Since he had awoken, the Ranger had remained quiet, preferring to watch the bustle of the camp; it was truly his only option, since he was not allowed to participate. With his chest emitting a steady, throbbing ache from the deep, charred puncture wound located thereon, and his stomach muscles twitching with the unrelievable tightness that the similar burn there created, Aragorn did not wish to rise just yet. The twins, per usual, were arguing, and the human listened to their bickering with unconcealed joy. It is good to hear them, he thought happily, enjoying the noisome peace while it lasted, and watching the Noldor Lords behaving like Elflings rather than the elder Elves they were.
It was not often that Elrohir bested his twin in an argument, but this time, he would not relent. "Not a chance, Elladan. Jalian will stay with you while I gather our horses. We've need for more water and supplies immediately. I will be back within an hour. Stay here," Elrohir commanded, offering little room for any of them to argue. It was difficult to contend with the young Noldo because few of them could move sufficiently to impede him, thus none of them tried.
"I will not be very much use to anyone if you will not even let me stand, Elrohir," the elder twin protested. "I can go and you can remain. The others need you here."
With a snip of the scissors the healer never traveled without, Elrohir had cut the gut he had been stitching through his twin's skin. The long gash over Elladan's forehead was not serious, looking much deeper than it had truly been, and so, luckily for the elder Noldo, few stitches had been required to close the wound. Pressing a cloth to the injury, which had begun to bleed anew, Elrohir twisted linen around his twin's head to hold the scrap of cloth against Elladan's forehead. "You are staying here, and do not let me find upon my return that you have moved."
"Fine, muindor," the eldest of Elrond's sons grumbled, settling back with mendacious compliance. "But hurry."
Aragorn caught the younger twin's smile of surprised triumph. Elrohir should not become accustomed to winning these battles, lest Elladan resort to winning them in ways that are more devious. Usually, when the twins argued over some mere sibling squabbling, the winner was decided by who could pull the better prank; this time, the Ranger did not expect such irresponsibility from either twin. Everyone's mood was lightened, his own included, but it would be temporary, for though they now rejoiced in the witch's death, Ament's concomitant demise, and their relative fortuity, Aragorn did not anticipate this good fortune to last.
He watched Elrohir sprint from the clearing, moving faster than most horses could as he took off gracefully through the thicket. It was already late afternoon; the younger Noldo would rush to collect the twins' and sentry's horses and supplies so as not to be caught in the forest alone at dark, and so as not to leave his brothers, the Prince, and the sentry alone for long. I hope they have brought more blankets. Pulling the tatters of his leather coat over him to keep in his febrile warmth, the human felt a tug at his wrist. Elladan had already stood against his brother's orders and seated himself by the prone Ranger. He smiled apologetically at his human brother, handing Aragorn's arm to Legolas to untie the bandages wrapped round the healer's wrists yet again.
Four times over the course of the afternoon, the despondent Prince had changed the wrappings on a variety of Aragorn's wounds, four times now the Ranger had sat patiently through the redundant procedure, and four times Elladan's attempts to check the Silvan's thigh wound had been avoided. It did not hurt his wrists that the Wood-Elf bound them again now, but even had it, Aragorn would have never told Legolas, or his brothers. The twins' ploy had become apparent to the Ranger almost immediately, for he had discovered much the same about the Prince long before they: the Wood-Elf needed his sense of duty for helping others for his own survival, and so Estel permitted the Prince to tend him. They had tried to encourage the archer to help his sentry, and though he had washed clean the sentry's wounds and fed his fellow Wood-Elf drops of water to wet his lips, Tirn's lifeless state had distressed the Wood-Elf such that they had given up, moving the Silvan away from the ruined Elf and back closer to Aragorn. Thus, Legolas once more smeared salve over the Ranger's scabbed and raw wrists.
He will fade ere we ever reach Eryn Galen's palace, the human thought, watching Legolas pull his leg under him and away from Elladan's hands again.
The Noldo, utterly exasperated, turned his pleading gaze to Aragorn, hoping, it seemed, that the human could convince the Wood-Elf. After all he had allowed the Prince to suffer through it was beyond Aragorn to comprehend why Legolas would trust him, but trust him he did, and so Estel asked the immortal, "Will you let Elladan see that it is not infected?"
"It is fine. It does not pain me," the Silvan rasped, twisting his legs away from the twin and folding them under him fully so that he sat on his heels, while never ceasing his attentions to the Ranger. Although he had allowed the elder Noldo to see to his much-injured torso, back, and arms while tending the Ranger, the Wood-Elf would not allow anyone to touch his legs.
"Please, Legolas. Let us be sure," the Ranger pled, "it will only take Elladan a moment."
Legolas stared at the human, gauging something in the Ranger's gaze that Estel could not define, though he tried his best to appear encouraging to the Prince. The bottomless cobalt blue eyes searched the human's, and then the Prince slowly nodded, stretching his leg out grudgingly and allowing the Noldo to touch him. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Elladan worked quickly, needing to cut the leggings over the young Elda's thigh, as it was not at all feasible that Legolas would remove them for Elladan to see to the arrow wound. Pushing aside the bandaging to expose the injury, sewn shut and vividly red, the Noldo set about his toil.
Recognizing the stitching to be one of the twins by its precise interstices, the Ranger wondered, One of the twins has seen to this wound before. Why now will he not let them near? The mark from Doran's arrow was not infected, thankfully, and the elder twin smeared an unguent across it. Without the adrenaline of battle or fear for his father and home, he is submitting to his grief more readily.
He only trusts me because he has had none else to trust these horrible past few days, the Ranger thought with much guilt, watching the Wood-Elf carefully should Legolas become further distraught as a result of Elladan's handling. When the Prince had finished wrapping Aragorn's wrists, Elladan had not yet finished seeing to Legolas' thigh, and so the Ranger distracted the Wood-Elf by making a show of reaching for the skin of water nearby. With a smile, the accommodating, stricken Prince grabbed it for him and helped the human to drink, emptying another of their few flasks. Unlike the twins, Aragorn felt no guilt for keeping the Silvan busy. Whatever keeps him alive, Estel thought, relaxing against the grass once again when Elladan had finally finished his work and the diversion was no longer needed.
The Prince was not the only one for whom the Ranger fretted. Tirn lay motionless and pale across the way, though according to Elrohir, the sentry appeared to be breathing more deeply, and his pulse had steadied. None voiced their concern for the Wood-Elf's health should he wake – that the Elf still lived despite his massive blood loss might prove to be worse than his death. Several times in Imladris' house of healing Aragorn had seen both Elves and men upon whom the unfortunate circumstance of near exsanguination had befallen, and a few of those poor souls that had woken had never recovered, doomed to live infantile lives from the effects of the blood loss. By Lord Elrond's account, the Ranger had learned that the lack of blood had damaged the beings' mental capacities. Aragorn did not know the sentry, but he hoped that the Wood-Elf would not wake if he were to live such a life – if one could call such a life living for what was once a vibrant and capable warrior. At least he will die doing his duty. Returning his concentration on the ailing Prince, he added to himself, As would Legolas, though I would have neither of them die.
Across the clearing, Jalian was whispering to his horse, patting the animal as he stared into the shadowy forest, which was growing dark with the oncoming night. The mercenary had been helpful, much more than Estel would have expected of the man, and had not only seen that he, Legolas, and his brothers were comfortable, but was now also feeding the horses water from a tin pot. The mercenary glanced at the Prince on occasion with uncertainty, and it was not until the scarred human had finally frowned, releasing the rope that held a tied, rolled cloak to Doran's horse, that the Ranger truly noted his unusual actions.
With the bundle in hand, the mercenary tread noisily to where the two Elves and Ranger sat, standing before Legolas with a long lump of cloak in hand. "Here," he said, holding out the package.
The Prince made no move to accept the package, and in fact did not even seem to care that the scarred human stood before him; Elladan took the bundle, instead, asking, "What is it?"
Nodding towards the reticent and withdrawn Wood-Elf, Jalian explained, "The bow and arrows he was carrying, and his sword. Me and Meika brought 'em with us. Thought they'd be worth a coin or two, but Doran was plannin' to keep 'em. I guess Doran don't need them anymore."
At this, the Silvan, no longer ignoring the mercenary, grabbed the cloak from Elladan, unrolling the cloth to expose his weapons. Remembering how vulnerable he had felt while unarmed, the Ranger lay with a smile, seeing the delight with which the woodland warrior took out his well-crafted, burnished long sword. "Thank you, Jalian," the Prince told the human gruffly, his sincere smile belying the curt and rough tone of his voice. "This sword was a gift from my father."
The human turned away to walk around the clearing, picking up gear and baggage as he went, and intending to search through his fellow mercenaries' supplies for more food, water, and herbs for their use. A pile of said supplies sat in the center of the clearing from where Elrohir had already started this task earlier. Food they had plenty of, for the mercenaries had brought dried meat, roasted nuts, and tack with them: water and herbs they were sorely lacking, the former more so than the latter, and the few flasks of water the mercenary and Noldo had accumulated from their search were not full and would not last them long.
We will leave on the morrow, the human sighed, looking up at the noise of Jalian dumping out another satchel through which to sift. I do not look forward to telling Thranduil that it is my fault his son is battling grief and his sentry dying.
The hours passed slowly, the shifting shadows and dwindling light the only marker of the passage of time in the clearing: the Silvan held his sword in hand by its hilt, his bow and quiver sitting nearby, while Elladan was helping Jalian to gather the last few bags from the horses, helping to dump them out to sort through them himself. Taking Meika's baggage in hand, the mercenary cast a sorrowful smile to the Ranger, and sat down to sift through it. Aragorn turned his head from where he lay on the ground to observe the mercenary – Jalian would pull free an item, smile tearfully at whatever he had found, whether it was a tin cup or a scrap of cloth, before gently laying it out in the grass to form a row of the fallen mercenary's possessions. Showing Meika's belongings more courtesy than the other dead human's effects, Jalian tossed whatever they might need onto the growing pile and then replaced each item they would not need carefully back into its bag, before placing the bag with his own.
He will keep his friend's things, Aragorn thought, seeing the mercenary grab another of Meika's satchels.
None spoke during the long while they waited for Elrohir's return, though Legolas had taken to humming under his breath, putting aside his knife though leaving it well within his reach. His body rocked slightly with each exhaled, off-key note, the tremulous swaying appearing to Aragorn much like a boat caught in the gentle currents of the Anduin, or a leaf caught in a zephyr. What might have normally been the Elda's singing voice had become a hoarse and unmelodious tone; however, Estel was merely glad that the Wood-Elf felt like singing, and listened to the Prince's unrecognizable melody, feeling in his relief and sorrow as if the discordant tune were the most beautiful song he had heard.
When the archer began to cough violently, Aragorn called out, "Is there more water, Jalian?"
The mercenary replaced the last of his companion's possessions swiftly, and taking a flask up from the pile, brought it to the Ranger. Aragorn pointed towards the Prince and Jalian instead handed the flask to Legolas. "Thank you, Jalian," the Silvan croaked out again, draining the nearly empty flask in one swallow.
"Let me give you something for the pain, Legolas," the elder twin advised, tossing aside the satchel he held to pick up his own. "It is good that you cough, but I know your ribs must hurt you."
"Your herbs will put me to sleep. I do not want them."
The Prince's unconcerned rebuttal caused the anxious Noldo to turn on Aragorn his fear-born need to remain occupied. Elladan worried for his twin, for them all, and like Elrohir, the twin could not sit still when there was much to be done. "We could all use sleep," Elladan told them, kneeling beside the Ranger to check his bandages.
"Elrohir will return soon, brother," he asserted, batting Elladan's hands from him and realizing that it was fear for his twin, who was taking more time than it should have taken for him to retrieve the horses, that incited the elder Noldo's activity. "Leave me be unless you plan to help me sit." The Wood-Elf's tending he would endure but his brother's mothering was quickly growing annoying.
Without arguing, the elder Noldo expressed his displeasure with his human brother with a morose frown, and then relented, aiding the Ranger into sitting with his back resting against the tree behind him. It was the same tree against which Melfren had so casually thrown Elladan, the Ranger noted, and thought with bewilderment, as he was not yet acclimated to the idea, It is over. His vinegary and annoyed mood left him forthwith at the memory of Elladan's lifeless form lying at the base of the oak: I should be thankful the twins are here to annoy me. I should be thankful they came at all. His determination to learn how the twins had found the Prince and he renewed, though he knew that his own story would need be told, too, in admitting to his brothers his blame in the situation. They will ask for the story tonight, the Ranger thought, sure that the inquisitive twins would not refrain long from satisfying their curiosity.
"This is the last one, mate," Jalian called from across the clearing, tossing Ramlin's emptied satchel to the ground. In his hand, he held a bladder of water, and shaking it, declared, "We'll need to go back to the river for water, or find someplace to get more soon."
Under Elrohir's tutelage, the mercenary's beneficence had increased from the fearful compliance he had displayed in the tunnel to a genuine desire to help. Jalian had been following Elrohir's instructions all afternoon in regards to mixing herbs, and from what Aragorn could see of Jalian measuring out and grinding willow bark in a mortar across the way, the mercenary was doing a fine job of it. We will need him with us while traveling to Mirkwood. Whether the others would wish the mercenary to accompany them or whether Jalian would agree was another matter. Looking at the butchered clearing around him, the hacked trees and the blood spattered grass, the broken arrow shafts, the tips of which had already been saved and stashed away, and Legolas struggling against Elladan's attempts to tighten the wrappings over his broken ribs, Aragorn decided, Jalian owes us this much, if nothing else. He owes Legolas this.
That the mercenary had not known of the full consequences of his actions did little to alleviate the Ranger's fury towards the human, but with Ament and the witch dead, and the goblet useless, Aragorn could not sustain his anger. His thoughts meandering in his weary mind to the death of Melfren, the Ranger asked Elladan, sidetracking the Noldo's attention unintentionally, and thereby allowing Legolas to scramble away from the healer, "How did the witch die?"
Elladan threw his hands up in the air, vexed at the Prince's avoidance, and then grimaced as his aggravated action disturbed his broken collarbone. He moved gingerly to sit by the sentry, instead, who could not escape the worried Noldo's ministrations, and straightened the splint around Tirn's thigh. "Legolas killed him."
"No," the Wood-Elf affirmed quietly. "The spiders killed him."
Wanting to ask more of the witch's death, Estel was interrupted by the steady beat of fast moving horses resounding through the clearing, and moments later Elrohir burst into the glade, his horse at a full gallop with Tirn and Elladan's steeds not far behind. Leaping off the mount, he inspected each of his patients anxiously for changes in their health, his eyes wide as if he had not expected to find them still in the clearing upon his return.
"I am back," he said to his quiet, subdued charges, pulling free his and the sentry's baggage, and placing them before Jalian.
"We can see that, muindor," came Elladan's sardonic reply. "It certainly took you long enough. And you returned not a moment too soon," the Noldo said without elucidation. Anor was falling behind the mountains in the distance to the left, turning the open space into a shadowy and dim campsite.
"Tirn's horse had wandered away," the younger twin explained, and then with mock affront, the Noldo exclaimed, "You have moved, muindor!" Elladan snorted, while Elrohir grinned at his twin's irritation, winking at the Ranger and Prince ere turning to the scarred human grinding away with his borrowed mortar. "Jalian," he impelled, "will you please help me find something for our dinner. My brother becomes very grumpy when he has not eaten."
With Jalian's aid, Elrohir prepared food for them: they sat in a rough circle, passing the flask of water after they had handed around the chunks of dried venison and some of the bread, slightly soggy from the previous rain, that Jalian had brought with him. The meal was meager but the Ranger was famished and ate the simple repast with relish. Sitting in downcast silence until the worst of their hunger was sated, Elrohir fetched another flask from their mound of unpacked provisions and sat back on the ground to say pointlessly, "Tomorrow we can leave for Eryn Galen."
The Ranger, still encumbered with the responsibility of Legolas' grief and the sentry's imminent death, tried to espouse the same relieved sentiment as his Elven brother, saying, "It is over."
"Perhaps, then," the Noldo said, flipping a piece of venison into his mouth, "you could tell us what, in the name of the One, has happened?"
And so the peace is ended. From the tips of his toes to the very hairs on his head, the Ranger did not desire to hold this conversation.