Title: He Just Doesn’t Listen

Author: White Wolf

Disclaimer: The elf, the ranger and the dwarf aren't even close to being mine The others are.

Summary: To save Aragorn’s life at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, Legolas intercepts an arrow meant for his friend. As the elf lies dying, Aragorn makes an unusual request.

A/N: This story was written for the Teitho Contest theme: If I Could Turn Back Time. (It won third place!) It alters events in the RotK movie, which in itself is an alteration of the book. I hope no one minds too much, since this story is just for entertainment.

Chapter One

The golden-haired elf slid gracefully down the trunk of the huge Mûmakil he had just dispatched and stood before his dwarven friend, Gimli. He gave a quick jerk of his head and quirked an eyebrow that clearly said, "So what do you think of that?"

Gimli gave Legolas an even stare. He was greatly impressed by what the elf had just accomplished, however, the archer’s expression looked much too arrogant to allow the dwarf to express his admiration. So instead he said the one thing he knew would irk the elf. "It still only counts as one."

"One?" Legolas said in total disbelief. "That is a gigantic beast. It should easily count as half a dozen, if not more."

"Ha!" was the short reply, as Gimli crossed his arms over his broad chest, though he still held tight to his beloved ax. "It’s one creature, so it counts as one kill. Size has nothing to do with it."

Legolas had the perfect opening for a comeback about Gimli’s size, but he had too much affection for the dwarf to do so. He insulted Gimli often about a number of things related to being a dwarf, but ever since they had become friends, his diminutive stature was not one of them. Gimli had his pride, and Legolas would not, even in jest, wound that for anything.

When Legolas didn’t make any further comment, Gimli knew he had won the brief disagreement and snorted in triumph. "Best you continue, elf, if you think you can beat me." His tone clearly told Legolas that he didn’t think such a thing was possible. Then the dwarf turned and marched away, waving his ax, obviously intent on adding to his own tally of kills.

Legolas sighed. It wasn’t really all that hard to beat Gimli at their little contest, but convincing the stout miner of that fact wasn’t going to be easy. Legolas knew he would just have to kill so many of the enemy that his count would be far too high for Gimli even to think of challenging the result.

"Nice kill," came a familiar voice from behind the elf, as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Grinning, Legolas turned around and saw the equally grinning face of Aragorn, ranger, future king of Gondor and most important to the elf, his closest friend.

"What’s up with Gimli?" the man asked, as he watched the dwarf’s retreating back and purposeful stride.

"He is not happy with me. I told him the Mûmakil should count for at least half a dozen kills, but he does not see it that way. He claims it only counts as one, since it is only one creature."

Aragorn laughed, not only at the explanation but at the fact that Legolas and Gimli were still playing the game they had begun at Helm’s Deep. "That’s only because he didn’t kill it himself," the ranger remarked. "If he had, it would surely be worth a full dozen."

"I have no doubt," the elf readily agreed. They both knew Gimli well.

Forgetting the dwarf and the contest, Legolas turned and surveyed the battlefield all around him. It was a scene of utter devastation. There were more bodies scattered on the ground for hundreds of yards in all directions than there were people standing upright or mounted. Fortunately, the majority of the dead were orcs and their comrades. He had no doubts as to who it was that had turned the tide in their favor. "The Army of the Dead has done its work well."

"Yes. And that’s good for the armies of Gondor and Rohan. Unfortunately, Sauron’s army has also done its work well, and that’s not so good for us." His tone was full of sorrow for the brave soldiers who had lost their lives.

Legolas sighed. Aragorn was right. Too many of the dead belonged to those men who had paid the ultimate price to keep Minas Tirith from falling into the hands of Sauron and his minions.

The thought of orcs, wargs, trolls and Nazgûl roaming the streets of the White City, killing the terrified citizens at will, made Aragorn shudder. How close they had come to having that happen was too frightening a thing to contemplate.

Off to the right of the two friends, a group of Gondorian soldiers were surrounded and being hard pressed by a large number of orcs. The humans were in a desperate situation.

Clearly the battle was not quite over. "Shall we?" Aragorn asked, as he looked at the wood elf beside him.

"That is why we are here," was the elven warrior’s reply, and the two ran off to add their considerable skills to the fray.

More and more orcs had joined in the small battle, now being led by the ranger and the elven prince. The arrival of the two had lifted the sprits of the soldiers, and they had renewed their efforts to defeat the foul creatures intent on destroying them.

As always, Legolas and Aragorn had started out fighting back to back, fiercely attacking the enemy and defending each other, but the superior number of the enemy forced them farther and farther apart. They each managed to keep track of the other through quick glances, but eventually they were no longer able to see each other.

The swords of Aragorn and the soldiers rang out as they clashed with the scimitars of the orcs. Many more of the disgusting creatures fell than did men, but still the beasts continued to charge.

On and on the desperate struggle raged until the men, with their superior fighting skills, obtained the upper hand.

Finally, only men were left standing, as the last orc had his throat slashed in a scissor cut made by Legolas’s twin knives. The blades were covered from tip to hilt with black blood.

As Aragorn surveyed the scene, he saw that there were no more foes left to defeat. He, Legolas and the soldiers had won the battle.

With a sigh of relief, the ranger lowered Andúril, which was also drenched in orc blood. He bent down, cleaned the cherished blade and then sheathed it.

Aragorn looked over to where he had last seen Legolas, but the elf was not there. A stab of fear gripped the ranger until he saw the golden-haired archer off to his right. The two friends smiled at each other, as Legolas walked toward him.

The experienced healer ran a quick eye over his friend’s body, looking for any sign of red blood among the black that spattered the elf‘s clothing. There was none, and the man’s smile broadened. It looked like they had made it through another battle unscathed.

Just then one of the soldiers called out to Aragorn, and he turned, his eyes lighting on the one who had gained his attention.

Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas saw an orc several yards away. At first he wasn’t alarmed, since the creature was too far away to be an immediate threat. That is until the elf saw the orc raise a bow and point his arrow directly at Aragorn’s back.

Legolas yelled at Aragorn, but the loud trumpeting of a nearby Mûmakil in its death throes drowned out the elf’s warning call.

When Legolas reached behind him to grab an arrow, his hand met only empty air. Then he remembered that he had used the last one just before the fight with the orcs, so stopping the foul beast with an arrow was not an option, and the orc was too far away to reach in time by foot.

Legolas’s expression turned to horror, as he saw the arrow leave the creature’s bow.

The prince began to run toward Aragorn. Driven by desperation, his legs were moving faster than they ever had in his long life. His original intent was simply to knock Aragorn off of his feet, allowing the arrow to fly harmlessly over their heads. But that did not happen.

The soldier, who had called Aragorn, saw what was about to happen. He yelled Aragorn’s name and pointed behind him.

Aragorn swung around just in time to see the black arrow only a few feet from him. Even with his quick reflexes, there was no way he could get out of the way of the speeding projectile. In the split second before it hit, Aragorn made his peace with death.

Suddenly, a flash of gold filled the ranger’s vision, and Aragorn’s heart seized, as he realized that what he was seeing was Legolas, and the elf had jumped in front of him. The orc arrow slammed into the elf’s chest with a deceptively soft thud.

The impact pushed Legolas backward, and he fell against Aragorn.

Without thinking about it, Aragorn instinctively reached out and wrapped his arms around the elf. It was then that he saw the black arrow protruding from Legolas’s chest just above his heart.

The ranger’s mind reeled, as time seemed to stand still. "No," he choked out in a voice that he had to force through his constricted throat.

Legolas was obviously still conscious, because Aragorn could feel the stiffness that was gripping the elven body.

Quickly recovering from the shock, Aragorn leaned his mouth down to the elf’s right ear and whispered, "It’s all right, Legolas. I’ve got you."

It was then that the man felt Legolas go limp, as if the reassurance that his friend was safe and that he was also safe within Aragorn’s arms allowed him to release the tension in his body.

Aragorn eased Legolas to the ground, careful not to touch the arrow. When several of the soldiers came over, he looked up at them. ’Kill that orc - now!"

Two of the soldiers ran off with swords raised.

"What can we do to help?" one of the others asked, as he stepped closer.

Aragorn recognized him as a Gondorian captain named Jother. "I have to get him to Minas Tirith. Find me a horse." His voice was low, but there was no mistaking the urgency of the command he gave.

Jother quickly gave orders for the remaining men to fan out and round up the first horse they came upon and bring it back as quickly as they could. He stayed close in case Aragorn needed something else.

Aragorn didn’t like the idea of jostling Legolas on horseback, but it was the quickest way to get the elf to the city. He couldn’t carry his friend on foot all the way to Minas Tirith and then zigzag up seven levels to the Citadel. He knew Legolas would never survive that kind of trip. And Aragorn wasn’t about to perform the kind of delicate surgery the wood elf needed out here on the dusty plains.

It seemed like an eternity before one of Jother’s men arrived with a horse. The man jumped down and handed the reins to his captain.

Aragorn stood up, lifting Legolas with him. He walked over to the horse and then turned to Jother. "Take him until I mount, and then hand him up to me. He isn’t heavy." He didn’t think he had to tell this experienced soldier to be careful.

When Legolas was in Jother’s arms, the man was amazed at how light the elf was. He had heard many things about elves, most he was sure couldn’t be true, but this was one fact he wasn’t aware of: that grown elves barely weighed as much as a ten year old human child. So it was no trouble for him to lift the elf up to Aragorn’s waiting arms.

Before riding off, Aragorn said, "Thank you, Captain. Now take these men and see if there are others that may still be fighting or may be wounded." In a much harder voice, he said, "I want every one of those foul creatures that still lives killed and burned. None are to escape that haven’t already done so. I don’t want them forming up and coming back for another attack. Report to me directly at the Citadel’s House of Healing."

"Yes, Lord Aragorn. We won’t let you down," Jother replied.

Even before his future king rode away, the captain had turned to round up the other soldiers and then proceeded to implement the instructions he had just been given.

Aragorn hadn’t gone more than fifty yards before his horse came to a sudden stop and reared up, his front legs pawing the air. The horse was also snorting and shaking his head.

The ranger tightened his hold on Legolas, and offered soft words to soothe the panic-stricken horse.

It was then that Aragorn saw what was causing the horse’s fearful reaction. A few feet in front of him stood the King of the Dead, arms raised in the air.

"You cannot leave until you have kept your promise," the ghostly figure said in a harsh voice. "We have done our part, now you must do yours."

Aragorn nodded. "You have redeemed yourselves, therefore, I hold your oath fulfilled. You and all of your host are free."

The ghost king nodded in return, a broad smile on his ethereal face. "It is finally done."

With those words he and all the specters brought here by Aragorn from the Ered Nimrais vanished, dissolving into the air like smoke in a strong wind.

Relief, tinged with a sense of satisfaction, flooded the ranger. He couldn’t deny that he was glad to be rid of the eerie ghosts. Yet, he was also glad that now they would find the peace they had been denied, since they had been cursed by Isildur, Aragorn’s own ancestor, during the War of the Last Alliance over three thousand years ago.

That matter happily settled and not wishing to waste any more time, Aragorn urged his horse forward and continued the trip toward Minas Tirith.

Gimli heard the pounding hooves of a horse coming his way. At first, seeing only Legolas, the dwarf smiled, thinking the elf was coming to give him his final total of kills. As the horse came closer, however, Gimli saw that Aragorn was sitting behind the elf. He didn’t know why they were sharing a horse until they drew even with him, and he realized Legolas was unconscious and being held by the ranger.

Aragorn was so focused on getting Legolas to the House of Healing in the city that he didn’t even notice Gimli only a little way off to the side. A troll could have been standing in the dwarf’s place, bristling with weapons, and the man would have been totally unaware of it.

Gimli’s heart almost seized at the sight of the arrow in Legolas‘s chest. He knew immediately the desperate situation that existed. Afraid to distract the ranger, Gimli did not call out the way his heart wanted him to.

Instead, the dwarf looked around until he spotted a soldier standing next to a roan-colored horse not too far away. Gimli ran over to him. "I need your horse." He didn’t want to be accused of being a horse thief, so he asked, "Do you know who I am?"

The man nodded. "A friend of Lord Aragorn’s."

"Aye. It’s urgent I follow him, so help me onto this beast." It was so unlike Gimli to ask for help from a stranger, but now was not the time to exhibit his pride.

Once mounted, Gimli urged the horse forward, but it didn‘t move. "Okay, let’s go, you obstinate creature."

When the horse still didn’t move, the angry miner bounced up and down in the saddle accompanied by a swift, though mild, kick.

The horse finally understood what the excited being on its back wanted, and the animal started forward. More bouncing and a few dwarven curses had the horse moving at a gallop.

Hanging on for dear life, Gimli headed after Legolas and Aragorn toward the towering city of Minas Tirith.

*~*~*~*

When Aragorn reached the Citadel high atop the city, he slipped down from his horse and gently pulled Legolas into his arms. Carrying the elf swiftly to the House of Healing, the man entered and took his friend to one of the small private rooms reserved for the ruling family or special guests who may be in need of it. Luckily, it was empty.

One of the city’s healers appeared in the doorway. "Lord Aragorn. How can I be of assistance?"

It wasn’t until the ranger straightened up and turned toward him that the healer saw Legolas lying on the bed. When he saw the arrow, he noted its location and knew immediately that it couldn’t simply be pulled out. It would have to be very carefully cut out. He said, "I’ll get what we’ll be needing," and he quickly disappeared out the door.

Returning shortly, the other man put a tray containing surgical instruments and several jars of herbs and ointments down on a small bedside table.

By the time that Legolas’s tunic and silk undershirt had been cut away, Gimli had come huffing and puffing into the room. He stopped short, unable to stifle a gasp, as he saw the black arrow that was marring the normally flawless skin of the elf’s bare chest.

TBC

Chapter Two

Aragorn heard the dwarf enter the room. Without turning his head, the ranger said, "Gimli, bring a large bowl of hot water and plenty of bandages."

After the dwarf had left, the other healer, Simdell by name, said, "I have those things ordered."

"I figured you did, but I want Gimli to feel he’s helping. He cares deeply for Legolas, as I do."

Simdell nodded his understanding. He hadn’t had much experience with dwarves, but he did know they were not the most patient of people. As such, he wasn’t sure how the dwarf would handle the difficult surgery that lay ahead for his friend.

Aragorn couldn’t help but smile when Gimli’s gruff voice came in through the door. "I’ll take those."

Gimli appeared back in the room in seconds, bearing the requested items. Aragorn didn’t comment on the fact he knew the stout warrior had just commandeered the supplies, probably from one of the apprentice healers. Despite his size, Gimli could be very intimidating.

Because the arrow was so near Legolas’s heart, the surgery to remove it was slow-going, very delicate and even more difficult than either healer had hoped.

During the surgery, Aragorn had been shaken, thinking about the fact that Legolas's life had not been taken immediately simply because he had been running when the arrow hit him. If he had been standing up straight in front of the man, the arrow would have entered a bit lower and struck directly into the elf’s heart. Legolas would have been killed on the spot.

The ranger took a deep breath. That was entirely too scary a thought to dwell on, even though he knew that there was still a strong chance the elf would die.

Gimli had been watching the entire ordeal from the corner of the room, at times shifting from one foot to the other and at other times not daring to move at all.

He had the first two fingers on each hand crossed, as he prayed to Ilúvatar and even to Aulë to spare Legolas’s life. In fact, he prayed to everyone he could think of short of the Dark Lord himself, and he wasn’t so sure he would’ve stopped there, if it meant his friend would live.

At long last, Aragorn straightened up and wiped his bloodstained hands on a towel next to the tray. Groaning, he rotated his shoulders and stretched his back to rid them of the stiffness that had settled there.

It had taken over an hour for both Aragorn and Simdell, working in close tandem, to remove the arrow. The wound had bled so heavily that it had to be cauterized. Then the needed healing herbs were applied and the bandages put in place.

"Well, will he be all right?" the dwarf demanded, unable to wait until Aragorn decided to tell him.

A sweaty and weary face turned toward the dwarf. "I don’t know, Gimli. We did the best we could. Now we must wait."

"You can be sure of one thing: If hardheadedness counts, then he’ll be fine." Gimli said, as much to convince himself as anyone hearing his words.

"Oh yes," the ranger agreed. "That I well know." And it was true. Aragorn had seen Legolas survive wounds and injuries in the past that would have easily killed any mortal he knew. The elf was too stubborn to die. At least that’s what the man was telling himself.

Simdell rounded up the bloody cloths, the jars and the instruments, piled them on the tray with the arrow that had been removed and carried them out of the room. "I’ll check back later. For now there are others I must attend to."

Aragorn nodded. "Thank you, Simdell, for all your help."

The healer gave Aragorn and Gimli a sad smile and left them alone with their wounded friend.

He pulled the lone chair in the room up beside the bed and lowered himself down onto it. He couldn’t stand on his feet any longer without swaying. The long battle followed by the intense surgery and the worry over it all had finally taken its toll on the ranger’s mind and body. He wanted to sleep but knew there was no way he could do that right now.

A minute later, Gimli had dragged another chair into the room and set it on the other side of the bed, settling his own weary body into it.

Both friends then began their long vigil.

*~*~*~*

When Jother entered the large healing room, he looked around. Beds and pallets covered every area of the room, and each one was occupied, leaving only enough space for the healers to make their way between them. Men were in various stages of recovering and of dying. It was a scene that the captain never got used to seeing.

Jother stopped a man that looked to be a healer carrying a large bottle containing a green liquid. "Can you tell me where Lord Aragorn can be found?"

The man, an assistant to Simdell, nodded toward a small room to the left.

Thanking him, Jother approached the door cautiously. He wasn’t sure what he would find there, and he certainly didn’t want to be responsible for a distraction that could potentially cause a problem.

The captain didn’t know the elf lying in the bed other than having seen him several times during the battle and having admired his fighting skills. He had heard that the elf was a close friend of Lord Aragorn’s, and considering what had happened earlier, he didn’t doubt it. The elf had literally thrown himself in the path of an arrow aimed straight at the future king. Jother could not imagine a deeper friendship existing between two people.

The scene he saw was both touching and heartbreaking. Aragorn was sitting in a wooden chair with one hand resting over the elf’s heart. On the other side of the bed, the dwarf Jother knew was also a close friend of Aragorn’s was holding the elf’s slender hand tightly in both of his much rougher ones. His eyes were closed, but his mouth was moving, in silent prayer the man supposed.

Jother hated to interrupt, but Aragorn had asked for a report, so the soldier approached slowly. When he reached the other man’s side, he stopped.

Aragorn looked up at him with tired, worried eyes. "You have something to report?"

Jother was glad that he had good news to tell the future king. Maybe it would take away at least some of the sadness he saw on the other man’s face. "Yes, Lord Aragorn. We have killed all of the enemy we could find, including the one that shot...that tried to shoot you."

Jother took a deep breath before continuing. "We have built a number of pyres, and all of their bodies are being burned. Our own dead are being taken care of, and the wounded are being attended to."

"Thank you, Jother."

Aragorn’s face was pale and drawn, attesting to his weariness. More than anything else, Jother knew it was worry that was taking its toll on the other man’s strength.

"How is he?"the captain asked. He glanced over at Gimli, as he asked the question. The dwarf’s eyes were now open. He said nothing but stared at Aragorn, seemingly waiting to hear what the ranger would say.

Aragorn sighed and slowly shook his head. His gray eyes took on a faraway look, as he cast his mind backward in time. "He’s always saving my life by risking his own. In fact, that’s how we first met. He jumped into a raging river and pushed me out onto the bank just a few feet from the edge of a high waterfall. He went over it and almost drowned. Legolas couldn’t save us both, so he chose to save me. He’s been doing it ever since.

"I can’t count the number of times he’s been hurt saving me from one mishap or another. I’ve told him time and time again not to do that, but he just doesn’t listen."

"Stubborn, pointy-eared elfling," Gimli grumbled quietly from across the bed, though the words were clearly heard by both men.

At this point, Jother was not the least bit surprised at what Aragorn had just told him. "How long have the two of you been friends?"

"When we met at the river, I was eight. So we have known each other for eighty years."

"Eighty years? You mean you’re..." Jother was so shocked that he couldn’t voice the number that simple math told him was Aragorn’s age.

Gimli chuckled. It was not the first time someone had been shocked to hear how old the ranger was. He, himself, was included in that group.

Jother was trying to come to grips with the figure in his head. Then the truth hit him. "You’re a Dúnadan."

Aragorn nodded. "That I am."

Then changing the subject back to Legolas, Aragorn said, "I fear for him now more than I ever have before. He has never been wounded like this. His heart may have been compromised. The arrow was so close to it. I may have..."

Before the ranger could finish his sentence, Gimli interrupted. "Don’t go blaming yourself, lad. You did your best for him. Legolas will live, or he will not. There’s nothing more you could have done. He would not accept your guilt, and well you know it."

"He’d chew me out, if I even thought of blaming myself."

"Then I suggest you banish any guilt you feel before it takes hold, and he finds out about it. A tongue-lashing by this elf is not something you want to experience too many times in your life."

"True," Aragorn admitted, nodding his head. "I’ve had plenty already."

It was Gimli’s comments, despite his own fears, that served to bring a small smile to Aragorn’s face, and the dwarf was glad to see it.

Jother suddenly felt out of place. There was no intent on the part of Aragorn or Gimli to shut him out, he knew, but these were two close friends, who had shared much, and were worried about the survival of a third. He didn’t feel that he belonged. "I’ll leave you now," he said. "If I have anything further to report, I’ll return to inform you." Before leaving, he said, "I hope Legolas will recover."

"Thank you," Aragorn replied, grateful to the man for his genuine concern.

As Jother left the room, Gandalf entered. It took only one look at Legolas to know how grave the elf’s condition was. For that reason he didn’t ask, not wanting either Aragorn or Gimli to have the voice the painfully obvious.

The wizard offered to stay with Legolas so Aragorn and Gimli could get some rest, but both refused. They would not leave the elf, especially at a time like this. Gandalf understood. If Legolas died while they were off sleeping and not by his side, the guilt would eat at them both for a long time t come.

Aragorn knew there were many things that needed to be taken care of in Minas Tirith after the battle, but he just could not bring himself to go and tend to them. He asked Gandalf, if he would act in his stead, trusting the wise wizard to make the right decisions.

Gandalf agreed, and after a while left to do as he had been asked.

The entire time that both Jother and Gandalf had been in the room, Aragorn had not once moved his hand from Legolas’s chest. The connection to the elf’s beating heart was the only thing that seemed to offer any solace to his own heart.

*~*~*~*

During the ensuing hours, Aragorn prayed as hard as he ever had in his life. It was the same one he always prayed in these circumstances: that Legolas would live and recover to be the elf he though of as a brother.

This prayer had always worked in the past, but for some reason the ranger feared it might not be enough this time. That Legolas was closer to death than to life frightened him now more than it ever had before.

It was around midnight that Aragorn changed his thinking. The future was too uncertain where Legolas’s survival was concerned. The elf might not even have a future. If only things could be the way they had been in times past.

‘If I could turn back time, then none of this would ever have happened. The battle cannot be changed, but what Legolas did to save me could be.

‘If I could turn back time, I would have seen the orc with the bow in plenty of time to get out of the way, or even kill the creature before it could fire that arrow.

‘If I could turn back time, Legolas, Gimli and I would probably be in the Great Hall right now, celebrating our victory.

Sadly, the man had to admit to his mortal limitations. ‘I cannot turn back time, Ilúvatar. Only you can do it so that Legolas can remain at my side. You know that I need him here with me, if I am to fulfill my destiny - a destiny that you designed for me.’

But the Dúnadan knew that time would not be turned. Ilúvatar would not disrupt the world to save one elf, no matter how important that elf may be.

There were just too many things that would change, and common sense told him that they would not all be for the better. How many of those that now live would instead be dead, if time were altered? Would the battle have been lost instead of won? Would Middle-earth itself be doomed to live under the Shadow of the Dark Lord?

Aragorn shivered at the thought. The orc had fired his arrow, and Legolas had stopped it. That was what had happened, and that was what he had to deal with.

The ranger knew he could only pray for what he always did, and hope that it would be enough.

Two days later, it was.

*~*~*~*

When Legolas finally opened his eyes, it was a very exhausted ranger and an equally exhausted dwarf that he first gazed upon.

The elf smiled at his friends, who were both sound asleep. He knew these two, so he knew that they had stayed up in hopes of being awake when he regained consciousness, only to be completely out of it when that time finally came.

Legolas started to let them both sleep, knowing the toll their worry for him had taken. However, he had also been on the other side, waiting for Aragorn to awaken from some injury and knew how much he had wanted to know that the man was better. Besides, he feared that his friends may be having bad dreams caused by their concern, so he squeezed Aragorn’s hand to wake him.

Startled out of his sleep, the ranger jerked his head up. "Legolas?" he said, before even realizing that it was the elf who had been the one to rouse him.

"What? What’s going on?" came a demanding voice from the other side of the bed. Gimli was never the most cheerful of people upon waking. And being as tired and worried as he was now only added to his grumpiness.

"Legolas?" the ranger questioned again.

"None other," came the raspy reply. The elf was working hard to hide the pain he felt. That’s a further worry he refused to inflict on his friends.

"You scared us half to death, elf," Gimli chided, though he meant to sound as if that wasn’t the case at all. He didn’t want to show just how truly scared he had been.

Then with his usual attempt to lighten the mood, Gimli said, “I was even going to give you credit for ten kills for that Múmakil, if you’d just wake up. You must have read my thoughts and opened your eyes, so you could collect.”

"I did not mean to scare you, Gimli," came the elf’s apologetic answer.

Gimli waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Think nothing of it, laddie."

With a grin, Legolas added, “I will take your generous offer, Master Dwarf, and add ten to my count.”

“Which the two of you can settle later," Aragorn interrupted, though he couldn‘t hold back a chuckle. He never tired of hearing these two banter with each other, but as he had just said, that would have to wait for a later time.

Turning more serious, he asked, "How do you feel?" The man almost cringed. He hated asking that question. It sounded so lame when asking it of someone who obviously felt miserable.

"I have been better." That was a rare admission from the proud elf.

The statement made Aragorn laugh. He pointed his finger at the elf. "How many times do I have to tell you not to risk your life for me before it sinks into that hard head of yours?"

Legolas just smiled that infuriating smile of his but refrained from commenting.

Gimli looked from Legolas to Aragorn, and when he saw the bemused look in both sets of eyes, he smiled. It was their way of easing the tension that the elf’s critical condition had created. It was quite different from the kind of insults he and Legolas were constantly throwing at each other, yet he couldn’t deny it was affective.

It was at that moment Aragorn knew that Legolas was going to recover. It looked like his plea to turn back time hadn’t been needed after all, but he believed that his other prayer had been.

The ranger closed his eyes and silently offered his gratitude to Ilúvatar for once again sparing this cherished friend.

In the end, all Aragorn could do was shake his head, because both he and Legolas knew that if, or rather when, Aragorn again needed saving, Legolas would not hesitate to endanger himself to accomplish it.

The elf was unbelievably stubborn, but Aragorn wouldn’t have him any other way.

The End