young Rohiril with the endless bright hair standing right next to him. Only the sight of his companion brought some life into his grey eyes, not much of it though. "I'll be right back. Too much blood for a night watch is on my clothes."
It was obvious, Éowyn didn't know whether to follow Gimli or Aragorn. Finally she started to leave for the sick room, hesitatingly.
But now it was her whom Éomer had to hold back.
"You can't help them." He lovingly pulled her into his arms when he noticed the glistening in her beautiful round eyes. "We have enough people to bemoan. Don't burden your heart with even more."
"What will this war make of us if even the Firstborn fall?" she asked, choked, so quietly that he could pretend, he didn't hear.
Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to allow Gimli of all people into a room that might soon wear mourning. For the dwarf, all of this was just too much.
Fairly restored, with a new tunic and without blood in his face, Aragorn reentered the chambers shortly after him, where Mithrandir was now sitting in a corner with his eyes closed and his arms crossed on his staff. Worriedly, he watched the stocky, sturdy figure by the bedside.
Gimli's long braid had come apart, his red hair fell wildly over his snow-white face. His mouth was agape. He didn't even dare touch the patient whom he wanted to help so badly and who didn't even realize he was there.
That Legolas wasn't even reacting to Gimli's presence meant, his mind was even more clouded than Aragorn had feared. Too much maybe to get him back. That would be decided in the course of the night.
"What did you do?" Gimli's trembling voice revealed the tediously suppressed anger, the sight of the red stained covers left him with, of Legolas' ashy skin color and his feverish cheeks.
"What was necessary." Aragorn heated a bowl of water for new healing stock. With growing powerlessness, he noticed the bandages wrapped around the thick swellings cutting ever deeper into Legolas' flesh. Sighing, he searched for new linen in his bag. "Mithrandir gave him the physical strength to live through the treatment before we cleaned the last of dirt from the wounds. Now I'm trying to fight the poison in his cells with potions. It's nearly too late for that though. Now I can only trust the ability of elves to heal a lot faster than men. But that won't happen as long as Legolas' soul is hiding in the dark."
Gimli started to form an answer but hushed then, sensing the complete defenselessness all around in the room. Heavily bracing on his ax, he got to his feet and started to leave before anyone could ask him to, but returned then to push his weapon under the sickbed.
Prayers might be all he has right now.
Once they were alone, Aragorn buried his face in his hands. Mithrandir's calm hand on his back helped getting himself back under control. He couldn't show any weakness now. As little hope as he had at this point, he wouldn't destroy that too, by giving Legolas up like the elf himself had already. "Go, it's alright. I'll stay with him."
After knowing Mithrandir for so many years, Aragorn seldom asked him anything when he knew, he would be ignored anyway. This time, as well, it took him until his friend was already standing in the doorway, before he could bring himself to speak up. And even then, the words came so quietly from his lips that he couldn't be sure, they'd been heard.
He did get an answer, but it wasn't what he wanted to hear.