Chapter Four

"Run, Estel" Legolas urged, as he sprinted across the open, rain-drenched ground. He kept his eyes on the dark shapes of the trees that loomed ever larger directly ahead of him. He just had to reach the nearest one and vault himself up into its branches.

Getting Aragorn up with him would be more difficult, but he had managed it before and felt strongly that it could be accomplished this time, as well. Then all they would need to do was conceal themselves among the sheltering leaves. Grath and his mean would be searching the ground. He didn’t think that they would be spotted in the best of times, and with this downpour, hiding would be much easier.

"I’m running," came Aragorn’s breathless reply. The man was moving as fast as he could, but found himself falling farther and farther behind the fleet-footed elf. Normally, he was quick for a human, but the mud he was moving through sucked at his boots and made lifting his feet more difficult. It didn’t help that the rain was splashing so hard in his face that it was almost blinding him.

Legolas turned back, sensing that Aragorn was having trouble, but the ranger waved him on and called out, "Don’t stop. I’ll get there." In an exasperated voice he muttered, "Eventually."

Legolas was no more than fifteen yards from the nearest tree, when an arrow slammed down right in front of him. It was the first sign that the Easterlings had found the two friends, dashing any hope they had that they could get away unnoticed. The elf leapt over the shaft and kept going. Two more arrows thudded down near his pumping legs, and these were so close they caused him to veer off to his right.

Aragorn couldn’t figure out why Legolas would alter his course until he came to the first arrow. He ventured a quick glance behind him and saw two of the Easterlings aiming more arrows, though it was quickly apparent to him that he was not the intended target. He understood that the men had to stop Legolas first.

When Aragorn turned back around, he saw Legolas stumble and almost go down. Without actually seeing the reason for the unusual occurrence through the gray curtain of rain, the man was sure that Legolas had been hit by one of the arrows.

Just as Legolas reached the first tree, another arrow struck him, and he fell against the trunk, gripping the bark to keep himself upright. The pain from the two arrows merged into one agony that was quickly spreading across his back.

Spurred by fear, Aragorn increased his pace, mud or no mud. When he reached the elf, he saw two blue-fletched arrows embedded in Legolas’s left shoulder. He couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t appear that they had been just lucky shots, since it didn’t seem that either shaft was meant to kill. However, the man was too worried and too angry that his friend was wounded to bother admiring the marksmanship of the archers.

Aragorn put his arms around Legolas’s waist and eased him down into a sitting position.

"We will be taken again. I cannot climb," the elf reluctantly said. Shot or not, it was a weakness he hated admitting to, especially for one at home in the trees.

"Don’t worry, mellon nin. We gave it a good try." Lowering his voice, Aragorn whispered, "Pretend to be unconscious."

At Aragorn’s quiet urging, Legolas closed his eyes and rested his head against the man’s shoulder. He didn’t know what his friend had in mind, but he was prepared to go along with whatever it turned out to be. Knowing Aragorn as he did, he was sure it would be interesting.

Grath and two men clutching bows approached the ranger and the wounded elf. Not too far behind the rest of the Easterlings were making their way toward the former, and soon to be future, captives.

"You two gave us a merry chase," Grath said. Strangely, despite his naturally gruff voice, he didn’t sound angry. His next words explained why. "I enjoy a good hunt. Unfortunately, it has to end. We need to get where we’re going without any more delays."

"No more delays?" Aragorn scoffed. "Your men just shot Legolas---twice. Don’t you think that will cause a delay?." Grath may not be angry, but Aragorn was angry enough for the both of them.

"We did have to stop him getting up in these trees. I’ve heard about wood elves and their ability to move through the trees as easily as men do on the ground. That would never do."

"So you just shoot him?"

Grath shrugged. "Nothing vital was hit. He looks like he’ll live."

"Maybe and maybe not. I’m a trained healer. I’ll have to tend to his wounds immediately. Wounded elves do not react like you and me."

Grath frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Elves are far more susceptible to wounds like this than humans. They don’t tolerate foreign objects in their flesh very well. If they don’t get treatment quickly, they get fatal infections, contract raging fevers and die in a very short amount of time. Wood elves are the worst." Aragorn looked up at Grath. "I’m surprised you don’t know that."

An expression of doubt crossed Grath’s face. He knew more about elves than the average human, but even he was aware that there were a lot of things, mysterious things mostly, that he didn’t know about the fair race. Yet he wasn’t willing to admit that to this ranger. "I’ve learned a lot about elves. I’ve never heard that before."

"I dare say there is a lot you haven’t heard about elves," Aragorn informed the big man. "I know them well, and they still surprise me sometimes. You do know what closed eyes on an elf means. Right?"

Grath’s face paled. He had no idea, but it didn’t sound like it was a good thing.

Just then a moan escaped the elf’s lips. It was repeated, louder and more urgent this time.

"Well? Do you want to just stand around and let him die?" Aragorn demanded. "I told you I need to take care of him immediately, and time is wasting." The ranger added, "Or is he not important to whoever it is you are taking us to?"

That question seemed to spur Grath into action. "All right. Take him into the trees where the rain isn’t so bad. You can tend to him there. But don’t try anything funny. We’ll be watching you."

Relieved, Aragorn scooped Legolas up in his arms and headed deeper into the small forest.

As he walked, he felt Legolas shaking, but it didn’t seem to him to be the kind of tremors suffered as a result of trauma, although he was sure Legolas was hurting pretty badly. Aragorn soon realized what was causing the shaking. The elf was laughing.

Aragron looked down and saw that the supposedly unconscious elf was biting his lower lip to keep from laughing out loud. If the situation hadn’t been what it was, Aragorn would have dropped the elf on the ground. As it was, he barely kept himself from laughing.

Finding a particularly large tree, Aragorn stopped and set Legolas down, carefully avoiding the wooden shafts as he leaned the elf’s right side against the tree trunk.

The tree, in an attempt to provide shelter, moved its leaves in such a way that they formed an almost solid roof above the two friends’ heads.

Legolas, his hand resting on a large root, sent his gratitude to the tree for the protection of its sheltering leaves.

Only Aragorn seemed to notice that not so much as a single drop of water fell on the two. Even though he was well aware the tree wouldn’t hear him, he also sent his own thanks.

When Grath stopped a few feet away, Aragorn looked at him. "I’m going to need my pack. I have to get the athelas leaves and some bandages."

"And you might just have a knife in there, too," the big man said, sounding more like the gruff man they had been traveling with for the past three days.

The ranger narrowed his eyes, wanting so much to say, "You idiot." But it would not help to antagonize the Easterling leader. Legolas would probably be the one to suffer for his defiance. So instead, he said, "I’m not about to abandon my wounded friend so I can try to attack all of you with one knife, if I had one." Getting exasperated, he added, "You can search my pack all you want, but I’ve warned you, you must hurry."

Graph nodded toward Hobert, who was carrying Aragorn’s pack. "Search it, and then bring it here." His voice was stern and indicated that he still hadn’t forgiven Hobert for being one of those who had allowed the two captives to escape.

Hobert, aware he was on shaky ground with Grath, immediately did as he was told. The young man swung the pack down from his shoulder and set it on the ground, bending down to kneel beside it. He both looked inside and then ran his hand all around the interior of the pack until he was satisfied it contained no hidden weapon. Hobert then stepped forward and dropped the pack beside the ranger.

"Give me room," Aragorn told the men, waving them back.

Grath and Hobert both moved back a few steps. Neither was too far away to keep from seeing and hearing everything that might go on during the treatment of the elf. Grath in particular was not a trusting soul and remained somewhat wary.

Aragorn promptly ignored the Easterlings, who surrounded them. His sole focus now was on Legolas. Aragorn put a hand on each side of the elf’s face. "Legolas, wake up. Legolas, you must wake up now."

Grath stared at the ranger. "Why are you trying to wake him up? Wouldn’t it be better for him to be unconscious when you pull those arrows out?"

Aragorn knew, of course, that Legolas was already conscious, although he wished at this moment that the elf could be spared the intense pain he was about to suffer. He thought fast, finally saying, "Elves need to be aware during a trauma like this, or they could sink into a coma and drift away into death without ever waking up."

Turning back to his friend, Aragorn said, "Legolas, wake and open your eyes." The man’s voice was low but insistent.

Legolas slowly opened his eyes and looked straight at Aragorn. In elvish, he said, "Laid all that on a bit thick, did you not? Fatal infection, raging fever and a quick death?"

Also in elvish, Aragorn replied, "Well I had to make sure they would let me do what needed to be done for you.

"You were right about one thing."

"What?"

"Elves, particularly this elf, do not tolerate foreign objects in their flesh very well."

"Hey," Grath hollered. "I told you two to speak Common only."

It was time to lay on some more ‘facts‘ about elves. "During trauma, elves can process only in their own tongue." That sounded far-fetched even to the ranger, but he couldn't take it back now. "For someone who thinks he knows all about elves, you don’t know a lot." He knew he was taking a chance on antagonizing the big man, but he was having to cover one lie with another as fast as he could think of them, and the best way to be convincing was to keep Grath off balance by having him doubt himself.

Legolas recognized this outlandish maneuver of his friend’s and had to stifle a laugh. "It is a good thing that you are quick-witted," Legolas told Aragorn. "Or is it just that you are an exceptionally accomplished liar?"

"I sure hope I don’t accidentally twist either of those arrows when I pull them out," the ranger commented almost to himself, not daring to look at Legolas‘s face for fear he wouldn‘t be able to stop himself from grinning.

"What are you two talking about?" Grath asked, attempting to control his suspicion.

"I’m trying to find out exactly the kind of pain he is suffering and how far it has spread. As I feared, it’s bad. I have to hurry." Aragorn was able to keep a straight face now, because he knew that the underlying situation was serious.

He retrieved several athelas leaves from his medical pouch and handed them to Legolas to chew. The elf had been through this so many times in the past that he knew exactly what to do.

While Legolas chewed the leaves, Aragorn inspected the arrows closely. The first one, the higher of the two, was not too deep and shouldn’t cause much of a problem. "Bite down on the leaves," he instructed the elf and pulled the arrow out quickly. It came free fairly easily.

Aragorn checked the lower and deeper of the arrows. He frowned. This one was not going to be so easy. There were two possible problems. One was that the arrowhead could puncture Legolas’s left lung if not taken out very carefully. The second potential problem was that the arrowhead could also catch up under the elf’s shoulder blade. If the metal piece came off and stayed inside, it would have to be cut out, and the trouble that would cause would increase a hundredfold.

Legolas took the chewed up leaves out of his mouth. He saw the concerned look on Aragorn‘s face. "This one will be bad," he commented, continuing in elvish.

That statement told the ranger that Legolas understood the situation. It was now that he really wished the elf was unconscious for real.

The two stared at each other, complete understanding and complete trust passing between them in silence.

Legolas nodded, putting the athelas back in his mouth. He was ready.

Aragorn grasped the arrow firmly and began to pull with a steady pressure. The shaft did not budge at first, but the ranger did not let up. Soon the arrow was moving.

Legolas’s whole body tensed. It took all of his willpower to keep from crying out. The pain was incredible. Instead he just bit down harder on the now mushy leaves in his mouth and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

Unknown to either of the friends, both of Graph’s handd had balled into fists, and he was squeezing them with all his strength. He had been through this very thing more times than he cared to admit. His life had become too hardened to have any real sympathy for the elf, but watching what Legolas was going through brought back those unpleasant memories.

In what seemed like far too long, the arrow, with arrowhead intact, finally came free. So did a great deal of blood.

Taking no time to be gentle, Aragorn unfastened both of Legolas’s outer and under tunics and pulled them down, revealing the two ugly and freely bleeding wounds. The man then took the mass of athelas leaves out of the elf’s mouth and quickly applied it to the wounds.

Wiping away as much of the blood as he could, Aragorn added more padding to the second wound than he did to the first one. He wrapped both as tightly as he dared. However, by the time he had finished binding the elf’s shoulder, blood had seeped through the bandage of the lower wound.

Aragorn stared at the spreading crimson stain with dismay. He placed the palm of his right hand over it and applied pressure, using his left hand to push against the front of Legolas’s shoulder. He was hoping that would greatly slow, if not completely stop, the bleeding. He knew the added pain he was causing and whispered in the elf’s ear, "I hate this, mellon nin, but I have to do it."

"I know," Legolas whispered back. "Do what you must, Estel."

"What’s happening?" Grath asked, not liking to be out of the conversation for very long.

"I have to stop the bleeding before..." he didn’t finish the thought, because he suddenly realized that what he was saying was true and not just a made up piece of fiction he was handing Grath.

TBC