“Oh Valar.”
Aragorn dropped his sword and stumbled backwards, hitting the wall behind him hard. His head crashed roughly into the doorpost, leaving a stain of blood there. He could not think, not act. He was useless to himself, unable to save his own life.
Before him lay the lifeless body of Vardar, death caused by Aragorn’s blade. In his hand still lay the bow with which he had shot the Ranger. Soon, so Aragorn thought, he would follow into the abyss.
Aragorn sunk down through his knees and focused on Vardar’s bloodshot dead eyes, and shifted his body against the post, until his hands touched the tiled cottage floor. It was freezing cold inside. Breath escaped his mouth, forming circles.
He was numb.
Not a single sense of pain shot through Aragorn as he remained seated. The pain had been short and sharp when the arrow entered his chest and then numbness had settled in like a comfort blanket. He could not motivate his body to move up and find help.
Aragorn closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing: In and out, in and out. Remain awake and alert. He could not accept this fate without a fight. Yet his body resisted all the prickles of pain his brain was trying to send through.
“Somebody. Help.” His voice sounded raspy.
The pain finally came. He knew the arrow had cracked at least one rib, perhaps more. One of them had entered his lung. It felt like twenty knifes were piercing him. He would not be able to withhold the dark long from this point forward. Extreme fear swirled through him, pounding on the head like a Dwarf’s hammer.
Let it be over. Let death take you over. Accept your fate as it was given to you. Take your punishment for your failure.
No. Focus!
Aragorn’s entire being swirled instantly back into reality. He lived. Live!
He had to live. He could not let Legolas find him this way: bled to death and be destroyed for nothing. It should not end this way. Not this trite.
Focus. Concentrate. Stay alert. Stay put. Be alive. Call out for Legolas. Connect with him. Make him listen to you.
But Legolas was far away, sleeping in his camp near Bree, where he had left him around the fourth hour. The others were in other camps nearby. No connection. Listen to me, Legolas. Listen and find me.
Aragorn felt bitterness overwhelm him. He had done this to himself. He had come alone to this cottage, leaving his friends. Blood poured from the arrow’s wound onto the ground. If he did not do anything, he would most likely bleed to death. He moved his arm and shoulder gently.
Somehow he pulled one arm out of its stupor and onto the floor, his fingertips touching the tiled floor. The other arm followed. That was the injured one. He shifted aside, rolling down with the arrow’s head nearly touching the ground. His entire body moved forward as he fell. He lost contact with the doorpost. There was blood on his dark Ranger’s clothes. He dropped to his side, wincing and groaning as he crawled on his side on the floor. The arrow was dangling above it.
He could do that. Crawling sounded good.
Aragorn’s body shuffled on the floor. His left shoulder felt paralyzed. The arrow had gone in there underneath the collar bone, into his chest. He cried silently in pain, biting his lip as he struggled with the darkness that eagerly awaited him. He would not give in.
It took forever to move forward. The tiles came dangerously close to him, urging him to drop his head and just let it be. Do not lose it, his instincts warned him. Do not rest your head. Move. Go. Crawl. Anything.
Panting he finally rested. He had moved only a few inches but it seemed as if he had crossed a thousand miles. If he tried hard, he could touch his sword. He just needed to stretch out his fingers. And behind it lay his pack. Athelas in the pack. He could remove the arrow himself, and use the athelas to sooth the wound.
Beads of sweat crawled onto his lip as he reached forward in pure exhaustion. His heartbeat hammered in his eardrums. He was exhausted. Vardar’s body was close to him now. He could see death in the man’s face. The Corsair had deserved his death but it still remained gruesome to see any Man in this state.
He groaned in pure pain when his fingers touched the sword’s blade with the blood upon it. Then, the arrow touched the ground by accident. Roaring pain shattered through his body as the arrow’s head sunk deeper into his chest, embedding itself even closer to his heart.
And the darkness came so swift that he did not even have the time to fight it.
*
Aragorn found himself walking in the gardens of Rivendell, staring at all that was beauty. Here, the claws of darkness had not yet reached. Here, life was as it was thousands of years ago, when Man and Elf last fought in an alliance against the darkness. Here, Lord Elrond remembered what it was like to live three thousand years ago.
Here, Aragorn stood in wonder and looked around.
It was not Lord Elrond or his relatives that spoke to Aragorn. He did not even see them. It was Legolas, the Mirkwood Elf that stood before him. The Elf did not speak. His words came from within and entered Aragorn’s mind.
Aragorn, where are you?
The Ranger could not speak. He tried, but could not. He saw that Legolas was not addressing him personally. The Elf was trying to find a connection to him, but they were not in the same realm. He saw through him.
Aragorn, you must let me know where you are. I cannot find you.
The Man stood before the Elf, trying to touch his arm. He could not.
Are you hurt? I need to know where you are. I cannot find you in the dark. I can feel you are distraught and wounded. I can feel the tethers of life loosen. I worry. Aragorn, mellon-nin, tell me where you are.
Aragorn closed his eyes, willing himself to make the connection to Legolas. Willing the Elf to find him. He reached out beyond himself, suddenly grasping the tunic of Legolas’ arm. A bolt of electricity shot through the Elf.
I can feel you now. I can see you, my friend. You are lying on the ground. A cottage. We were there today. I shall come. I promise I shall not let you fade into dark. Do not give in. Awake and stay alert. Be with me.
The connection faded.
No, Mellon-Nin. Awake!
Inside the cottage, Aragorn opened his eyes. He was still in trouble. Still aching. But then, as he lay gasping on the ground, reaching for the pack that lay within his fingertips, he could hear a voice inside his head.
Do not give up, my friend. I am coming. Stay with me. Can you feel this connection?
The Man was too tired to speak. He was cold, so cold. Sleep. Death. Dying. Gone.
No! Do not sleep. Do not sleep! I will help you.
Aragorn willed himself to move up, pushing his body up with both hands until he sat on his side. Slowly he stretched his legs to get the blood flowing through his system again. He had to get the arrow out before it was pushed further into him. He reached for the poach with herbs.
You are alert. That is good.
The Ranger knew his Elven friend felt guilty. He could tell by the panic in the words, even as they were kept unspoken between them. The Ranger opened his pack and found the athelas, slowly shoving some of it into his mouth. He did not have any water to thoroughly cleanse the wound. This would have to do.
I am nearly there.
He could not be, Aragorn knew. Unless he flew faster than the wind. Yet, perhaps he had already left the camp much sooner in search for his friend. Aragorn leaned with his back against a heavy table.
I am nearly there.
The Ranger removed the athelas from his mouth and placed it on a cloth in his lap. Aragorn grasped a small piece of wood on the ground, lying useless. He shoved it closer with his foot until he could reach it. He placed it between his teeth, biting down hard on it.
Can you still hear me? I am here.
The Ranger’s fingers twitched hard on the arrow, pulling it out in a long haul. The head popped out with a sickening sound. The Ranger closed his eyes, panting and fighting the darkness. He spat out the wood. His teeth were sunken in it. He then pushed the athelas directly into the wound, crying out in pain for the first time as the herbs touched the injury.
The door flew open.
Aragorn opened his feverish eyes and looked with a weakened smile at his Elven-friend. “Mellon …”
Legolas sprung forward and caught the Man before his head could hit the ground. The Elf’s caring hands helped him now.
“I am here, as I promised,” the Elf said concerned. “I shall give you my strength now. I promise.”
Aragorn smiled.
*
Aragorn’s strained breathing was the only sound that filled the room. The wound was bad. The Elf did not dare to move Aragorn from his position, knowing that the lung was punctured by at least one broken rib.
And the Man was awake. How that could be, the Elf did not know. By pure will.
“Aragorn, it is I,” Legolas spoke with a restraint in his voice he could not hide.
The Ranger’s eyes flung open, his mouth broadening in a smile, staring at Legolas in wonder. “You have come.”
“Aye. As I promised.”
“Good. Now I can rest.”
“You cannot.” The Elf spoke firmly, shaking the Man lightly. “I do not have the means to help you alone. You must help me too. Our friends are near. They will come and save you.”
Aragorn’s voice faded away. “Bleeding to death.”
Legolas pushed his hand over the wound, hurting the Ranger back into reality. The pain was so hard that it drove him on the brink of insanity. He wanted to fade away so bad, but could not.
“No! You shall not die like this,” Legolas spoke determined.
“Cannot help me. Let go,” he begged.
“I will not.”
Aragorn turned his head away from the Elf and struggled to throw him off guard, fighting against the excruciating pain forced upon him. The Elf’s hard and firm grip would not let go. Finally the Ranger stopped fighting, his body too weak to struggle.
“I am sorry,” the Elf whispered. “I am so sorry. I must help you until they come.”
Aragorn looked up in despair. “I am sorry. I am so sorry.”
“You left me to go with Vardar. Why did you go with him, Aragorn? Why did you believe his lies? You should not have gone where I could not follow.”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
Legolas had to strain himself to hear what the Man said. “He said he had Merenwen. He said he had the Elven girl that we have been looking for, for six days. Wanted to sell her to the Orcs. He wanted to make a trade … if I came alone. It was all a lie. He did not have her. But his friends do.”
“What did he want from you in return?”
Aragorn smiled wearily. “My life.”
“Why?”
“I am not loved amongst the Corsairs.” The Man shrugged, smiling suddenly. “Is it not ironic that I should die by their hands after I have lived with them to learn their ways? I allowed myself to be lured …” The Ranger coughed. “I knew how guilty you felt over her loss. Wanted to help you. Stop your anguish.”
Legolas felt ridden with guilt, remembering how eager he had been to find the missing Merenwen. She had been under his guidance and he had failed. “Do not speak anymore. The others will be here soon. Lord Elrond knows. I have the same connection with him as I have with you.”
“I do not feel it.”
“You have grown too weak.”
“It shall be too late.”
“No.”
Legolas knew his friend was not delirious or ill. He was sane of mind. He knew that the end was near.
“So tired, Legolas.”
“No, Aragorn. Do not speak like that. You will live. It was just an arrow. You have fared far worse.”
“Bleeding empty. Arrow hit rib. Rib hit lung. Difficulty breathing. Difficulty staying awake. Tired. Weak. Nothing else.”
Legolas felt tears in his eyes when he listened to the Ranger’s self-diagnosis. The Ranger was a Healer. He knew what hurt him.
“What do you still want to do, Aragorn?” Legolas asked quietly. “In your life. What do you still want to see?”
Aragorn’s eyelashes fluttered.
“No, stay with me. Open your eyes and tell me.”
He blinked and looked up distraught. “I want to see Gondor again. Minas Tirith holds my heart. I want to see far-away lands I have never travelled before. To see Arwen again. See the world through her eyes.”
“That is good. What more do you want to do?”
“Rule the world,” Aragorn quipped, coughing.
Legolas laughed.
“Well, not really the world. Just Gondor. If I make it, I shall tell Lord Elrond I will follow my future. I want to know what that is, Legolas. What it brings for me. I may not be ready for it, but I want to know.”
“You shall.”
Aragorn’s feverish eyes looked up. “I wish I could have seen her one last time. I wish I could have told her how I felt. I wish Lord Elrond would have known how much I cared.”
“She knows. Arwen knows, Aragorn.”
The Ranger smiled wearily. “I wish I could hear the Elves sing one last time. I wish I could –“
“Shall I sing for you?”
Aragorn looked up. “You do not sing.”
“Only for you.”
“Then sing for me.”
Legolas fought his distress and nodded.
The sound of the Elfish voice filled the Corsair’s cottage, drifting through the half-open door outside and far away from it, filling the air with a soft melody that could be heard far away by those of his own kind, and by Men and Women who stopped to stare who would sing so beautifully so early in the morning.
As years go by
I race the clock with you
But if you died right now
You know that I would die to
I would die too...
You remind me of the times
When I knew who I was
But still the second hand will catch us
Like it always does
And the sound of the words drove Lord Elrond and his sons and search party to the cottage, where they opened the door and found Legolas holding Aragorn’s face against his chest, singing softly to him and willing him to live by feeding his own life’s force into him bit by bit. And Aragorn had finally lost his battle against the dark, and Legolas could feel the Man’s life slip away from him.
They could not move the Man without killing him. Aragorn remained on the ground and did not respond as Lord Elrond worked on the grave injury that wounded him.
They cut through his clothes and prepared medicine, warming up fresh water on a small fire made outside.
They fed him herbs and cleansed out the wound, finding the cracked rib that had punctured the lung. They repaired the lung and set the rib and placed herbs inside of his chest where they would fulfil their healing quality to the fullest while stitches kept the wound together.
They listened to Aragorn’s soft feverish mumbling and heard how he called out for Arwen.
They waited then. Waited and waited for hours after burying the body of the Corsair and until the sun shone brightly through the cottage’s windows, and the search party moved on to find the missing Elven girl which they did not do until late that very evening before she was shipped onto one of the Black boats that brought the Corsairs to Mordor.
Legolas stayed by his friend after Aragorn was gently moved onto the Corsair’s bed where he remained oblivious to the world and the cares of his friends.
Often the Elf slammed his fist against the wall, bitter desperation eating at his heart. He could not believe this was happening. He could not believe his friend was taking the fall for him like this … not when they all knew what it would cost. And Lord Elrond placed his hand soothingly upon his shoulder and told him to rest and eat.
Finally, the Elf dozed off with his eyes open, his face turned towards the Man.
When a new morning came, Legolas still sat by his side, now awake.
Then he hummed,
We will make the same mistakes
I will take the fall for you
I hope you need this now
Because I know I still do.
From the bed came a hoarse response. “You did sing for me. Again. Perhaps I shall see Gondor again then too.”
Legolas smiled, stood up and looked into Aragorn’s fever-free eyes. “You are going to have to wait a while longer to find that out. But it will happen. I am certain.”
End