Alright, I'm sorry; I miscommunicated. I didn't mean to say I'm disappointed in my reviewers! (I meant the amount of reviews.) No no no, I love all you guys! I'm impressed that you all find time to review! Seriously, your reviews ALWAYS make my day! Bakabokken, WhiteWolf1, LadyV, esp. shadowfaxgal (and others), I wait around for your reviews specifically. You people are cool, hilarious and positively awesome. They always make my week! My year! my millennium! Y'all so rawk.
Oh, MAN, I just got my SAT scores. UGH. I hate myself. 1140: 490 math, 650 verbal. (Geez, I know I didn't study, but... GAH.) Okay, and it's funny; 'cause the people I know keep saying that's an average score, while others keep saying it's high. Which is it?
I kinda got in trouble this week too. I crashed the ATV into a tree in a ditch down a hill. It knocked me clear off and gave me some good bruises, but geez I feel stupid. My poor little brother thought I was dead or something; it was kind of cute when he came running in screaming for me. It just proves my point about death scenes and torture: they show how much other people care about us. (Bwuahahaha. I scared him good.)
Jaa, I know, EVIL cliffhanger. As for the death, I am still debating, so as long as I don't know... YOU won't know. HAH! I AM evil. Okay, I won't babble anymore, I'll just give ya the next chappie! P.S. Thanks for the time of travel for Elrond, White Wolf-sama! You gave me a WON-derful idea...
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Chapter Six: Saving the Damned
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Oh, how Elladan wished he could have seen the ships.
He knew it now. There was no point in useless denial. He hadn't bothered to think about it that much before; lest he give in to the longing that both blessed and cursed his kind in its own way. But he always knew that one day in his long life, he would see the Grey ships that took all Firstborn home across the sea.
...Valinor...
Now the closest he would get to that was the memory of a mental image sent him by his father, of their mother sailing away into the bright, multi-hued sunset; bittersweet, not exactly the happiest of memories.
Other than that, the only thing the Noldor remembered through the blinding pain in his chest was the sickening crunch of his own bones and the wet sound of tearing flesh before being thrown forcibly into unconsciousness. Now, as he awakened, the ache of tightly stretched limbs and burning agony in his midriff returned, harshly, relentlessly and unavoidably real. Mercifully his numerous injuries, in their own severity, had numbed themselves somewhat from shock. It was very cold, and he no longer had the strength to cry out or even shiver; that luxury had left him a while back.
He felt himself being dragged by bound wrists over a hard, rough surface, blood smearing the rock where his back made contact. The growling laughter of the Uruks was everywhere; their evil presence surrounding him, tainting him with their horrid stench. It hung in the air like a poisonous vapour, ready to infect the first victim it ensnared. It was that evil that wiped away the last of his colourful memories.
The elder twin groaned sharply as the Uruk dragging him slammed his back over a particularly large stone in their path, then kicked him roughly for the noise-
-in the stomach.
That did it. His body was sent into another fierce round of convulsions, and his captors stopped walking. The elf registered the lack of movement under him just in time to receive a backhanded blow to the face that knocked him onto his side. The air was forced out of him, and he lay in a tight bundle, hands latched onto his middle like talons. Elladan didn't have to cry out, though; he could hear his brother doing that for him, very clear and almost deafening.
He caught snatches of his twin's thoughts between the screams, infectious emotions: regret, denial, overwhelming fear. Not just for him, but for their little brother, their father, and Legolas. Elladan's heart contracted, and he reached for his twin through the mist.
Elrohir... I don't want us to go like this, but-
I know, Elladan- I... Oh, Eru... Naneth- Ada-
A flash of Estel's panicked face lit his vision, followed by Legolas and a Rohirrim woman Elrohir identified as Eowyn. Estel was holding them, begging, pleading, ordering them to stay. A touch of something like morning dew caressed the corner of his thoughts, and then his eyes were focused on a group of filthy, gnarled, grotesque beings glaring down at him, evil spreading outward from their every pore, reaching to yank him up-
It-it will all be over soon, he tried to soothe his brother and himself gently, shakily. He felt his numbed fingers skim across the ground as he was lifted by his neck.
It will all be over, just hold on a little more. We-will be free of this, Elrohir.
Free... We will, but... I wish we could... I wish- Ah!
Startlement bounced at him from Elrohir's consciousness, and a split second later he knew why.
Elrohir, what-?
He was rendered speechless, even mentally. He'd never felt anything like it.
His mind, his heart, his soul, just opened, like a cool, white, full-petaled flower in a burning desert, flooding his body with sweet, indescribable relief. Perfection, peace... Someone had just splashed him with pure, clear water from a stream, raining it down upon him in refreshing, comforting sheets. Elladan felt his twin's presence with his own now; contented, cheerful, just like every other day. They were each just as glad to finally be free of the pain.
So this is dying... It's- well- wonderful! He felt like laughing. Only now could something like this be said of death, by an intended immortal no less.
I know... so strange... I thought it would be different. I could swear I felt... Elrohir's thoughts fell away from him and he felt him sit up on his elbows. A sudden, frantic fear pulsed in the link between them.
Elladan felt the white draining, the pleasant feeling remaining momentarily before being ripped away like a security blanket from a small child, only much, much worse. A cry from the damned seared his mind, and instantly recognizing the wailing voice he opened his eyes to two beings: a very large, dark Uruk-hai with yellow eyes, sneering at him, holding him up by his neck- and Prince Legolas Thranduilion, thrashing like a caught fish out of water, bright red blood splashed across his hands.
Elbereth-
"NNNOOOOO!"
Realization slapped him from his dazed stupor into immediate and violent action.
The first kick removed him from the beast's grip and sent it sprawling backward into his 'comrades', downing three more of them with him. The initial shock left no room for reaction and he took advantage of their bewilderment at the recovery of their seemingly half-dead elven prize. The two closest him were dead from broken necks before they had a chance to speak.
"'Ey, look out-"
"Wot 'appened-?"
"Grab the elf-"
"I call 'im!"
"Let me 'ave a go at the filthy little thing!"
"I'm gonna play with it 'til I've 'ad me fill, Snurag!"
"I've got 'im-GHK!"
Elladan swung around gracefully and redirected the oncoming creature's blade into its own chest, the hole spewing black blood like a small brook. Even before it fell the next four were upon him, and in a haze of rage and his hunger for vengeance he barely even saw how he felled them. Two were beheaded without even a chance for them to yell, and the Noldor realized that he had somehow gotten hold of one of their weapons. Some part of him also registered the thud of metal hitting the ground, and the lack of intrusion in his midriff, as the blade fell from his tunic. One of the Uruks tried to run from the fight; his companions jumped on him and disembowelled him before he got two yards, eagerly devouring the new meat.
The elf was running forward to meet the next opponent before he even knew what he was doing. Blood soaked his clothes and his hair as he whirled around in a swift one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, maiming the already handless Uruk-hai that had been approaching him to the shoulder and quickly spearing him on the end of his newly acquired scimitar. The being's eyes were vacant as he slumped forward and lay there, unmoving.
Elladan's breath was coming fast and heavy with adrenaline; the two blades in his hands slashing and stabbing constantly as more and more of the dark beasts attacked. Time was a blur, he could only sense his body moving where it told him to, a pile of slain Uruks gathering at his feet, then his knees.
They stopped coming.
It actually surprised him. The frustrating helplessness and overwhelming anger at his and Legolas' being wronged ebbed away somewhat at the sight of the carnage strewn thoroughly, disgustingly across the plain. Bodies laid everywhere by his hand, there was no escaping them.
And there would be no escaping them, were they alive.
He tried to banish the lump of guilt that had taken root in his gut. The Uruks would only have killed more defenseless beings. Elladan breathed deeply in the darkening night, trying to collect himself. Fortunately enough, they had dragged him to the entrance of the maze of passages, probably hoping to catch up with the others and have some more sport of their own. The beaten path taken by the rest of the army was almost annoyingly obvious, especially to the senses of an elf.
I need to get to Helm's Deep... but I won't make it in time-
Elladan! ELLADAN!
The elder twin jerked. "Elrohir?!"
Elladan, Legolas- Estel has him, but- Oh Valar, Elladan-
"Calm down, brother, please," he begged him. "We'll think of something- Please, try and arrange your thoughts. We have to sort this out." He heard a mental breath and felt their shivering quiet down to a soft uneasiness. "Now, we must think. How would it be possible for us to save him and remain? Is there any way to channel partial life energy? A kind of soul healing?"
I- I don't know. The breaking voice was beyond anguished. I don't know, Elladan, I haven't ever explored the limits of our bond. All I know is what happens to us... How does one stop a bond?
"It is difficult. First, the bond must be a very strong one," Elladan said darkly. "You must either deliberately renounce your connection to the person and be separated from them, or renounce them and make the decision to leave this world for them. If you don't make the vow seriously, it's impossible."
Then how are we here? How did Legolas...?
The twin thought for a moment, things falling into place as he said them. "Legolas has known us almost all of his life; we have been comrades for centuries. The bond we formed with Estel is only a little stronger than the one we formed with him; he knew this. He must have been able to cut off from us by distancing himself after fully extending the bond's limits-"
A retching scream came from a corner of Elrohir's mind.
Then how do we stop it?! Elrohir cried. 'We cannot let him die, El! Not for our sakes-
"I know!" The elf lowered his voice gently. "I know, gwanur-nin. We'll think of something, we will, but I cannot reach him. I know you've tried too; he's cut off from us. Our bond with Legolas is not as strong as with the two of us, he is not our blood. For now we will just have to wait. The wounds should appear in about half the time it took for them to appear on you, but that may buy us enough time to figure out a solution."
El... I'm so afraid... I don't want him to die because of us... because of me-
"Elrohir, stop." The command was shrill with his own alarm. "He will survive. He has to! He is his father's son, and our friend. He will live, El!"
I want to believe that, El, but... after what I felt... what happened to us... A sudden, greater fear flared in his heart. El, what about Estel? If Legolas does not survive this...
Elladan had no answer for that.
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"Eowyn, help me!"
The shield maiden's heart was in her throat.
A moment ago the dark-haired elf had been mortally wounded, on the brink of death. She had been sure she was going to witness the departure of her lord's brother; she had been prepared for it. But the elf was up and about, his only distress being for the welfare of the blond elven prince. He was gathered tightly in the arms of one of the women, close to hysterical as he stood, watching with terror in his eyes. She was whispering to the Noldor, trying to comfort him as he rocked himself like a newborn.
Now it was Legolas who was curled inward, trying to rid himself of the blinding agony and breathe around blood welling up in his throat. He coughed and sputtered, choking on fluid, muscles spasming wildly.
"Eowyn-"
"AGH-" The prince spat out a mouthful of blood and clamped his jaw shut, latching both of his hands onto the ranger's. His breathing was straining and heavy, just as Elrohir's had been only hours prior, except through his nose from his refusal to unlock his mouth. The son of Thranduil had always been proud; he would not allow a show of weakness until it had broken him. He had backed up against the rock wall as he pushed away, striking the floor with his legs in seizures, and was bracing himself in a sitting position, elbows supported on his thighs.
The prince was a rock-hard ball of tension, ready to crack at any second. His body shook lightly with the effort of holding himself in check. Aragorn crushed his friend's hands in his own; firmly and possessively, encouraging him in Sindarin.
"Hold on, my friend, please; you must try to find a way out-"
"Ar- Aragorn-" The name broke on the first syllable.
He was losing the battle. No longer was it his friend's face hovering above his, but a group of strange, black beasts, clawing him, hurting-
"NO!" The vehement outburst was pulled from deep within him, ripping away the blackness covering his eyes and it was his old friend once more above him, giving orders for supplies to be brought. He tried keeping his eyes rock-steady on the Dunadan's, focusing with searing intensity. He narrowed his whole world down to the smallest details of his visage, trying to block out all other sensations-
"Eowyn, I need more bandages and a cold cloth, quickly!"
Rapid breathing, the brief brush of long, dark hair against his wrist, warmth and dampness from fingers hastily dried of blood, water, and sweat... The Mirkwood elf felt another burst of fire lance through him, and the focus wavered.
He wrenched his mind toward Aragorn's person. Legolas heard every dip and rise in the man's tone, his voice unsteady with emotions. Pushing away the catches in his throat was impossible for him now; the stress of having to care for his brother and then merely watch as he steadily slipped away had nearly broken him. But now, having to face the consequences of his dearest friend's choice, and being powerless to stop it, was becoming too much.
"We have to stop the bleeding and bring his temperature down. I need fresh water, and-"
Aragorn stopped in mid-sentence as he observed the copious amounts of dark red blood still spilling from the wound, despite the tremendous pressure he was placing on it. It was no use, the flow wouldn't stop.
They would have to cauterize the wound.
Valar give me strength.
It took three tries for the words to come out. "Eowyn... Eowyn, I need... I need a hot knife, and a needle and thread. We must close the-" His head snapped back to Legolas at the abrupt shivers wracking his body.
"Legolas?"
The pale, clouded blue eyes turned to him blearily. "H- h-helk-kh- (c-cold-)" After that the shivering was so intense he could do little more than stare pleadingly at him before closing his eyes against the pain. He must have spent too much of his spirit in redirection of the bond, the ranger realized. He's given too much. At this rate he'd go into irreversible shock within the hour.
There was no other choice. "Bring them to the bonfire," he said tersely, barely even acknowledging the shield maiden before scooping his friend's lithe frame into his arms and heading toward the fire at the far end of the enclosure. "Put blankets as close to the fire as you can, he needs heat."
"It will be done," she called over her shoulder, bundling up the cloths and bowls inside the blankets and following on his heels.
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"El... El?"
"Shhh. It's alright, my lord."
He moaned, shaking in her arms. "Elladan..." the twin croaked. "We can't lose him."
Erhia eyes narrowed and she tightened her embrace. Was he still delirious, or was he talking to himself? Were the pauses between sentences a chance to breathe, or was he listening to voices in his head? She just couldn't tell; no Rohirrim peasant really had a chance to learn any languages other than their own. He had conversed for at least ten minutes in the musical tongue, but on occasion snatches of unconscious Westron crept through, giving her a small glimpse of what he was whispering.
"...We have to do something, gwanur."
"Aragorn... E-Estel, w-what-"
"Hold on, mellon-nin; I am taking you to the fire."
The elf's dark head lifted at this. He seemed to come out of a trance, blinking as though unaccustomed to the light. "Erhia?" he murmured, sounding confused. Then he must have realized where he was, and he smiled forcibly, tears and perspiration shining on his skin.
"I am sorry."
"No, my lord," Erhia said firmly, her eyes gentle. "It is no evil to be upset. He is your friend, and a good one by the sound of it."
"Thank you... for your aid. You are indeed kind, my lady," he told her, wiping at his eyes. Slowly, unsteadily, Elrohir backed out of her arms and leaned against the cave wall, trying to compose himself somewhat. His dignity was too far gone to be saved, but he could at least restore his appearance a bit. Despite the energy given to them, the hours of torture they'd endured had taken a heavy toll.
"I must see him," the Noldor excused himself, rising on buckling, leaden legs.
Erhia refrained from following him. She knew pride when she saw it, and knew its importance to her people, especially males. If anything, elves were probably the same, and this elf's pride had taken a severe blow, although in the face of the current danger it wasn't as prominent an issue. She let him stumble to the two men at the bonfire's edge, hoping that he had enough strength left not to break.
Even if the worst should happen.
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"What's wrong with him, mama?"
"He's... he's ill, dear. Please, just stay here with me."
Lord Aragorn had taken his place at the fireside, the blond elf in his lap drawn to his chest like a child, shaking with cold. The other humans were gathered around him just as closely, shoulder to shoulder, as they tried to shut out the draft of the damp cave walls. The majority of them were women and children, but there were still a few injured men lying with wives or children on pallets and hay. They had been dragged to the edge of the bonfire where they could be kept comfortable.
"Will he be well, my lord?" A woman in her late seventies observed the Firstborn with aged, concerned eyes. She had lived through much war, and had tasted enough of death to recognize its approach. The younger women watched silently from around them, most looking understanding, dark; others as wide-eyed as their children.
"In truth I do not know," he said plainly. "I cannot presume to make any judgements, other than what I know of his stubbornness and strength."
"I pray for his health."
His voice was soft. "Thank you. There is hope yet."
A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach belied his confidence.
Legolas' condition was worsening. The injuries that had accumulated slowly over time for the twins was speeding up to open on his body in half the time. Every time a new wound appeared he would gasp spasmodically before catching himself and centering his breathing. The fear left to him from the twins was slowly infecting him, their stifling anguish eating towards his core.
A few peasants had drawn in sharp breaths when they saw a cut the length of a finger suddenly split the prince's cheek. He jerked, shivered.
"So," the Mirkwood elf began conversationally. "Nice- weather we're having."
Aragorn stared at him. Then grinned. "Yes, especially considering we've a cave ceiling over our heads."
He grimaced. "You know, you really... aren't helping the conversation. I am trying to- focus elsewhere while you do this..."
Estel's expression was pained. "Forgive me, Legolas, there is no way around it. This is going to hurt."
"Your knife," he said haltingly. "G-give it to me."
The ranger stared, then set his jaw in understanding and begrudgingly unsheathed a small, six-inch dagger from atop the sword sheath at his side. Legolas opened his mouth, allowing him to stick the blade between his teeth before clamping down, sweat pouring down his forehead. Finally, he gave a curt nod, blue eyes blazing defiance. Aragorn could feel his hot, heavy breath through the cloth of his tunic as he braced himself, pressing his cheek against the Dunadan's arm and turning his face away.
Estel had known Legolas since childhood, and he knew that his face was also buried in the fabric to hide any tears that would come. The archer was a warm, open individual among his companions, but he also knew when militaristic attitude was needed and could put up an amazing and practically impenetrable front. Due to his upbringing, his fierce pride and the high, unwavering standards of King Thranduil, Legolas had grown accustomed to hiding weakness and masking emotion.
The many countless battles and border skirmishes with orcs and men alike had also given him much practice in dealing with pain... and hiding it.
However, never had he received a wound this bad, and he had never had to endure cauterization.
A few women looked away while others started bringing their sons and daughters to a different part of the encampment. Others covered their children's eyes. Eowyn looked up behind her, and her face went white with shock. The woman at the ranger's left moved aside, and the humans were stunned to see the other elf, the dark-haired one who had been dying only moments ago, kneel and begin speaking to his stricken comrade.
"Legolas... how could you... invoking a soul bond like that, I-"
"Elrohir!" Aragorn's spirit was momentarily lightened with elation. His crystal blue orbs sparkled with unshed tears, concern flickering in their depths. "Are you all right? You are both well?"
"As well as can be expected," he said bitterly. "Elladan and I can't find a way to undo it. We're trying to figure something out; El is on his way here, but it will take time. Valar, I never would have asked for this, Estel."
"I know," he reassured him. "I know."
"If it's not too much trouble- I'd rather not wait for this," came the muffled, hoarse and quite annoyed voice from the man's arm.
"Legolas... mellon-nin-"
"Just. Get it. Over with."
He felt the elf replace the blade in his mouth. The Dunadan sighed deeply and looked to Eowyn. She had heated the knife to a red-orange glow, cleaning it and readying it for use. He took it from her with shaking hands, preparing a lone needle and thread. It had never been an easy job, even on nameless, unknown soldiers when he was healer in the armies of men. Most of those men had not survived, but he was counting on his comrade's elven abilities to give him more of a fighting chance.
This would work.
"Elladan, hold him."
"Aye." The son of Elrond clasped Legolas' bow hand to his breast. His fingers were shaking as he felt the heat of the blade on his skin.
Estel braced himself, and began stitching the mouth of the wound. His reaction was instantaneous; the elf was a knot of tightly-wound nerves, using every cell in his body to keep from reacting. But the slow, steady burning was giving him no quarter. No matter how hard he fought, the strain was breaking through his defenses.
As Aragorn worked his way down the wound, he felt his control slip further and further, nothing between him and unbearable agony... before Estel touched the red-hot metal to the edges of the wound beneath his fingers.
"Let it out, mellon-nin," Elrohir whispered.
Legolas pulled in a breath, held it for a mere second... and screamed.
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"Oh yes, let's just leave the dwarf out on things shall we?" Gimli muttered angrily.
It had been three hours since he and Aragorn had met up with each other. The last he had seen of the elf was his retreating back as he followed the ranger out the door to the keep. Neither had seen fit to inform him of any battle plans nor of the Rivendell elf's condition and it was making him extremely irritable.
Fine, he grumbled to himself, If the dwarf is too expendable to be summoned, he'll just have to invite himself to the party.
The soldiers he passed stepped put of his way, deciding to steer clear at the very dour look on his wizened, bearded face. "Try to leave me out of the proceedings will they? I'll show those lads a thing or two..." With similar mutterings coming under his breath, the short being trudged into the tunnels housing the Rohirrim refugees.
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I know I said I'd stop doing this, but cliffhangers leave me such a well-motivated place to start the next chapter. IN ADDITION: Here is the original version of this chapter, when my brother stole my computer and started writing FOR me about seven years ago...
"The soldiers he passed decided to mjcgjzygki 6ugkcjhbvkjxghvkasjump off of a cliff and yelled wakkawakkadoodooyeah while eating pork
(bwahh ha ha ha! The King of All Shinobi is back from fighting evil! He will once again strike terror in the hearts of m-
(kicks little brother off lap) OFF, EIDAN-CHAN! I AM TRYING TO WRITE A FIC HERE?! THIS IS SERIOUS! I'LL BE LYNCHED IF I DON'T DELIVER SOON! I HAVE A DEADLINE TO MEET!
-men, dwarves, elves, demondogs, giantrobots, samurai, glompers, fangirls and pirates alike!
...well...yeah...I WILL strike terror...sometime-
-BUT NOT NOW EIDAN-CCHHAANN! LEMME WRITE AND GET YOUR BUTT OUT OF HERE! (kicks sibling into Mount Doom where Elrond promptly tells him 'I told you so' from the top of the cliff and sends him off with Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas, Aragorn, AND Glorfindel to an R-rated angst/adventure fic.)
(dusts off hands looking satisfied) Right. That takes care of that. Very sorry, everyone, my sincere apologies. I'll put a bounty on his head. (evil grin) Better yet, perhaps a torture vignette challenge...
Now back to our regularly scheduled program.)"
NOTE: Eidan-chan is my little brother who lives to mess up my writing. (Yes folks, that typing is actually from an eleven-soon-to-be-twelve-year-old.) Thank you all for your... patience with my nostalgia. XD