Chapter 15

So new chapter! I looked through the rest of the story, and actually there is not a huge amount left to go- about 10k, or 3-4 shortish chapters, depending on how I cut it. So this is the end of the action here, but there is still some things left to be resolved- something occurs in this chapter that will have a lasting effect for another chapter or two. It's all Belhadron and Faramir this chapter, but Legolas and Aragorn will be back in the next one.

I have plenty of oneshots in my head that I intend to write down and publish in between finishing this story and actually writing the next longer story- I've had a bit of a writer's block with it recently. But the tragic oneshot is closeish to being finished- a few more scenes to be written, and I need to find a nice way to conclude it, but the main part has been done. For those who have already said a few prompts to me, don't worry- I have written them down and will do something with them!

If anyone else wants to drop by and ask for something specific, feel free! I'm pretty easy to inspire sometimes, and even if you just have a quote that you love, or a song you absolutely adore, drop by and let me know if you want it worked into a oneshot, or maybe even a longer story :) There's so much room for imagination in Middle Earth, I'm pretty sure I can do that for you guys!

In other news, it was dress up day for my year at school today. I was a 'generic pirate with flavours of Will Turner', and if I say so myself, my makeup was damn fine! But it took me so long to do, especially the eyeliner and red lipstick :) A bunch of my friends turned up as the Mr Men, wearing massive cardboard outfits, so they had to turn sideways to get through the doors :D I actually won individual best costume, as according to my head of year, I was the 'classiest'. Not sure if pirates can be classy, but anyway...

Anyway, enough of my blabbering. Have a story!

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

0-o-0-o-0

Faramir continued fighting until the Easterlings were finally subdued. The fighting had been more vicious than any other skirmish this week, and Faramir could hear the groans of pain from Easterlings and Rangers alike. He saw Beregond dragging an Easterling from the edges of the camp to the centre, where those alive were being held. His captain nodded at him, handing his man off to someone else and making his way over.

"Quite a few are dead," Beregond said, his voice soft. "And we have injuries of our own. Mablung shouldn't be far out, though."

Faramir nodded. "Get the Easterlings who are not hurt to begin digging graves, and treat any wounds as best as you can," he ordered. "Find out how many of our men are hurt, and whether we'll need the horses that Mablung has with him. He should be coming in soon. I'll find Belhadron and see if he can't tell if he's nearby." He tried to push away the lingering feeling that he should have waited for Mablung. Second-guessing his decisions when he had already made them was never a good idea.

Beregond nodded, and turned away. He had only made it a few steps across the campsite when they heard someone shout.

"Faramir!"

Faramir spun on his heels, and his gaze found a familiar figure knelt on the floor. Belhadron was looking his way, and there was someone on the ground in front of him. The elf's face was smeared with blood, as if he had pulled back his hair with bloody fingertips.

His heart seemed to sigh with resignation and something almost akin to disappointment, and Faramir hurried across the campsite to where Belhadron and another Ranger were crouched. In front of them lay a Ranger, gasping for breath. Belhadron's hands were pressed down firmly on a balled up piece of cloak over the Ranger's chest, which was already slick with blood.

"What happened?" asked Faramir, kneeling down beside the Ranger. The man's eyes flickered over to him, and Faramir recognised the gaze of someone who was desperately trying to keep the pain locked away and keep at bay unconsciousness. It was a well-rehearsed look for many men in Gondor.

Belhadron briefly peeled back the cloak to reveal the stab wound, oozing blood. Faramir grimaced, and then as more blood bubbled from the wound, Belhadron pressed the cloak back in place. The Ranger gasped at the sudden pressure, and then his breath caught in his throat and he began to panic, his body overriding any control he had in a desperate attempt to get air into his lungs.

"Easy," said Faramir, gently squeezing the man's shoulder. "It's alright, it's alright. Breathe with me." His voice was low and soft, and the Ranger's eyes slowly fixed on him as Faramir breathed slowly in and out. He gradually calmed, his breaths coming in short gasps.

The other Ranger, a younger man by the name of Duilin, had hold of the Ranger's hand with a weak smile whenever the Ranger looked over at him. The Ranger choked again on his breath and Duilin's hand went white.

"Hey, just breathe," said Duilin, a small smile being forced onto his face as the Ranger's head rolled over to look at him. "Just breathe. It will be alright."

Belhadron looked up at Faramir at those words, and shook his head ever so slightly, his face looking like it was carved from stone. Faramir held back a sigh, and nodded. He slipped off his cloak, bunching it up and putting it under the Ranger's head.

Faramir had known, anyway. The stab wound was large and bleeding rather heavily, and had undoubtedly caused the man's lung to collapse. If they were in Minas Tirith, if they were in a clean room with healers, then maybe something could be done, but out in the middle of Ithilien there was little chance. They would do what they could, of course, but there was not much.

Duilin was biting his lip now with the effort of trying to stay calm. Belhadron wordlessly peeled back the cloak, looking at the wound, before pressing the sodden material back to the Ranger's chest again. At the movement Duilin looked up, and his expression suddenly morphed into something containing hope, if a foolish hope at that.

"Can you do something? Please, can you do something?" he asked Belhadron, his words rushing out all at once. Belhadron frowned, unsure of what he had said, and Faramir spoke.

"Is there anything you can do?" he asked, his voice tired. He already knew the answer.

Belhadron looked back at Duilin and shook his head. "No," he said. "I cannot."

"But…" Duilin's face still contained that treacherous seed of hope, and he gripped the Ranger's hand tighter. "You're an elf!" he said, his voice rising in the hopes that a shout could accomplish more. "You have magic. Do something!"

Belhadron shook his head again. "I have no-" he started to say, but was interrupted by Duilin.

"Of course you do!" he half shouted, his voice thickening with everything he was trying to hold back. "You are an elf! You have to do something!"

"I cannot," Belhadron said firmly. "I cannot do more than you, or Faramir. I have no magic. I'm sorry."

"But…you're an elf!" Duilin's entire hope seemed to hinge on this fact, and when his expression did not change as Belhadron denied it again, Faramir stepped in.

"There's nothing more he can do, Duilin," he said softly. "No more than what any of us can do." His gaze turned to the Ranger lying in front of them. The cloak under Belhadron's hands was steadily turning a dark red. "We'll get you back to Minas Tirith," he said softly.

The Ranger smiled weakly, before a cough tore through his chest and out his lips. A little blood trickled out of one corner of his mouth. "I don't have much…of a chance," he whispered, his breathing harsh.

Faramir shook his head. "The blade pierced your lung," he said. "We'll try and get you back, but I cannot make any promises." He had not lied to his men all the way through the bloody fighting of the war, and he did not intend to start lying to them now.

"I am sorry I cannot-" Belhadron started to say, but the Ranger shook his head, more blood trickling from the side of his mouth.

"It is not…your fault," he said. "Duilin, it is not his fault. You must know that."

Duilin nodded, but his face was still contorted in anger and grief, and his grip on the Ranger's hand tightened. The Ranger battled for a few moments, trying to keep his eyes open, but they would not remain open, and finally they fell shut, his head lolling to one side. His chest still rose and fell, but barely. All of it, from the moment Faramir had heard Belhadron call his name, had taken a minute, maybe less.

Beregond appeared at Faramir's shoulder with a slight sigh, and Faramir stood up. "Get the best person with wounds to treat him as well as they are able," he said. "And I want some men to fashion a stretcher. We'll see if we can get him back to Minas Tirith."

Beregond nodded. "Mablung shouldn't be too far out, and then we can use the horses," he said. "We have twenty two alive Easterlings, and graves are being dug." By and large, the bustle in the camp had gone on around the small group.

Another Ranger, called over by Beregond, knelt down beside the fallen Ranger and Belhadron stood up, relinquishing his hold on the sodden cloak. He made his way over to Faramir, who passed him a scrap of torn cloth to clean his hands.

"Can you see if Mablung is close?" Faramir asked Belhadron. "I want to be able to move out and back to Osgiliath as soon as possible."

Belhadron nodded. "I need quiet," he said, looking around at the hectic camp. "To concentrate." The trees were unused to him here, and it was not like at home, where most elves could easily slip into the song of the forests. This took patience.

Faramir nodded, and Belhadron moved away with him to the edge of the camp. With a heavy sigh he leant against one of the trees, pushing images of blood out of his mind, and silently apologising to the tree for his stained hands. It took a few minutes for him to relax enough, still tensed up after the skirmish, but eventually he managed to push his senses out through the surrounding woods, even if it was pretty touch and go.

Faramir stood by his side, watching the camp as his Rangers moved around it, efficiently cleaning up. After a few minutes, Belhadron opened his eyes. "Mablung is ten minutes out," he said. "I think. It is hard to know for certain."

Faramir nodded. "Good," he said. "We'll return to Osgiliath and then journey on to Minas Tirith now we have the last remainder of the Easterlings. I'm leaving every captain other than Mablung out here with a hundred men to ensure they are all gone."

Belhadron nodded as he watched the Rangers move around the camp. His gaze flickered to Duilin and the fallen Ranger, and he sighed ever so slightly. He had seen many similar wounds in his time, and though he had seen how less resilient mortals were to injury at the battle outside Erebor, it still surprised him. Such a wound in Mirkwood would have been serious, maybe life threatening, but if lucky, an elf could withstand such a thing.

The rest of the rangers continued unheeded around the small group crouched with the fallen Ranger, save for the occasional sympathetic word or smile, or a touch to Duilin's shoulder. Belhadron watched them move past him and Faramir, moving Easterlings, packing up the camp and treating their own wounds.

It was a strange sense of detachment he felt, surrounded by men. They moved so swiftly through time, and Belhadron had seen men from Laketown and Dale age from a young man to an old one in a span of time that he hardly considered long at all. The world here was mortal, and time moved as if for a mortal. It was strange.

Next to him Faramir sighed slightly, and then turned to him. "Was there anything at all that you could have done for him, that we could not?" he asked, not liking having to ask the question, but deciding it was necessary. He had supported Belhadron's claim of no magic earlier to try and placate Duilin, but he still harboured doubts.

The corners of Belhadron's lips turned up slightly. "I have no magic," he said again. "And I am no healer."

"But you have lived far longer than all of us together," pointed out Faramir. "Surely you must have had time to learn, at some point." He had been taught the basics of healing from a young age, mainly at his own and Boromir's insistence. Boromir had argued with their father, saying that as captains they needed to know as much as they could to protect their men and Denethor, once confronted with his…preferred son, agreed.

Belhadron shook his head. "I am a soldier," he said. "A captain. I cannot be a healer."

"Cannot?" asked Faramir. "That is a strange choice of words."

Belhadron frowned, and paused for a little while. Eventually he shook his head. "I cannot…it is very hard to explain," he said. "I will ask Legolas to tell you, if you want. But I take life. I cannot give it as well."

Faramir nodded slightly, and thought that maybe he understood Belhadron a little. He himself knew very few people who could fight well and act as a healer. There were soldiers who had learnt enough to stitch wounds or splint bones on a battlefield, and of course King Elessar was a renowned healer, but Faramir thought he knew what Belhadron meant. They were soldiers, and they killed people who were trying to kill them. To be a healer as well was to be too much.

Faramir's gaze fell back to the Ranger yet again, and he shook his head slightly. He could not shake the feeling that this was not meant to be happening anymore. "He did not deserve this," he murmured softly.

Belhadron looked over at him, and to both his own and Faramir's surprise he smiled wryly. "We know a lot of men who did not deserve death," he said. "Somehow, they still died."

Faramir paused, and then for some reason, which he couldn't work out, he chuckled slightly. It may have been Belhadron's tone, the dry comment that spoke of far too long to become accustomed to such things, or the fact that he hadn't quite sorted out the fact in his head that another man might be dying when the war had ended a year ago. But his lips still curved in a smile, before he found himself wondering why and stopped.

0-o-0-o-0

It took a little while, but eventually the camp was packed away and the Easterlings, those who were alive, were roped together and moved out. Mablung had arrived with his men not too long after the Ranger fell unconscious and was moved onto a stretcher, and immediately a group of Mablung's men were sent to take him back to the city, taking two of the horses with them. Ascar impatiently stood with the rest of the horses, his ears pinned back until Belhadron whistled and he nickered happily, making his way carefully to the elf. Belhadron pulled on his ears affectionately with a smile.

Mablung made his way over to Faramir, his gaze on the disappearing Ranger lying on the stretcher. "What happened?" he asked.

Faramir shook his head slightly. "A mistimed blow," he said. "Or a lucky one, for the Easterling that dealt it." Then again, maybe it hadn't been, because there had been a dead Easterling lying next to the Ranger, and the thought he had killed him filled Faramir with a little bit of pride.

Mablung sighed softly. Belhadron looked over at Faramir. "I was- he will not survive," he stated, a little of a question in his voice. Faramir shook his head.

"It is unlikely," he said. "I have seen some survive worse, but they were not in the middle of a forest, and we had healers close." He didn't mention that it was only about three men he had seen survive such a stab wound, and none of them had ever healed fully.

"I did not think…" said Belhadron. He shook his head. "An elf would survive, maybe, but I know mortals are less..." He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence, but both men knew what he was saying anyway.

Mablung shook his head with a sour grimace. "You are lucky," he said bitterly, thinking of the many men that he had watched die or left permanently wounded when an elf would have survived such injuries, and walked away without a scar.

Belhadron, to his surprise, chuckled morosely. "We are not lucky," he said.

"You do not age, you cannot die from old age and fall ill, and even injured, you recover faster than a mortal, can survive from worse injuries than mortals. You seem quite lucky to me." Mablung's voice was soft, but both Belhadron and Faramir could hear the bitterness in his voice.

But Belhadron still shook his head. "Men die. We do not. You know the stories of us, the stories of what elves have done. Good and bad. You think how long ago it was." Faramir glanced over at Belhadron, and the dark haired elf looked old, staring off into some middle distance that they could not see.

"I remember, and I …I do not go. I do not stop watching." He shook his head, the ghost of a smile flitting across his face, and he turned to the two men beside him. "If I have luck, then you have luck also. You can go. I cannot."

Both Faramir and Mablung were silent for a moment, and then Faramir chuckled. "It seems like we both want each other's fates," he said with a wry smile. Truthfully, he had been envious of elven immortality when he was younger. To a child, or even a young man, living forever was what everyone envied of the elves, their tireless, endless grace. It was only now, after years of fighting and war that Faramir possibly understood why Belhadron had said they were not so lucky in their fate.

He was tired by a few decades of darkness and war. Elves like Belhadron had endured it for centuries.

They rode out soon after, Ascar snorting impatiently every so often at not being allowed to run forwards. Belhadron merely murmured something under his breath every time, half-heartedly tugging at Ascar's dark mane. A bird spiralled upwards on the breeze above them, and he watched the lazy beat of her wings until she vanished even out of his sight.

To Be Continued...

Ok, so it may not seem that emotional. But there is a reason behind this at the moment, and something that will largely occur next chapter. If you want to ask me about it, or my writing choices, or absolutely anything, feel completely free to drop by and ask! I'm always happy to discuss my story with you if you want to know more, or if you maybe want to know some of the finer details of backstories that I hint at, etc. I don't bite! I really don't!

Anyway, next chapter will be on Friday. As always, reviews and comments are very, very welcome. Seriously, I love hearing from you guys :)