Strider started off with his fingers, reaching as deeply inside the wound as he could, tracing the path of the black shaft.
"I can feel the tip just there," he murmured. "His ribs stopped it from getting in too deep."
Glaina picked up a lamp and held it close by as Strider gently began to pull. Legolas tensed and moaned, though he remained remarkably still.
"Shh…It's all right, you're safe," Glaina murmured. Her stomach was tied in knots again.
"Damn. The head is caught under his rib. I'm going to need to rotate it."
Glaina looked sharply at the ranger, a bolt of fear striking through her. The elf would surely die if they failed to remove the arrowhead. And he'd lost too much blood already for them to go searching in his chest cavity for it.
She watched in morbid fascination as Strider twisted the shaft of the arrow in his fingers. He gave a soft cry of despair when the shaft came free from the wound. Glaina quickly shoved the pair of tongs into his free hand. Strider swallowed and nodded, keeping one hand in the wound as a guide while he pressed the tongs in deep. Legolas suddenly began to struggle, a sharp cry escaping his lips. Glaina rushed to other side of the bed, holding him down with one hand on his shoulder and the other on his hip.
"I've got hold of it. Keep him still," Strider said. He began to twist and pull at the same time. Glaina pressed down, though she soon realized she didn't need to. Legolas had fallen still, his breath coming in ragged gasps. She looked up at Strider's sigh of relief. There was a grim, half-smile on his face as he held out the tip of the arrow for her to see. He grabbed a towel with his other hand and pressed it hard into the bleeding wound.
"That could have gone a lot worse," he noted.
"It could have gone a fair bit better," Glaina countered, her own relief quickly turning to anger as she held a wet cloth to Legolas's burning forehead. "You should have made him take more. Can't you see how much pain he's in? Digging into his insides like a butcher when he's barely had anything to dull his senses—"
"Forgive me, my lady, I didn't mean to upset you," Strider said, looking surprised at her sudden outburst.
"I'm not upset," Glaina snapped, then realized how ridiculous and childish that must have sounded. "I'm—I'm not. Truly. I'm not used to attending surgeries where the patient is awake. Aldun would have never operated unless he was certain his patient couldn't feel it."
"Believe me, Glaina, I only wish Legolas would allow it. He and many others of his kind harbor an intense fear of losing their senses. As hard as it is to watch, he would rather be in pain than the alternative."
"I wish you would not speak for me as if I wasn't here," Legolas said, softly.
"How do you fare, Legolas?"
"It's a relief to have that filth out of my ribs, though it still hurts to breathe."
Strider frowned, then leaned down, pressing his ear to the Elf's chest.
"Take a few deep breaths," he instructed. Legolas obeyed, wincing slightly as he did it. Strider sat back up with a sigh of relief.
"Your lungs sound clear. It could be all the bruising making it painful to breathe. You may have one or two cracked ribs as well, but there's no point in me causing you more pain by poking at them now."
"Please don't," Legolas agreed. Then his eyes suddenly narrowed. "There is more blood on your tunic than before."
"You bled quite a lot from the inn to this place," Strider reminded him.
"Do not take me for a fool. The blood is on the wrong side. I had suspected you might be hurt, but I thought you wise enough not to conceal it."
"Forgive me, that was not my intention. Your wounds were far more dire, and it is only a shallow cut. I will attend to it when I have a chance to wash."
Glaina looked the ranger over. Hands bloody, wrists and forearms pristine, and the rest of him covered in at least a week's worth of dirt, blood, and grime.
"You could go clean up now," she said. "There's a washtub and some soap and towels back behind the house. It's pouring rain now, but you could probably use the extra rinse." She smiled lightly.
Strider shook his head. "I cannot leave him in this state. His leg—"
"Has stopped bleeding for now," Glaina said. "It can wait while you take a moment to rest. I will clean, stitch, and bind his chest wound.
Strider looked at her skeptically, and she felt a familiar indignation flare up.
"I have done it hundreds of times. Before I was his wife, I was Aldun's assistant."
"You must forgive my friend. He does not doubt your skill; he is simply overprotective," Legolas said. He looked at Strider. "She's right, you need to rest and clean up. You look like death itself. She will bind my wound. I trust her experience over your trembling fingers at this point."
Whatever protest Strider was preparing died on his lips, and he let out a resigned sigh. He allowed Glaina to lead him to a bedroom where she threw open a chest at the foot of the bed and stacked a small assortment of Aldun's clothes into his arms. She pointed him in the direction of the back door, then hurried back to elf's side, lifting the towel to check his wound.
"Forgive me, my lady, I have forgotten your name," Legolas said.
"It's all right; I'm not even sure you were conscious when I told Strider. It's Glaina." She opened Aldun's bag and pulled out needle and gut, as well as a small bottle of alcohol.
"Glaina. Your name sounds much like our word for shining, and bright. Like a white gemstone."
Glaina nodded, blushing as she filled a bowl with steaming water and washed her hands.
"Aldun always called me 'his jewel' for that reason." She poured the alcohol on a small piece of cloth and began gently dabbing at the wound. Legolas sucked in a sharp breath.
"Sorry," Glaina murmured. "I wish you would take more medicine for the pain; it would help."
Legolas shook his head, then winced at the motion. "Even the small amount I have taken has left me dizzy and confused. I can't seem to clear my head. There is a terror inside me that is creeping up, though I do not know what I am afraid of."
"Patients have described that sort of fear to me before. It is not an uncommon side effect with herbs of this potency," Glaina said, kindly. She threaded the needle and began to stitch the wound with quick, precise motions that Aldun had taught her more than a decade ago.
It took several minutes, but she managed to close even the torn areas of the wound neatly. Satisfied that it would not scar too badly, she wiped the wound down and applied an antiseptic salve before helping him sit up and applying a tight wrapping of bandages.
She was just laying Legolas back down when Strider reentered the room, his hair damp and curling, his clothing—her stomach lurched—Aldun's clothing clean and dry and fitting him perfectly.
"That was fast. Did you manage to check your wound?" she asked, trying to hide the tremor in her voice at the painful resemblance.
"I did. It stopped bleeding hours ago, but I made sure to clean it thoroughly. How is our friend?"
"Still living," Legolas said. "Glaina has done as good a job as any elf healer I've met, and with a gentler touch than most. My side still aches, but it has mostly subsided. As for my leg—" He grimaced and reached for his thigh. "I'm afraid it hurts very badly."
Strider nodded gravely. "The arrowhead is buried deep. I will need to widen the wound to remove it. I'm afraid you will have no choice but to take more anesthetic."
The elf turned his head toward Strider, jaw clenched and bright eyes flashing in anger.
"You would have me drink more of that poison?"
"I would. There is an artery in your leg that would cause you to bleed to death in a manner of minutes if I were to accidently cut it—"
"I am aware of my own anatomy," Legolas snapped.
"Then you are aware that the arrowhead is very near to that artery. I cannot remove it until I am certain you will remain still."
Legolas turned his head away, his face tight with pain and indignation. Strider gave Glaina a long-suffering look that would have had her laughing if the situation were not so dire. It was becoming apparent that Strider was used to dealing with the stubbornness of this particular elf. His patience could have rivaled Aldun's.
He spoke again, more softly this time.
"You would not have me bear the weight of responsibility for your death, would you?"
Glaina heard a soft, shuddering gasp and realized that the elf was weeping.
"Damn you for saying that. You know I would not. But I cannot shake this fear. Even now my head aches and the room spins. I—I cannot remember where I am. Estel listo…"
Legolas lapsed into a sobbing string of elvish that Glaina could not decipher, but whatever it was had Strider reaching out to take his hand, speaking soothing words of comfort. She suddenly felt like she was intruding upon something she wasn't meant to see. To her relief, the elf quickly regained his composure at his friend's assurances.
"Do I still have your trust?" Strider gently asked when Legolas's breathing had evened out.
Legolas responded in elvish, saying "You have my trust," though grammatically it sounded more like "You are my trust."
Strider nodded, a sad smile on his face. "Then you will drink the rest of this cup for me. Please, mellon nín. I cannot bear to see you in such pain."
Legolas wiped his face with the back of his hand and glared at his friend. "I don't know why I bother wasting my tears. You haven't a drop of pity in you."
"Indeed. It takes a strong resolve to care for a stubborn elf."
Strider lifted his friend's head again, and, with just a little extra coaxing, Legolas managed to swallow three mouthfuls from the cup before raising a hand and gasping, "No more. Please, no more."
"You're nearly there," Strider insisted. "Just one more sip."
One more sip turned out to be more like two large mouthfuls, but Legolas obediently drank until the cup was empty. He shut his eyes, another tear escaping as Strider laid him back down on the bed. As Strider pulled away, Legolas took hold of his arm in one trembling hand.
"Will you keep me safe? My fear yet grows. Say you will keep me safe."
Strider put his hand over his friend's. "I swear on my life I will keep you safe."
