Elrohir tried to remain calm: he could not allow his twin and the Prince to panic, although his own heart had leapt into his throat, blocking the soothing lie he tried to tell the two anxious Elves before him. "The goblet is below," he admitted, pushing firmly the Silvan's shoulder so that Legolas sat in the soft grass beside Aragorn once again. He knew that Elladan did not trust the mercenary, and Legolas had no reason to trust Jalian, but Elrohir tried to placate the two regardless. "The goblet can cast no more spells."
"Does Jalian know this?" As simple a question as Legolas asked, Elrohir still could barely stifle the sudden desire to sprint to the underground lair where the sentry and mercenary waited.
Jalian would not have done this, the Noldo thought, twisting his hands together unconsciously as he tried to think of a way to convince them and himself that the mercenary would not harm the sentry.
Elladan, who Elrohir noticed with annoyance was not only sitting but also now trying to stand, had taken Elrohir's sword in hand. "We cannot leave him below. Come, Elrohir."
"I should come with you," the Prince argued, making as though to rise from the ground; Elrohir pushed the Elf gently back into sitting. He was growing very tired of being the only Elf in the clearing with any common sense.
"No, muindor," the younger twin implored his brother, willing him to understand. We cannot leave Aragorn above ground alone, and Legolas is too injured to go. "You are injured," he told Elladan, however, rather than the more seriously injured Legolas. Turning to the Wood-Elf, the younger Noldo asked of him, hoping Legolas would not realize his ploy, "I cannot leave Estel and Elladan alone. You must protect them."
Having only made it to his knees, Elladan sat back on his heels heavily and handed his brother's sword to him. He said nothing but nodded, and Elrohir knew that his twin had understood his intent. "Be careful," Elladan warned his younger brother. "And come back," the elder Elf said quietly.
Guilty exigency overcame him, and he did not pause to reply to Elladan as he stalked across the clearing, not noticing that the forest was no longer silent and the sun-enamored trees and plants vied for Anor's golden attention. Although he wanted nothing more than to run to the decimated trees, to get to Tirn and the goblet, he forced away the fear-inspiring image of what he may find below ground. I should not have left him alone, Elrohir thought, careful to keep his pace slow when the last few feet between him and the hacked trees seemed to take too long to navigate. Jalian was not trustworthy, Elrohir knew. The mercenary had aided them, however, and the Noldo's earlier conversation with the scarred human had softened Elrohir's instant hatred for any who would abet the defilement of a fellow Elf. He crept between the unnatural hollow of the trees.
Now that he was out of sight of his brothers and the Prince, Elrohir wasted no time in crawling into the tree-encircled opening, not feeling in his fear the thick splinters of wood under his unprotected hands as he scrambled forward. If Jalian has hurt Tirn, I will personally strap him to the nearest Warg. He leapt down the short ladder, not bothering to use a single rung as he flung himself headfirst to the tunnel's floor. When his hands hit the loose soil and rock surface, his feet were already pushing his body forward, sprinting towards the Wood-Elf, the mercenary, and the accursed goblet.
He could listen to the Silvan no longer. "Legolas," the Noldo pled, "let me see to your wounds." Elladan could hear the rails of the archer's breathing, and he feared that one of the Prince's ribs had punctured a lung. The pink, frothy blood the Wood-Elf coughed up frightened the Noldo.
Legolas shook his head, his gaze on the trees at the opposite end of the clearing where Elrohir had only just entered. "I am fine," the archer lied, turning his head slowly to Elladan. The Wood-Elf merely glanced at the Noldo before his dulled blue eyes settled on the Ranger beside him. Picking one hand up carefully from the ground, the Prince gently encircled Aragorn's forearm with his hand, placing the Ranger's limb on the human's chest, where Elven hand and human arm moved with each slight rise and fall of Estel's torso.
Elladan scooted closer to the Silvan, grimacing at the pain it caused his broken collarbone and the dizzy queasiness that welled within him at the movement: he was determined to help Legolas. We need to get him to Mirkwood, to his father, and with his people.
As fearful as he was of what was happening with his twin and the mercenary below, the Noldo tried to humor the Prince, saying, "If Aragorn were not sleeping, he would no doubt be saying he is fine, also. I see he has met his match in obstinacy."
For a moment, the Wood-Elf only stared at him in confusion, but the archer then smiled what would have been a brilliant smile, had his lips not been split, his face bruised, and much of his body still covered in blood. "Aragorn?" The Prince laughed cheerfully, albeit gruffly, and smiled down at the Ranger. "Your brother has many names."
The Noldo watched the Prince check the Ranger's bandages, seeing the fondness the Silvan felt for his youngest brother. There was so much that he didn't know about what had occurred to Estel and Legolas, and now was not the time to ask, but Elladan could perceive that even after the trials he had been through, the Prince trusted the human.
"He will have many more names before his time on Arda is over," the Noldo replied, pulling Elrohir's satchel to him. Finding another cloth with which to wash the Wood-Elf's wounds, Elladan picked up the forgotten flask of water, first offering it to the archer.
While Legolas drank from the flask, the Noldo sorted through his brother's collection of herbs, searching for something to ease the Silvan's painful coughing. Finding a few herbs that would not need steeping, he tried to hand them to the Prince, who shook his head when he saw them, explaining, "I have had them before: they will put me to sleep." Elladan sighed, prepared to argue with the Wood-Elf, but Legolas conceded. "I will take them when I am not needed."
Damn it to Mordor, the elder twin thought. The only thing keeping Legolas alive is Elrohir's telling him that we require his assistance. When he does not need these herbs, it will be too late for them to aid him.
He took the flask from Legolas and wetted the cloth he had taken from Elrohir's satchel. The Wood-Elf glared at this action dubiously but Elladan did not relent in his effort to aid the Prince, and grabbed the archer's arm; Legolas pulled away summarily. Wincing at the Prince's dormant fear, which was obvious in the younger Elf's blanched and terrified face, Elladan merely pulled the archer to him, wiping clean the new gash the Silvan had sustained on his upper arm. Acting as though he did not notice the Wood-Elf's distress, the Noldo tended the wound with disinterested efficiency, hoping Legolas would calm. He had seen his father use the same technique on several Elves unfortunate to have been wounded more deeply that just their bodies, one of whom was his mother.
The ploy worked: the Prince's muscles relaxed under Elladan's attentions, but the archer's dirty, flaxen head bobbed slowly and Legolas' hand, the Noldo noticed, was tightening around Aragorn's wrist. Son of an Orc. Elladan panicked. The Wood-Elf's eyes were glazing over and his breathing had become too low.
"Legolas," he exclaimed softly, yanking the Prince's arm slightly to rouse the drifting Elf. Blinking once, Legolas looked at Elladan, his eyes focusing for a brief moment on the Noldo before they wandered back to the Ranger on the ground. "Legolas," Elladan said more quietly than before. "I need your help."
His demeanor becoming more aware at once, Legolas watched Elladan wind a bandage around his upper arm. "What do you need, Elladan?"
"The lacerations on Estel's throat," the twin thought aloud quickly, tying off the bandage and grabbing Elrohir's satchel again. "I need you to cover them with this," he said, handing the eager Prince a tin of salve. "It will keep out infection." Legolas nodded and moved closer to the Ranger, finally releasing his hold of the man's arm. His eyes watering when he jarred his collarbone, Elladan moved behind the Prince, dragging Elrohir's satchel with him. He would need plenty of supplies.
The archer squirmed away at Elladan's prodding of the younger Elf's ribs: though several of the Prince's ribs were cracked, none were displaced enough to be puncturing the Silvan's lungs. The blood he coughs must come from the trauma to his throat, the Noldo decided, his thoughts turning to the horrible sight of the younger Elf being throttled in the passageway by the blond human, and the violent efficiency with which Tirn had slain the mercenary. Elladan wiped clean the side of the Prince's chest, stopping only to point out a missed cut on the Ranger's neck that the Wood-Elf had not yet lathered in the ointment. I hope he will be well, Elladan thought of Tirn. I hope we will all be well.
When done, Legolas capped the ointment. He dodged Elladan's attempts to wash clean the long slash over his chest only once before the Noldo grabbed his arms. The Wood-Elf became still and his eyes became wide. "Legolas," Elladan reasoned, "if you do not let me see to your injuries, then you will not be healthy to help Aragorn." Sickened at his manipulation of the Prince, the Noldo added, shamed at the apparent contrition in the overcome Silvan's demeanor, "Estel's bandages need to be checked."
Ilúvatar forgive me, the elder twin thought, hoping that Elrohir's plan of keeping Legolas alive by reminding him of his duties would not truly end up merely prolonging the Wood-Elf's death: Elladan did not think he could handle the guilt of having ordered about the grieving Prince for the remainder of his days on Arda. Now sympathetic as to why Elrohir had been guilt-ridden when telling him of how he had obtained the Prince's acquiescence into returning to the clearing, Elladan pledged to himself, Legolas will survive. He began to cleanse the Wood-Elf's wounds tentatively. He has survived this long. He will survive.
Without complaint, the Wood-Elf began to check the Ranger's wounds systematically, and though he tensed at the first swipe of Elladan's cloth across the laceration on his bare chest, he did not flee the Noldo's aid. He tended the worst of the Prince's lacerations first, intent on aiding Legolas as much as he could before the Wood-Elf would allow no more. Dabbing at the odd indention in the Silvan's chest with a salve, Elladan soothed the Wood-Elf's wounds, distracting the Prince from his actions by having Legolas tend the Ranger in turn, and wishing his twin would return swiftly.
Elrohir raced around the tunnel's bend, kicking rocks and dirt into the walls, where they beat the wooden timbers in a hurried tempo that matched the Noldo's urgent flight. No sooner had he rounded the corner than Jalian yelped in surprise, standing from his seat beside Tirn to back several feet away from the advancing Noldo. Ceasing his sprint so that he stood between the scarred human and the sentry, Elrohir surveyed the tunnel. The goblet lay as it had; in their haste to find Ament, it had been forgotten against the stone slab they had pulled from atop Tirn. The sentry was as pale and lifeless as before, although Elrohir noted that the Wood-Elf's chest still moved.
"Egad," the mercenary whispered feverishly, his eyes wide in the dark of the tunnel. "You scared me, mate. Thought you was Ament."
Elrohir looked down at the goblet again, disbelieving that it had not been used again, and realizing as he did so that halfway in his flight down the tunnel he had drawn his sword from its scabbard. He stared at the mercenary, not certain whether to believe that Jalian had not hurt Tirn, and the sentry and goblet were undisturbed in his absence; his drawn sword and intense scrutiny must have frightened the human.
Jalian stepped back again, asking bluntly, "You plannin' to kill me now?"
Letting his sword slide back into its sheath, Elrohir shook his head dumbly, stunned that the mercenary thought he would kill him in cold blood. "Ament is dead," he said, "and the others are safe above."
Jalian nodded, eyeing the Noldo suspiciously. "So it is all over then?"
"It is."
Rubbing his hands over his scarred head, the mercenary knocked the ever-present soil from the black tufts of hair growing on his marred scalp. "What about Doran? Is he dead, too?"
Elrohir knelt beside Tirn, feeling the sentry's heartbeat. Though the Wood-Elf's pulse was steady, it was weak, and the sentry had regained no color in his fair features. "I do not know of whom you speak," the younger twin explained, looking around him for something that would aid him in carrying the sentry out of the tunnel. "If you mean the tall blond human, then yes, he is dead."
It seemed that the mercenary had mixed emotions about the death of all of his companions. He grew silent, staring down the dark tunnel without moving, though the Noldo sensed no anger or violence from him. Elrohir could not fault the mercenary for his grief; however, to the Noldo, the deaths of the mercenaries were no loss at all, except perhaps for Meika's demise, who Jalian claimed had helped Estel and Legolas. Elrohir felt no remorse about their deaths, no matter how horrible. Therefore, the twin left Jalian to his thoughts, having no comfort to give him, and instead prepared to move Tirn by bracing the Elf's neck the best he could.
"Here," came the voice of the human behind him. Turning to see what the man wanted, Elrohir gave the mercenary and the outstretched hand holding a long, dirty cloak a questioning look. "For a litter," the man explained. "To carry 'im outside."
"Thank you." Elrohir accepted the cloak, untied the knot of the string that bound the hood, and spread it out on the ground. Lifting the sentry carefully, the Noldo placed him on the cloak with Jalian's help, wrapping the sides of it over the Wood-Elf and leaving enough room for him to grasp the cloth at the sentry's head. After strapping the goblet to his waist, Elrohir grabbed the cloth: the bottom hem did not extend far beyond the sentry's legs, but it was enough for Jalian to hold onto as they slowly walked through the tunnel.
Altogether, Elrohir was pleased with the mercenary's idea. I wonder if he has any experience as a healer, the Noldo thought, unable to cease smiling now that he knew Tirn and the goblet were safe.
He wanted to keep the sentry's body as stable as possible, as he did not want Tirn's neck wound aggravated, nor have to reset the Wood-Elf's broken thigh. When they came to the ladder, Elrohir climbed ahead, holding the sentry's upper body as he backed up the ladder, while Jalian supported the majority of Tirn's weight. He backed rear end first out of the tunnel, dragging Tirn with him by dragging Jalian's coat. Keeping the sentry on the cloak was proving difficult, but the mercenary would replace the Wood-Elf's stray arms each time they fell from the protection of the long cloth, and he held still the makeshift splint that Elladan had placed on the sentry's broken thigh earlier that day.
Free of the grotto and finally standing, Elrohir looked to his twin and the Prince just in time to catch Elladan preparing to rise, no doubt to aid them with Tirn. "We will manage," Elrohir told his twin, relieved laughter spilling from him despite his cross tone, when he saw that Elladan had been able to convince Legolas to let him tend to him, and that the Wood-Elf was tending the still unconscious Ranger.
He chuckled again, though he sobered slightly as he looked down at Tirn's ashen face. I have enough patients to begin my own healing house, he complained, and then smiled at his thoughts: he was glad he had patients to tend, rather than bodies to bury. Grabbing the cloak, he and Jalian moved the sentry to where his two brothers and Legolas, who was anxious to see his sentry, were waiting.
He had the odd feeling that he should have been dead. He had seen the dagger protruding from his chest, and he knew that it should have killed him; however, he also knew that Elrohir would not be laughing if he were dead. Moreover, he should not be able to hear their laughter if dead. There is nothing for it, the Ranger complained sullenly, holding his aching body very still as his consciousness finally emerged from his comforting slumber, I am alive.
Aragorn tried to pay attention to the twins' conversation. He could recall vaguely a reason for urgency, for needing to wake, to rise – whatever reason that was, the Ranger could not remember, and so he dozed, letting his brothers' voices lull him back to sleep. He had nearly evaded consciousness when a hoarse cough beside him roused his thinking, and his memory of the owner of said cough. Legolas. The sound had been close, and the human knew the Wood-Elf sat beside him. The Ranger made several frustrating attempts to open his eyes, but the pull of sleep kept them closed, and so he just listened.
"How is Tirn?"
"The same," Elrohir told Legolas. "Just stay still, Elladan," an obviously exasperated Elrohir ranted. "We can lay Tirn here." After a moment of silence, the elder twin must have moved again and Legolas must have tried, also, because Elrohir complained, "Stay where you are, both of you!"
"I am only trying to help you, brother." Aragorn heard the sound of someone settling with a grunt of pain on the ground beside him, and then Elladan's voice became louder, although his words were softly spoken. "Legolas," Elladan asked, "will you please wrap Aragorn's wrists?"
One by one, the raw wounds on his wrists, gifts from Ament's ceaseless yanking of the Ranger's rope leash, were washed and wrapped, the untrained but kind touch of the Wood-Elf soothing to the Ranger.
He stopped listening to the activities in the clearing: Legolas was alive, for now, as was Tirn, apparently. Both Elladan and Elrohir were well, and Melfren, Aragorn decided, must be dead, else none of them would be alive. For the first time since Fulton, six days ago, the human felt free. Reflecting on the past six days and the thin line he had walked to keep Legolas alive and the mercenaries mostly unaware of his ambition to thwart their plans, he thought, I am no longer responsible for anyone's life.
The distinct tone of Elladan's voice roused the Ranger, for the twin was using the same tone that had been used on him each time he had been resistant to the twins' efforts to treat his wounds. "Please," Elladan chided the Wood-Elf, nearly begging, "Your broken ribs need to be bound. It will make it easier to cough, Legolas."
"I do not wish to cough," the Silvan said grimly. Even from where he laid on the ground, the Ranger could hear the uneven rails of the archer's breathing.
"You need to cough," Elladan replied. "I know it hurts, Legolas, but you must keep your lungs clear." The Wood-Elf must have consented, because the end of the linen Elladan wound around the archer's chest would occasionally brush against Aragorn's arm.
It was then that he noticed the warmth of the sun on his bare skin, and not willing to open his eyes to see, merely surmised from his bared chest, I am sure Elladan and Elrohir took great pleasure in ruining my leather overcoat.
"There," the elder twin said, breaking the Ranger's muddled reverie. "I do not think your ribs have punctured your lungs, but we will not tempt fate. Take deep breaths," he advised the Silvan, explaining, "to cough up the blood in your lungs."
"More likely I will cough up mud. I inhaled more dirt than air in the tunnel," Legolas said.
A sudden pressure against his hip nearly surprised the Ranger into opening his eyes, but he did not want to wake fully. He did not want to be awake because it meant he would need to explain to his brothers, and then later King Thranduil and his Ada, that the Prince's grieving, fading soul was entirely his fault. He had kept the archer against his will, which had resulted in the Prince being brutalized and tormented, and Legolas had repaid him by saving his life – more than once. Even when the Silvan had been determined to stay, Aragorn felt he should have forced the Prince into leaving. Tirn had suffered, too, and would likely die because of Aragorn's hastily made decisions.
I am just as guilty as Ament, the Ranger thought.
"Legolas," Elladan admonished with unbridled, worried exasperation; the human heard his eldest brother's anguish clearly, knowing the reasons behind it. "Let me check your thigh wound."
The pressure against the Ranger's hip increased, and Estel let his eyes slide open. Against him sat the Prince, who shirked Elladan's prodding and moved into Aragorn to avoid the elder Elf from touching him. He is frightened. Aragorn closed his eyes quickly lest they see he was awake. If he will not even allow other Elves to help him, then what odds does Legolas have for any recuperation?
Sighing deeply at the thought, he caught the attention of the Prince. The Wood-Elf grabbed the man's forearm, finally bringing Estel from his desired solitude. Peering down at him, the Prince smiled while the Ranger frowned. "He is dead," Legolas asserted, affirming the human's assumption that neither Ament nor Melfren would bother them anymore. "All will be well, Strider."
A dark-haired shadow stood over him, and another, similar one joined beside him, followed shortly by a grinning mercenary. The twins' looked down upon him, smiling at seeing him awake, while Jalian simply looked happy to be alive. They spoke to him but he could not understand them, as they spoke in tandem, and his tired mind could not separate their voices. Aragorn returned their joy, however, for his last vision of Elladan, bent and battered, was relieved from his mind. Elrohir, it seemed, had no injuries, though his features were drawn with sharing his brother's pain and the burden of their collective welfare.
All will be well, the Ranger repeated to himself, not yet able to speak but wanting to begin his apologies to the fading Silvan smiling down at him and the twins who would despise him for his culpability in the Prince's ordeal. Despite what the Wood-Elf said, the heavy smell of blood and the unrestrained aura of grief around Aragorn portended to him that not all would be well.