Disclaimer see Chapter One.

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Chapter Five: Watch in the Dark

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The elf’s fair features were drawn and edged with pain, and he immediately closed his eyes and cradled his injured arm with his good one, trying to immobilize it. Aragorn squeezed his friend’s uninjured shoulder in a silent gesture of comfort and was rewarded by a weak smile. Then he started tearing long strips out of his own cloak, the only thing he had down here to treat his friend with.

The ranger gently took his friend’s injured arm, and the elf’s other hand fell down limply into his lap. Aragorn pressed his lips together as he saw the deep bite marks in the Legolas’ upper arm, knowing that if the elf had not fought back the closing fangs could have severed his arm completely. The wound needed more treatment than he could give right now, but the most important thing was to do something against the blood loss.

To his relief, Aragorn noticed that the blood flow had already started to slow. He cleaned the wound as gently as he could, still drawing a hiss of pain from Legolas, and wrapped it tightly afterwards with some of the strips from his cloak, hoping that this would be sufficient for the moment. Then he made a makeshift sling out of another strip and placed Legolas’ arm in it to keep it still.

Looking into Legolas’ face, he saw that the elf’s eyes were open now and he seemed to have relaxed a bit. They both knew that the worst was still to come.

“I will have to set the bones now,” Aragorn said, hating that he had to cause more pain.

“I know,” Legolas answered softly. “Just do it.”

Aragorn wondered for a moment what he should use to keep the bones in place, then his gaze fell on the few arrows that were still in his friend’s quiver. He took them out, snapping off the heads and tore some more strips from his cloak. Then he moved to kneel beside the broken leg and gently began to feel along it, trying to locate the exact breaking point and the position of the bones. When he found it, Legolas hissed again and jerked slightly under his hands.

Very gently, Aragorn positioned the leg in his lap. “It is a clean break,” he said quietly. “It will heal quickly.”

He looked up at his friend as if asking for permission. Legolas nodded, and without hesitation Aragorn grabbed the leg firmly and moved the bones into the right position again. Legolas had to bite back a cry and would have jerked again, but Aragorn kept his firm grip on the leg, preventing the bones from getting jostled again. He brought the arrows into position and wrapped them and the leg tightly with the strips. Then he lay the leg down carefully, wishing he had something to prop it up on.

Legolas’ face was deadly pale now, and he sank back against the wall tiredly. There was perspiration on his forehead, and his lips were still pressed together tightly.

“I wish I could do more, or at least give you some herbs,” Aragorn said, regret in his voice, “but we do not have anything down here.”

“I know,” Legolas answered, forcing himself to relax slowly and look into his friend’s eyes with the hint of a smile. “You have done all you could, and it is enough for me. Thank you.”

Aragorn simply nodded, still slightly shaken by the pain he had had to cause. He helped Legolas to get rid of the quiver and settle down against the wall as comfortably as possible, sitting down beside him. Legolas slumped a bit, and Aragorn lay a supporting arm around his shoulders to keep the elf upright, silently inviting him to lean against him. After a moment of hesitation Legolas accepted, too tired and worn out for much resistance. Aragorn felt him shift, and then the elf’s weight pressed lightly against his shoulder.

Looking at the cave around them and the large carcass in front of them, the ranger suddenly could not help smiling. “The situations you always get us into, mellon-nîn…” he commented, not able to resist teasing his friend.

“I had nothing to do with it,” Legolas protested weakly before he could go on. “I was not the one who decided to walk over a hole in the ground!”

“But you invited me,” Aragorn said pointedly, grinning now.

Legolas glared at him. “I invited you to a festival, not to jump down into an underground cave and play around with a rabid bear,” he murmured, trying to stifle a yawn.

Aragorn chuckled. “Well, I think we had our hunt,” he said a bit wistfully. “I’m sorry, Legolas. I know how much this festival means to you.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Legolas answered gently, sounding a bit more awake now. “None of this was your fault, and if you ever insist on taking the blame again I will throw you down here again and leave you there, until some reason has found its way into that stubborn head of yours.”

Aragorn chuckled again, relaxing a bit, and after a moment Legolas added: “Though I am not sure if the bear would agree about who the hunter was in that game.”

“Always the one who survives, my friend,” the ranger replied softly, smiling at his friend. “Always the one who survives.”

Legolas smiled back at him, and for a while they just sat there, a comfortable silence settling down on them. Aragorn looked up at the hole in the ceiling thoughtfully.

“I wonder…” he began and realized that the weight against him was shifting once more. Looking down at his friend he saw that the elf’s head had sunk down on his shoulder.

“Legolas?” he asked, but there was no answer. The elf had fallen asleep, his eyes half closed with exhaustion.

Content that his friend was finally getting the rest he needed, Aragorn lay his head back against the wall again. He could only hope that the elf’s wound would not get infected and drain his strength even more. After a moment’s thought, he leaned over slightly and wrapped the elven cloak tightly around the form of his friend, making sure that the elf was covered completely. Then he drew him a bit closer, trying to share his body warmth.

Usually, it would have been him who was in danger of freezing, but the pain, the darkness and the blood loss had taken its toll on Legolas, and even before the fight with the bear, one look at the elf beneath him in the cave had been enough to tell Aragorn that his friend had become susceptible to the cold.

Legolas did not even stir through his ministrations, and Aragorn was glad about it. He felt his friend’s pulse to make sure that the elf was truly only sleeping, then he changed his own position slightly and prepared himself to sit here for what would probably be a long time.

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Surrounded by the dim light from above and the darkness of the cave beyond, and with only the carcass of the bear keeping them company, the time went by slowly. Aragorn was quite glad he had some quiet time to think and recover from all the agitation and the anxiety before. First Legolas’ fall, then his friend’s near-brush with death, his own jump, the fight with the bear and then the treatment of Legolas’ injuries – it was a bit much for one day.

In the last hour, he had nearly lost his friend and died himself. He felt too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to even be angry over what had happened anymore. It was calming to feel the light weight of his friend against him, and the slight, nearly imperceptible movement of his body with each breath. Once more he was immensely grateful that Legolas was still alive and at his side. He looked down at the golden head resting on his shoulder and smiled. Noticing that some of the golden strands had fallen over his friend’s face, he gently brushed them back over the elf’s shoulder. There was beauty in this day, because they had survived.

Looking up at the hole in the ceiling once more, Aragorn wondered when someone would notice that they were missing, and how long they would need to find them. It had been noon when the ground gave way beneath him, and in spite of all the things that had happened since then, it could not be much later now.

The hunting party would gather in the evening, and the Hunt would start at dusk. It was very probable that no one would miss them till then. It was also very likely that even Thranduil would not be able to find them here at night, meaning that they would have to wait for their rescue until morning.

Having to stay here through the night was not something Aragorn looked forward to. Even now, it was cold down here, and the ever-present moisture was starting to seep through his clothes where he leaned against the rock wall, making him feel anything but comfortable. He looked down worriedly at his friend once more. He could only hope that the elf’s condition would remain stable through the night.

As if reacting to his friend’s gloomy thoughts, Legolas stirred slightly. Aragorn held his breath, fearing that the elf was waking. It would be best if Legolas rested as long as possible, and even better if he just slept through the night. But Legolas only shifted a bit, drawing his good leg closer to his body, trying to curl in on himself.

The fair features tensed for a moment, and Aragorn knew that his friend was feeling pain again, but then the elf relaxed slowly against his shoulder, falling back into a deep, and seemingly peaceful, sleep. Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief. He feared that Legolas was already starting to feel the cold again, but he hoped it would help that the elf was leaning against him and not against the wall. In any case, it was better when he remained asleep.

Aragorn would have liked to know what was going on outside now. He had never been here on Hunter’s Moon before, though Legolas had told him nearly everything there was to know about it. For all he knew, the elf had never missed the Hunt until now.

Aragorn had heard the name Hunter’s Moon before, but nowhere else but in Mirkwood was that day considered as a festival. Among the rangers, the full moon in Narquelië ((October)) was called “Hunter’s Moon” or “Blood Moon”. They usually used the whole night for hunting, stockpiling the food they needed for the winter ahead. As the elves did not eat meat very often, or not at all, the day held no special meaning in Rivendell, though Elladan and Elrohir would sometimes join the rangers in their hunt.

But in Mirkwood, this day had acquired a special meaning since shortly after Dol Guldur had been erected and the necromancer had appeared for the first time. It was a grim festival, and the hunt was a symbolic one. On this day – or rather, in this night - the elves celebrated one more year of survival against the darkness, another year in which they had been the hunters and not the prey.

It was also a day of remembrance of the blood that had been shed and the lives that had been lost, though the elves did not need it to be reminded of the dead – an elven heart never forgot the loss of a loved one, or the grief it had caused. The day before the festival was usually spent with family and best friends, with the people that were close to one’s heart. At undómë ((dusk)) there would be the Hunt.

All the elven warriors of the woodland realm, apart from some few who still patrolled the borders, would gather in front of the palace and then fan out, led by their king and prince, to hunt down any creature of darkness that had dared to venture into the protected part of the forest that still belonged to the elves alone. Most of the time, this hunt was symbolic, as nearly no creature of darkness was bold enough to cross the borders of the elven realm if it was not a precursor to a massive attack.

Aragorn’s gaze was involuntarily drawn to the huge carcass of the bear before them. If Sauron had wanted to exact a special kind of revenge on Thranduil and his people he could not have chosen a better time or a better target. But Aragorn knew that no one, not even the Evil One himself, could have planned such a sequence of events.

Still, they truly had had their Hunt today, and had nearly been the hunted. Thranduil’s heart and the resistance of his people could have been broken today. The last traces of anger in Aragorn’s heart faded away, and he began to believe that the Valar must have been watching over their children today.

It had been a special honour for him to be invited to the festival, as the wood-elves kept this festival private and usually did not even invite other elves to join them on that day. But as Aragorn and his rangers were fighting the same darkness on the other side of the Misty Mountains, and he had joined Legolas in many border patrols, Thranduil had agreed to his son’s wish to invite his friend.

He wondered if the Hunt would take place at all, and if there would be songs of loss, triumph and great deeds tonight, after the absence of the prince had been discovered. Perhaps not. The wood-elves dearly loved their prince, and Aragorn could not imagine Thranduil celebrating while his son was missing. If he did hunt, then it would more likely be for his son than for any creatures of darkness.

Aragorn sighed. It seemed it would be a long night for all of them. Trying to ignore the cold, his aching ankle, the carcass, and the dark cave around them, he waited and kept a silent watch over his sleeping friend.

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Some time later, Aragorn jerked awake from a restless sleep. For a moment, he felt completely disoriented. He was cold to the bones, his neck hurt from the unnatural position it had been resting in, and he had no memory of falling asleep in the first place. In fact, he had not intended to sleep at all. Wondering what had awoken him, he first checked on Legolas. The elf was still resting, undisturbed, at his side, and his pulse was steady.

Relieved, he then eyed their surroundings. There was still a circle of twilight around them, but the light had dimmed slightly. Aragorn concluded that it must be evening in the outside world. Soon the shadows of the trees would hide the sinking sun, and then darkness would fall. He was glad that there would be a full moon tonight. Hopefully it would provide at least enough light to see in. He did not want Legolas to awake to pitch-black darkness in an underground cave.

Feeling tired and still a bit sleep-muddled, the ranger looked up to the hole in the ceiling… and blinked. He was not sure if he was having a vision or if he was still dreaming. There, dangerously near to the brink of the hole above, stood a majestic figure, a being of light that could only be one of the Valar themselves.

A golden glow surrounded the head of the being like a crown of light, and leaves in the flaming colours of autumn wound around the noble brow. The figure wore long, flowing robes of the same fiery colours, which seemed to waft slightly as if moved by a gentle wind. For a long moment, the being did not move, but simply stood there and looked down. Aragorn was awestruck by the beauty and unreality of this sight.

Then the being turned around, robes swirling behind him, and vanished, leaving a confused ranger behind. Suddenly, Aragorn heard someone call for a rope in a loud, demanding voice, and the last remnants of the vision shattered. There was no mistaking this voice, especially when it spoke in a tone like that. From one moment to the next, Aragorn was wide awake, listening intently, hoping that this was not a dream.

One moment later the figure was back, and this time he had no problems recognizing it.

“Legolas? Aragorn? Can you hear me?” The voice was controlled, but there was also concern in it, and hearing it made Aragorn dizzy with relief.

“Yes, I can hear you, my lord,” he called back.

“Good,” Thranduil answered. “I will be with you in a moment.” With these words, he was gone again.

Aragorn knew that the king would be deeply worried for his son by now, and that he had not asked any questions about Legolas’ condition told him that he was probably afraid to hear the answer. The ranger could not blame him. It was impossible to miss that Legolas sat slumped against him and had not even stirred through the entire, rather loud, exchange.

In fact, Aragorn was getting concerned too. The loud voices should have roused the elf in spite of his exhaustion, and he should have recognized his father’s voice. Aragorn looked down at the still form at his side, suddenly realizing that the elf’s eyes were closed now. How could he not have noticed that before?

To be continued…