Chapter Three: Secrets
The
rain pelted down loud and unmercifully as Gimli hurriedly assisted Aragorn
carry the drenched and motionless elf toward safety. The dwarf's pipe was
long forgotten.
Hastily
reaching a reasonably sheltered grove, the duo placed the flaccid elf upon
the leafy ground, kneeling beside him.
Reaching
out a tentative arm, Aragorn hovered two fingers over the pale elf’s throat,
fearing the worst.
The
Ranger closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
O
please let there be something. Anything at all, just let him be alive!
And
quickly, so as not to delay the inevitable anymore, Aragorn pressed for
a pulse.
He
could feel nothing at first, but suddenly there it was, though thready
and weak. Relieved, he sat back, running a hand through his sodden, dark
hair.
Gimli met his concerned gaze,
and the Ranger try as he might, could not suppress a small grin. For as
much as the elf and the dwarf bickered and contested during the daylight
hours, the two's feelings obviously ran deeper than face value. And here
and now, the dwarf's disquiet towards his companion was just as obvious.
"He must be fine then," spoke
Gimli. "For surely you would not smile if he were too badly hurt."
Hope was in the bearded dwarf's
eyes.
"You are right in that. You
need not worry, for Legolas will be fine. Though he will most certainly
be cold and frozen when he awakens, and that will not be for a while yet.
So come, help me take him back to camp where we shall wrap him in blankets,
and lay him next to the warmth of our hearth, before he protests as he
is prone to. And please friend, when he is awake, do not provoke him as
you so usually do!"
Gimli looked up with a look
that was far too innocent.
And with that, they rose, and
picked up the slack and icy elf. Carrying him delicately back to the safe
haven of their camp.
They travelled the dry routes,
for neither wished to pursue the rain. And ever so gradually, because of
this, Legolas began to dry. But as he did so, his numbness thawed as well.
And immense shivers began to run down the unperceiving elf's spine, ere
it became difficult to hold the light elf up. For nearly dry though the
clothing was, it became slippery and did not grip against the clammy elf's
pale skin, so the pair frequently found themselves hauling the young prince
back up from his steady progress toward the ground.
*****
When
they reached it, the camp seemed to sing to them. Pulling them into its
warm embrace.
And
they submitted with joyous hearts, simply content in the knowledge that
were three here on this nigh, and not just two.
Setting
about their various tasks, Aragorn wrapped the shivering prince in warm
thick blankets, while Gimli sought alternative resources to light the dying
fire.
*****
He could
find nothing, and search as he may, the more he tried, all the more fruitless
did it become.
And
then it came to him. Perhaps a trifle silly, but his friend was in need
of life giving warmth.
Scurrying
over to his pack, Gimli pulled out his shattered and splintered axe.
Yes,
he thought smartly. This will do just fine. And out loud with his
damaged axe raised for emphasis, he spoke quickly, "Aragorn, lend me your
sword for a moment, as we need wood and light, just as Legolas does warmth."
So,
understanding what Gimli had in mind, the wise ranger nodded, unsheathing
his long sword and handing it to the short dwarf.
Acting
speedily, the dwarf carefully separated the split wooden handle from the
sharp bodied blade, and chucked the unceremoniously into the fire.
Almost
immediately, the light span of the camp increased, and warm, fiery crackling
sounds wafted through the glade with the smoke. With this, a warm feeling
of satisfaction settled deeply into the gruff dwarf's heart.
And
as he turned to observe his two companions, he realised he could not have
a more valuable kinship with these men.
*****
As the
midday's sun shone brightly once again through the thick blanket of trees
above, a low groan rose from the quaking elf. And as Legolas continued
to stir, Aragorn rushed quickly to his comrade's side.
Placing
one hand on the Silvan elf's brow, the Ranger frowned slightly. Legolas
still shuddered with the impending cold, though he had been lying here
in the warmth of the growing light, and still running fire since the previous
night.
He
was not really worried, for he knew the prince was going to be fine. But
he had expected Legolas to rise a lot earlier than this.
Perhaps
there is more water in his system than I had first thought, surmised
Aragorn. Nonetheless it seems like he is waking now, and the truth will
soon be told.
Surely enough, the son of King Thranduil awoke
not long after this notion had been thought.
*****
As he awoke, Legolas was conscious
of only one thing. He hurt. A lot.
With each movement came a stabbing
pain in his right side, and his right leg was just as bad. His lungs and
head ached excruciatingly with every rasping breath, and each time he drew
such in, his stomach would somersault, and a sickening feeling would overcome
him. It seemed he had been out for a long while, and even though the throngs
of unconsciousness are nothing like sleep, he felt annoyed at being so
weary.
Though he was still so cold,
the Prince of Mirkwood could feel the warm rays of sun through his closed
eyelids. And deciding that it would probably not yet be wise to unsettle
his already fragile state of mind and stomach, he kept his eyes shut, for
bright light would be too much.
Though at least he seemed to
be dry.
To his left he heard the soft
sound of footsteps coming toward him, and he shallowed out his breathing
in order to hear more.
Whoever it was, set himself
down beside him, laying a burning hand across his forehead. The hand itself
was uncomfortable, for though he craved warmth to calm his shivering body,
this radiating heat was uncomfortable and far too intense.
Legolas groaned and shook his
head slightly, trying to get away from the disrupting presence.
"Legolas?" A warm voice spoke
uncertainly. He gave no response, but instead shook his throbbing head
all the more vigorously.
"Legolas!" There it was again.
The young prince simply opened
his misty grey eyes, and stared straight back into the deep hazel depths
opposite.
"P-please take y-your hand
off my head Aragorn, it's f-far too hot for my p-p-preference at t-the
moment."
The Ranger removed his hand
from the young prince's forhead, and looked questioningly toward the ailing
elf. "How are you feeling Legolas? You had us both worried, especially
our irritable dwarven companion. Can you sit?"
"I'm fine," Legolas lied, leaving
the last question unanswered. For in truth even he did not yet know whether
he were able. There seemed no point in bothering Aragorn about his ribs,
for they could only heal of their own accord, and he had always healed
fast anyway, due to his elven blood. Aragorn looked dubious as to his previous
answer, but stayed silent.
"No really. I-i'm fine, just
a little c-cold is all." He seemed to be saying this more to convince himself
than he was Aragorn.
Turning away, and then back
again, he noticed the Ranger staring intently at him with a searching look,
and eventually Legolas had to look away from its severity.
"Where's Gimli?" Legolas asked
promptly, avoiding the uncomfortable air rising between himself and Gondor's
heir.
Aragorn gestured roughly toward
some point south east, and said, "Our dwarf has gone hunting. He left no
more than an hour ago, and will be back before sundown, as we are running
far too short on supplies, and a hot meal is better than trail food."
Suppressing what would surely
be a painful laugh, Legolas faced a wry grin, his feel for humour returning.
"Hunting? W-what a sight that would be. Gimli would f-frighten off any
game within sixty paces from him. Don't worry though Aragorn, feeding two
won't be so bad, as I'm not feeling hungry at the moment."
"You would do well not to mock
him so, Legolas. Our friend has not left your side since we got you back
here, and the only reason he is gone is because I forced him to take a
break. You have a good friend in him, my young prince. Do not judge him
so disrespectfully." Aragorn fixed him with one of those firm stares yet
again, but this time, it was not Legolas who looked away, as the betrothed
of the beautiful maiden Arwen rose and stirred the embers on the fire vehemently.
Legolas sighed and closed his
eyes against the impending light. Weariness was setting in again and he
turned his head aside for more comfort. He could feel himself drifting
off dreamily.
"Rest now Legolas, for I know
you are still fatigued. I will wake you tonight when Gimli brings us food
back." Aragorn paused, grinning at the pale elf's turned head, and added,
"As he will, my friend."
But
Legolas was already asleep.
*****
Just
as the warm golden sun fell from behind the treetops, a deep voice could
be heard singing joyously over the treetops.
Gimli
son of Gloin, with rabbits and hares strung over his shoulder, marched
loftily back into the makeshift encampment, where Aragorn stood and greeted
him.
Setting
his equipment and quarry down upon a cloak, the short dwarf looked up into
the calm and wise eyes of the human heir.
"Has
he awoken yet, Aragorn?"
"That
he has, Gimli. And he seemed coherent and fine. He said he was a little
cold, but that's to be expected under the circumstances. Though the way
he was reacting to the light makes me feel he might have an aching head
also. But we know how Legolas is with an injury, don't we my friend?"
"Oh
aye," grinned the dwarf. "We've dealt with that many a time. Well, glad
am I that he is in reasonably good health! Shall I start dinner? The spit
I was making last night should serve, and these plump rabbits look delicious!"
And in the fading light, the fiery bearded dwarf stared hungrily from the
future meal to the fire and back again.
"No
more rationed trail food for me!" Gimli praised enthusiastically as he
felt his mouth water in anticipation. "Enough for us three for four eves!
Done well have I on this day!"
So,
in not much time at all was it that dinner was almost ready, and Gimli
moved from the bright flickering fire to wake the sleeping elf.
Legolas
was no longer shivering much, and his translucent ghost-like pallor had
almost returned to normal. There was not the bluish tinge to his lips or
redness to his cheeks either, and all in all, the prince looked a little
better for wear.
Crouching
beside the sleeping prince, Gimli held his shoulders and shook Legolas
gently.
"Awaken
Legolas, my feast is almost prepared and there is plenty enough for everyone!
Awaken!"
Opening
his eyes slowly, Legolas rid his mind of sleeping fog, and glanced up to
the delighted expression of the dwarf's face. He could not help but smile
back.
It
was good to see Gimli again. Why had it seemed so long this afternoon when
he had been away? It had been not even a day since they had last talked,
and the young prince had been indisposed for most of it.
How
could this be? I must be losing my senses, and at my age too! He was
lost.
"Hail
Legolas. You are looking much better this evening if you don't mind my
saying. A little blue last night, you were," and with this Gimli chuckled.
His strange humour, as usual eluding the Silvan elf.
"Yes
Gimli, strange though it is, I feel much better now than previously."
But
in his mind, Legolas knew this to be not entirely true. Though in a manner
of speaking he was feeling more aware, his ribs and leg was painful. And
much as he would like to admit it, he had the feeling showing his injuries
would just cause unnecessary trouble and caution. This in which they did
not need, for when they had departed, the hopes of getting to Hobbiton
in time were looking dim, but now they were looking impossible. They had
tarried a whole day, and could afford to wait no more. They would just
have to move on.
Due
to his reply, Gimli laughed a deep laugh, and patted his Legolas on the
shoulder.
Though
suddenly a puzzled expression came into his small eyes.
"Why
do you not sit friend? You are even smaller than I when down there, and
I am not used to looking down. Here, let me help you up. It shall save
you the effort." And before Legolas could stop him, the blankets were wrenched
from upon him, and his arm grabbed roughly. Gimli tugged him up with no
such effort, but with dizziness and a pained cry the prince dropped straight
to the ground again, cradling his ribs and immobilising his leg.
Alarmed,
Gimli immediately crouched again. "What ails you Legolas? Are you hurt?
You should have told me, for Aragorn did not!" The dwarf was earnestly
distressed.
Legolas
replied painfully through tightly clenched teeth. "I-i'm fine G-Gimli.
Just got up-p a little fast i-is all. L-let me go."
But
disbelief rang true in the eyes of Gloin's son, and with surprising strength
for a man so small, he pushed the young elf flat to the ground and held
him there.
With
a fierce stare and a half snarl toward Gimli, Legolas realised he was in
trouble. Hiding an injury from his friends was going to offend them, but
he was doing it for their best interests. Or lack of it. Though they would
not understand this, and with this thought, the fair blonde elf began a
hasty prayer to the gods of invisibility.
The
gods either did not hear him, or chose to ignore him. For the gasp and
the glare he received when Gimli checked under his shirt was, neither friendly
nor cheerful. And from what Legolas took it from his own unobserving downcast
look, his painted ribs were not invisible either.
Who
needs religion in times like these, notioned Legolas. This promises
to be an interesting night.