I would just like to say thanks for the favourites and reviews and if you're reading but not reviewing then thanks to you too. I hope you like it.
Ilovevolleyball - I love your reviews, always so... whats the word?... ah yes.. Enthusiastic! and crazy, totally crazy. Glad you liked the last chapter, it took a while for me to get it to a point where I liked it, in fact its getting harder as I go on. I know where I'm going with the story but the characters sometimes seem to keep trying to change my mind. Oh, yes to answer your question OTT means over the top.
Anyhoo, moving on. Heres the next chapter and please, please review. Even if you think it sucks! It feeds the muse.
Chapter 17
Time slows.
.
The three observers in the trees feel their hearts try to leap from their mouths as they behold the fatal scene being played out in front of them. Estel looks on in horror as he watches Legolas lose his footing and it seems to take forever for him to land on the treacherous ground, twisting his body, in an effort to keep his blade in play, he hears the elfs name ring out in a cry filled with such grief and fear he wonders at its source before understanding dawns and the soreness in his throat indicates that the sound has come from his own mouth.
He can't move. His mind cannot will his body out of its frozen stupor and he can only look on in appalled terror as time, once again, begins to flow normally and two knives flash in opposing directions. He wants to close his eyes, to look away, not to have to see the inevitable. Yet. His eyes refuse the command to seal or turn and they remain fixed, hypnotised, upon the travelling blades, widen at the abrupt spurt of crimson as yielding flesh is pierced and the harsh scrape of pained metal upon metal sounds its curtain call and enlarge even further as two bodies tangle together in a crumpled heap, to lie, unmoving, upon the woodland floor.
.
Time stops.
.
All sound and movement has ceased. Three stand as statues, their heartbeats seemingly halted, their lungs unwilling to take in air. Even the trees are still, not a single leaf stirs, no bird calls or insect scratches. The world appears to be waiting, in limbo, unwilling to face that which has happened, to own it and make it real, To name it for what it is.
The young man knows he must move, must cling on to hope and try to lend what aid he can before it becomes too late but his limbs feel leaden and a chill hand has wrapped itself around his heart to squeeze unmercifully at the beating organ, draining his strength and resolve and all he can do is stay, motionless, captivated by the heartbreaking tableau before him. And slowly, time reasserts itself and a red river begins to flow from underneath the fallen elves.
It is Elladan who recovers first. With a sobbing cry he rushes over and falls to his knees reaching out to run shaking fingers over pale skin, feeling for any signs that speak of life. The spell is thus broken and his brothers quickly join him, shaking their heads as if trying to clear them after waking from an unpleasant dream.
" Does, he live?" The question is whispered in a small, trembling voice as Elrohir looks to his twin with pain wracked eyes then allows his eyes to fall disconsolately as he is met with a gentle shake of the dark head. "Aie, Elbereth!" the younger twin breathes, " you know what this will mean?"
He can hardly bring himself to meet his siblings gaze, he knows he will see the same emotions raging through the troubled, brown orbs as must be apparent in his own. At these words Estel passes his gaze from one twin to the other, a frown gathering upon his forehead before settling himself on the ground and lifting the princes limp body to cradle him gently in his arms. With one hand he automatically starts to run strands of golden hair through his fingers, relief crashing through his body like a tidal wave.
Legolas lives. Legolas lives. That is all that matters. He may be unconscious, unaware, and wounded but he lives and as the words replay themselves over and over in his head tears of relief begin to fall, unheeded, upon the pale face he holds so close.
After ensuring that life has indeed fled from the antagonists body the twins share a moment of silent communication then turn to their adoptive brother.
" Come, Estel, he has wounds that need tending." Elrohir gently places a hand upon the young mans shoulder, and uses the clipped, emotionless style of speech adopted by his father in the halls of healing in an effort to break through the shocked trance he notes the human has fallen into.
Wordlessly grey eyes meet brown and acknowledged acceptance flows from one pair to the other and between them they begin to check the princes flaccid body mentally reviewing the many scars and wounds to decide upon which order they should be dealt with.
Whilst his brothers examine the fallen archer Elladan opens his pack and lays out the various herbs and bandages he feels may be needed to aid them to stabilise their charge in order to transport him back to Imladris as soon as possible. He then takes a deep breath and once more bends over Lhossons body to take hold of the ivory handled knife that protrudes from the unmoving chest.
As his fingers curl around the hilt he remembers the many times he has watched this weapon wielded so expertly in battle, how often it has come to both his and his brothers rescue when faced with seemingly uneven odds and wonders how many servants of the darkness it has claimed over its long life. Pausing to sigh ruefully over the life now added to its toll he briefly closes his eyes and with a singular, fluid movement withdraws the bloodstained blade, wipes it clean on a handful of leaves and places it in his own quiver.
With the knife removed he is then able to wrap the lifeless body in a blanket taken from his own bedroll in order to help transport it back to Imladris for his father to decide what must next be done. This job completed he rinses his bloodstained hands with water from his carrier and turns to his brothers noting that Legolas remains unmoving even though two pairs of hands are gently washing and bandaging the myriad of wounds that seem to have left no part of him unmarked.
Knowing that they will need help in transporting both wounded and dead Elladan raises his head and sends out a shrill two tone whistle. Their horses, though allowed to run free what seems a lifetime ago when the orcs had first attacked them, should not have strayed too far and provided they have managed to avoid the foul creatures, will come at his call, having been trained well over the years and loving their masters as they do. He stands and listens for a moment, then nods slightly to himself as a faint answering nicker is heard in reply. Satisfied that they are on the way he begins to gather up their belongings to reorganise his pack and make ready for the journey home.
"He does not wake." Estels whispered voice carries a weight of emotion " even though this must pain him, he stirs not."
The young man is meticulously closing a long gash upon the princes right forearm, the final wound inflicted upon his already scarred body when his blade deflected Lhossons last desperate lunge before piercing the elders chest. It runs from wrist to elbow in a garish red stripe with the white of bone peeking out from between layers of skin and tissue and although deep enough to require stitching there is never so much as a slight tremble from the archer in acknowledgement of the treatment being undertaken. Estel raises distressed eyes to catch Elrohirs for reassurance but finds similar emotions swimming within those of his brothers so quickly drops his once more to finish his task.
The sound of approaching hooves can now be heard by all three brothers and initial wary alertness gives way to relieved sighs as the soft familiar neigh of a horse precedes the appearance of their own, well loved time is lost now in gathering the remaining bandages and herbs, to repack and load and in scouring the area to ensure nothing is left behind.
Estel picks up the ebony handled knife stained with his best friends blood from where it has lain in the gore soaked grass, unnoticed until now and stares at it intently, a look of disgust and loathing etched deep upon his face, ire mounting before Elladan prises it free from the anger controlled fingers then places it with its opposite in his own quiver.
"Come Estel, mount and I will pass him up to you." He bends to carefully pick up the unresisting form of their young friend and helps his human brother settle the prince securely before him on his horse. " I will take the other."Turning to his twin with an expression that will brook no argument he then swiftly gains the back of his own stallion and waits until the body is placed across his saddle and tied in place."Come, let us fly."
With these words his great warhorse turns and begins to move as swiftly as possible through the trees in the direction of Imladris, his companions in tow.