Chapter Eight - 'Twas You I Heard

Denlad’s feet kicked rocks and gravel in a noisy cascade before him as he slid and jumped as fast as he could down the hillside. He heard Halbarad’s boots clattering just behind him but dared not look back. The treacherous footing and the scene far below them, taken in through only the briefest of glimpses when he dared look away from his path, more than sufficiently captured all his attention.

He risked another glance out toward the valley. Two figures, small with nearly a mile of distance, one stumbling in front, the other marching just behind, moved steadily away from them. How Denlad’s fingers longed for a bow! But he had none, and though Halbarad did, the range was too far, and so they must rely on whatever speed they could coax from their feet.

He pushed himself harder.

"Have a care, Denlad!" Halbarad huffed behind him. "You’ll do Aragorn no good if you fall and break your neck."

Denlad slowed marginally.

"Denlad!"

The urgency in Halbarad’s voice brought him up short. He looked behind him, but Halbarad’s horrified gaze was aimed beyond him, into the valley. "Valar help you, Aragorn," he whispered.

Denlad whipped his head back around. Aragorn had leapt to the side, and even now a sword flashed in the sunlight. They were still too far away to see exactly what was happening, but Denlad’s imagination conjured up the worst. "No," Denlad breathed, his body leaning forward as if to lend strength to the struggling figure so far away. "No..."

Then he was running, his feet moving of their own accord. Running, stumbling and finding his footing again and running, running, running and all he knew is that he had to get there...

His legs, nearly as long as Aragorn’s and longer than Halbarad’s, stretched out, devouring the ground before him, and still he pushed harder but he knew it was hopeless. He would not get there in time and Aragorn would be killed. He drew his sword as he let out a cry, a bellowing clarion of rage that flew from the depths of his soul, from some dark place deep within where the battle flame burned scarlet and hot and unquenchable. He ran toward his chieftain but it was too far... too far... and then his foot skidded on the loose scree and he fell crashing to the ground and his sword flew clattering out of reach and the rocks ripped into his hands. He sobbed with frustration and the wind whipped the sound into the empty sky and defeat lay bitter and cold in his gut.

Halbarad’s boots pounded past him, not stopping, nor did Denlad want them to. He gathered himself and his sword and climbed to his feet and then he was running again, and this time when he looked the two figures were apart, and one... one was on his knees and the other flat on the ground, partially hidden in the tall grass. Denlad slowed, squinting...

It was no good; he was simply too far away, and he could not tell who was alive and who might be dead and the coldness within him swelled and took his heart and he almost stopped running, so great was his dread.

But he would not stop, for giving in to such craven cowardice would leave Halbarad alone to find Aragorn’s broken body. Denlad had failed Aragorn, but he would not fail Halbarad and so he forced his legs to move, to run again. And as he ran, he looked only to his footing, not to the scene below... not to Aragorn’s body... I cannot look... I will not look...

But his eyes were drawn inexorably to the grassy plain despite the bitter resolve of his heart, and he looked, and he saw the man, still kneeling, and the other was marked with the slackness of death. Denlad slowed and his eyes again went to the kneeling figure, and this time he saw the black hair and the wide shoulders and his heart soared. "Aragorn," he breathed, hardly daring to say the name aloud for fear it would break the spell, for fear it was merely an illusion he was seeing, a fantasy wrought by the very intensity of his hopes.

But no. It was Aragorn, and he was not only alive but struggling to his feet.

He could not be so horribly injured, surely, if he could stand...

Denlad pressed on, as fast as his legs would carry him, and the next time he dared look up, Aragorn was walking, his shoulders slumped with fatigue, but walking... thank the Valar, he was walking.

But even as Denlad watched, Aragorn’s footsteps faltered. He staggered to a stop and then it seemed as though his legs simply folded underneath him. He knelt, head hanging, one arm limp and the other pressed hard against his side. Denlad ran harder, pushing himself to the very limit of his stamina, and caught up with Halbarad just as he reached Aragorn.

"Aragorn!" Halbarad cried as he fell to his knees beside him.

Aragorn raised his head, a tired, painful movement that hurt Denlad as much as it cheered him. Red-rimmed eyes in a face grey except where it was swollen with livid bruises took in Halbarad and then turned to Denlad. He smiled crookedly. "I ... thought ‘twas you... I heard," he whispered, and fainted.

Halbarad caught him and eased him to the ground. "Valar, what a mess," he muttered as he looked at the bloodied bandage and the wound on his arm.

Denlad, his hands shaking and his lungs heaving like bellows from his exertion, immediately stripped off his own shirt and started tearing it. "Do the same, Halbarad," he ordered. "Mine will not be enough. Is the Southron dead?"

"As Glorfindel’s balrog," Halbarad said as he yanked off his shirt. His strong hands made quick work of turning it to bandages. "I don’t know how he did it, the shape he was in, but Aragorn managed to kill him. A thrust straight into the heart. When he awakens, he’ll have quite a tale to tell."

"If he awakens," Denlad muttered. He immediately felt an iron grip on his arm.

"When he awakens," Halbarad growled, giving him a little shake. "When!"

"I am sorry. You are right. When." Denlad drew a shaky breath and turned to Aragorn, who was still unconscious. Just as well, Denlad thought; he will not feel any pain. "Can you hold him upright for me, please."

Halbarad did not question being ordered about but simply moved behind Aragorn’s head and hooked both arms under Aragorn’s, hauling him gently upright and letting Aragorn’s head rest against his shoulder. Aragorn groaned but did not stir. "Easy, my friend," Halbarad murmured.

Denlad pulled out his knife and paused one last time to still his breathing and steady his hands, then sliced through the soaked bandages binding Aragorn’s ribs. Working quickly and efficiently, he worked them free, revealing an ugly, tearing wound. Part of it was still neatly stitched, but part of it had torn open. Fortunately, it was starting already to clot.

"That’s good, then," Halbarad said, craning over Aragorn’s shoulder to look.

"Yes, it’s not as bad as I feared, although he has lost far too much blood." Denlad bent low, pressing his ear against Aragorn’s chest. Aragorn’s breathing was shallow but seemed clear, his heartbeat fast but steady enough. He straightened back up and placed his hand flat against Aragorn’s chest. He felt no tremors that would indicate wheezing. For the first time he felt a bit of hope. The ribs were likely cracked, from the looks of the bruising, but apparently no jagged ends had punctured his lung. Barring infection, and any more roving Southrons with similar deadly intents, Aragorn would recover. Relief made Denlad’s hands shake slightly, and for the first time, he noticed the stinging in his palms. He looked at the ripped skin and reached for the dead man’s waterskin. He yanked the stopper out with his teeth and did his best to rinse the grime and blood from his palms.

"Those look painful, Denlad," Halbarad said.

Denlad shrugged. The scrapes were painful, but minor. Still, he took a moment to hastily wrap them, more to protect Aragorn from his own blood than anything else. Then he steeled himself and set about binding Aragorn’s side. After a moment he was done. "It really needs proper stitching up, but that will have to wait until we can move him to a more sheltered campsite by fresh water, perhaps down in that thicket yonder. Surely there is a spring or creek there."

"There is. A spring. I’ve used it before," Halbarad confirmed. "Do what you can for now, then we will move him."

Denlad started bandaging Aragorn’s arm. "We’ll have to make a litter of some sort."

"And we have a bit of time, so no need to drag him across the ground on a cloak. As soon as you no longer need me, I’ll cut some saplings. We’ll thread them through our coat sleeves. It won’t be luxurious but it will do."

Denlad merely nodded, intent on his work. Aragorn woke up as Denlad was tying the knot on the bandage. He opened his eyes and lunged wildly for the empty scabbard on his belt.

"Hold there," Halbarad said, catching Aragorn’s hand. "You’re with friends now."

Aragorn looked hard at them both for a confused moment, then relaxed. "I’m sorry. Didn’t... realize..."

"Understandable," Denlad smiled with an outward calm, masking his blinding rage at the ones who so injured Aragorn. "Someone was a bit careless with how they played with you."

"Mmm." Aragorn worked his jaw, touched his swollen lip with the tip of his tongue and winced.

"Easy," Denlad said. "Do not injure that lip further. It looks painful enough as it is."

Aragorn shrugged as if to say it was of no account, but Denlad had been punched in the mouth enough times in his life to know just how painful it was. Between the split lip and the bruise on his cheekbone, with its angry red swelling that was purpling now and by tomorrow would be black, Aragorn’s face must ache fiercely. And his right eye... Denlad winced. The skin below it was purple and swollen, and the eye itself fiery red. He leaned closer. "Can you see out of that eye?"

"Blurry, but it is getting better. He...." He paused, swallowed. "He tried to blind me, to get me to talk... something about a... a treasure hidden in the Shire..."

Denlad heard Halbarad’s swift intake of air. Halbarad’s hand tightened where it rested on Aragorn’s uninjured arm. Denlad pressed his lips together but said nothing. What could he say? The days were evil, and turning more so. It would take every bit of cunning, skill and no small amount of luck for them to survive the coming terrors. How can we do this, he wondered. We are so few, and the Enemy grows stronger and stronger... Aragorn had nearly died twice now, under their supposed protection...

Halbarad reached out and touched his shoulder, and in his eyes Denlad read compassion. "Courage, Denlad. All will be well, you’ll see," he said softly.

Denlad nodded, swiped his forehead on his forearm, then turned his attention fully to Aragorn’s eye. Was it only bruised, or something worse? He felt sick at the thought of Aragorn losing the sight in that eye. Denlad knew so little when it came to eye injuries...

"Worry not, Denlad," Aragorn suddenly said. "I do not think it permanently damaged. It burns and feels bruised, but I can see with it, and that is reassuring."

Denlad nodded. He took a deep breath and tried to banish his worries and his anger and his inadequacies so he could focus as a healer ought. "When we get you to some fresh cold water, I will fix a compress for you to hold against it."

"That will feel good," Aragorn murmured. His eyes fell shut.

Alarm surged hot in Denlad’s belly. "Aragorn?"

The eyes opened again, but they were dull with pain, and he didn’t speak.

"I am sorry, but I need you to try to stay awake for a little longer."

Aragorn nodded, but Denlad could tell it was a struggle for him to keep his eyes open. Moving as quickly as he could, Denlad gently ran his fingers along Aragorn’s cheekbone. It seemed intact, as did the jaw. "Can you open your mouth, just a little? I need to see if your teeth are all where they were at breakfast, providing you had breakfast this morning? I know how much you love breakfast."

That brought the barest flicker of a smile to Aragorn’s lips. "Didn’t have... much. Didn’t want... eggs–" Aragorn suddenly stopped, his eyes flying wide. "The hobbit–how is Ferdinand?"

"He is all right," Halbarad soothed, again laying a gentling hand on Aragorn’s shoulder to keep him from trying to fly to his feet. "He is up on the hill, tending those sausages he was cooking for second breakfast. Now open up for Denlad."

But Aragorn still fretted. "You are sure he is well? The Southron threw him–"

"He is quite well, Aragorn. Stop your worrying," Denlad said. "He has a few scrapes, but that is all. He is a hardy one, your Ferdinand."

"He has a good heart," Aragorn murmured as the tension finally left him.

"He does. And he seems to be a good cook as well as quite anxious to get food into you, so open your mouth and let me see that you have teeth yet to chew up those sausages."

Aragorn winced but managed to get his mouth open. Denlad could not help but bite his own lip as he gentled Aragorn’s swollen and cut lips a bit further apart so he could slide a finger along Aragorn’s teeth. None seemed loose or broken. He glanced up at Halbarad and was amused to see Halbarad had his own mouth half open as he watched. "Halbarad, I do not need to see your teeth."

Halbarad closed his mouth with a snap. Denlad chuckled and Aragorn even managed a soft breath of a laugh. Denlad asked Aragorn to work his jaw back and forth, and then sat back, satisfied. "Nothing amiss with your teeth or your jaw. You will still be able to flash that winning smile at Arwen when next you see her."

"Would that be sometime soon," Aragorn sighed. Then his eyes started to droop. "Thank you," he whispered. "Both of you."

Halbarad gave his arm a pat. "Think nothing of it. We simply did not want you to get out of your turn at midnight watch. Now, I am going to lay you flat so you can rest while I go take care of fashioning a litter for you, since you are too lazy to walk on your own."

"I can walk," Aragorn protested, but it was weak, and Denlad could not help letting out a disbelieving snort. They settled Aragorn on the ground, and he very quickly fell asleep.

"‘I can walk.’ Listen to you," Halbarad said softly, but his gaze was affectionate as he looked at Aragorn’s face, etched with pain even in slumber. He grabbed the cloak he had thrown aside in his haste to help Aragorn and laid it across him, pausing a moment to lay his hand on the top of Aragorn’s head. "Rest and get yourself well, my brother."

Denlad watched Aragorn’s soft, even breathing and then let out a long ragged sigh of his own. The harrowing chase to find Aragorn, the bloody trail that led them here, finding Aragorn nearly too late... and seeing him so injured... it suddenly seemed to crash down on him. Shamefully close to tears, he bent his head, staring down at his own bandaged hands. He fumbled shakily to take the bandages off. It had been a sloppy job... he needed to redo them properly... clean the wounds... but he could not get the knot untied. He pulled at it, suddenly enraged that he could not do such a simple thing....

Halbarad’s hand grasped his. "Let me see to that for you."

Denlad nodded but dared not look up.

Halbarad knelt beside him and gently unwrapped the bandages and then took the water skin and splashed liberally, pulling out a few shards of stone that were still embedded in his flesh. Denlad couldn’t hold back a hiss. "I’m sorry," Halbarad immediately said, stopping.

"No, it just stings. Go on."

Halbarad gave him an uncertain look, but he bent back to the task, finally finishing by wrapping them neatly with the leftover bits of his own torn shirt. He tied off the last knot and used his teeth to tear off the excess fabric. "There. Can’t have our only conscious healer falling prey to infection of his own wounds."

"I suppose not," Denlad murmured. "Thank you."

"Denlad, look at me."

Denlad did so, reluctantly.

"You did well this day."

He dropped his gaze back to Aragorn. "I should have–"

"No, Denlad. We cannot second guess any of this–neither of us, for I feel the same guilt as you. We both did what we could, and we found Aragorn and he will recover." He took a deep breath, his gaze seeming to travel to bleak inner horizons known only to himself. It happened in a mere blink, but it was enough to make Denlad wonder if Halbarad was trying to convince even himself of the truth of his words. "He will recover. Nothing else matters."

Words would not come, so Denlad simply nodded.

Halbarad let out a little sigh, but he gave the back of Denlad’s neck a gruff squeeze before he stood and brushed bits of grass and dirt from his knees. "I don’t want you leaving Aragorn’s side, so I will be back with the saplings. We’ll get Aragorn settled, then I’ll go collect Ferdinand and all our things and move the entire camp down to the trees. Once we’re done with that, I will go set up a small cairn at the roadside so Eledh can find us."

"I hope he brings horses."

"Surely you told him to?"

"I honestly can’t remember what I told him," Denlad admitted. "I confess I was in a bit of a state at the time."

"No matter. He’s a smart lad. I’m sure he’ll know to bring the horses."

"We didn’t bring horses."

Halbarad stared at him for a beat. "He will bring horses."