Post by Admin on Sept 12, 2022 20:56:57 GMT
Author: LegolasLover2003
Summary: Only three remained unscathed after the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Legolas was not among those chosen few.
Rating: G
Characters: Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn
'Aragorn and Eomer and Imrahil rode back towards the Gate of the City, and they were now weary beyond joy or sorrow. These three were unscathed, for such was their fortune and the skin and might of their arms, and few indeed had dared to abide them or look on their faces in the hour of their wrath.'
-"The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" The Battle of the Pelennor Fields; pg 830 (LOTR omnibus 0-618-34399-7)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I do not think I have ever noticed just how soft these small hardy blades of grass truly are. My fingers touch them absently... lightly... as if fearing to break the strands that bend in the breeze. My thumb moves a little to the left... there, the blades are not as soft... no... scorched? Burned by the flames of war...
Ah, that explains everything now. This pain in my side... I must have had the wind knocked out of me.
How long has it been since an enemy drew my blood? How long have I lain here?
Sucking in a deep breath I feel the pull of pierced skin, warmth of blood... nothing vital, I think. Still, my chest hurts terribly. For but a moment I wonder at a tourniquet and my fingers drift down to my quiver’s belt... but no, such field medicine would be of no use here.
Sounds start to filter in now... the screams of the dying... shouts of the victorious... the snarls of the wicked. But, I am most certainly not dying. No... I can get up... I can stand...
My fingers curl on the grass, pulling those fragile blades along with me as I struggle, pushing myself up.
There’s a voice at my side... an arm hauling me up and... cursing? Not at me, I think, but at the madness of it all. He is hurt too, for I can see the dried blood matting hair to helm.
“...las!”
I think he is talking to me...
“Legolas!”
I blink slowly once... twice... clearing my dazed vision just long enough to fix him with a slightly confused blue gaze. “Gimli?”
A sigh of relief escapes the Dwarf as he pulls me to my feet. “Glad you’re with us again. Fight’s dyin’ down now. What hit ye?”
Slowly I shake my head. “Not sure... I felt pain and... then I woke up on the grass.” I reply, wincing as soon as I move. I keep my left arm tucked against my side, putting pressure on the wound.
Gimli holds out one of my knives. I must have dropped it. Reaching for the white handle, I notice my fingers covered in blood... my blood?
“Head’s bleedin’.” The Dwarf remarks as I take the knife.
I realize then that I can not sheathe the blade without pain, so instead I clench my fist about the handle and start walking. I follow after Gimli towards the White City. Somehow I had lost track of Aragorn in the melee, but the Dwarf leads us right to him.
Was I that turned around?
Suddenly I feel sick. The world spins as I blink slowly, trying just to continue forward... one foot in front of the other...
Familiar arms catch me as I stumble, a soft cry escaping my lips.
“If you dare tell me you are fine...”
A small smile breaks through the pain and I can not help but let a chuckle out. “Forgive me. I have added to your burden this day.” My voice is like a whisper as Aragorn helps me regain my footing.
“I need to get you stable, Legolas. You are losing a fair amount of blood.”
I nod, thinking that the din of battle seems quite far away now. Likely we will make camp outside the city tonight... perhaps Aragorn has already found a suitable place...
Before I realize it, I am being hauled up onto a horse... a white horse... My blood stains it’s pure coat...
Shadowfax? I can hear Gandalf speaking from beside me... Estel’s arm keeps me in place, pressed against his chest as my head continues to spin.
Somewhere along the way, my consciousness flees and I slip into the dreams of the Eldar.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Aragorn?” I can hear the worry in Gimli's voice as he waits... patiently, I might add, for a Dwarf.
The coolness of well water flows over my fingertips. It reminds me of a time, a still fresh memory, when I was but a child lazily letting my fingers trail in the little streams of Imladris, my small vessel made of leaves floating downstream as with grey eyes I watched, fascinated by the spectacle.
This time however, it is with slight haste that I wash the blood of a dear friend from my skin. Granted, this is not the first time and certainly not the last that I have tended his wounds. I must admit that the loss of consciousness frightened me at first, but once I realized that such was due more to head trauma than blood loss... even given the amount of blood the Elf was losing at the time, well, it put my mind a bit more at ease.
White bandages adorn his chest and side now, another strip about his head just until the bleeding stops.
My fingers have stitched the wound closed and packed it with herbs... whatever had pierced his side had been lucky, for it slipped between two ribs, missing anything vital.
Legolas would heal.
“He should wake with a mild concussion.” I say to Gimli, not wanting our companion to fret too terribly much.
“Bah!” the Dwarf waves away my comment. “His head’s harder than stone.”
“He is no Dwarf, Gimli. I doubt even Legolas’ stubbornness is a match for a sword pommel to the head.”
For a moment, Gimli stares at the Elven prince before nodding knowingly. “Guess that’s true... an’ he ain’t used to wearin’ a helmet neither. Stands to reason his noggin’d be a bit soft.”
I try not to laugh at the statement... though it is undoubtedly true.
The tents erected after what the soldiers are calling the ‘Battle of Pelennor Fields’ were hastily put together outside the walls of the White City. It is here I am healing all I can, and while Legolas has been placed in my tent, I know I must take my leave and tend to more wounded.
Sighing, I stand, glancing to Gimli. “I trust you with him, Master Dwarf.” There is a small smile that pulls at the corner of my lips. “If I return to find you have drawn a beard upon his fair face...”
“I’d do no such thing!” Gimli reports, huffing and puffing at the very idea... before suddenly bursting into laughter. “Get ye gone, Aragorn. You’ve other patients to be tendin’ to and this Elvish princeling’ll do just fine in your absence. If anything seems the matter, I’ll send word.”
I nod, watching as the Dwarf finds a comfortable seat for himself and sits down to take his watch.
Before the night falls, I pray, I shall return to my tent and check on my dear friend.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
'And when he could labour no more, he cast his cloak about him, and slipped out of the City, and went to his tent just ere dawn and slept for a little.'
-"The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" The Houses of Healing; pg 853 (LOTR omnibus 0-618-34399-7)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“You should be resting, Legolas.”
I turn, a smile on my lips as blue eyes take in the sleepy grey gaze that fixes me in the early morning light. “I should, but it seems your ministrations have worked wonders, as usual.”
Estel rolls his eyes, turning and pushing himself up from his bed. “I sometimes forget how early a riser you are... the sun has not yet crested the horizon and...”
“And sunrise after battle is the most glorious sight for a soldier to behold.” I retort, pulling on my boots.
The human nods, “But you are a prince before a soldier.”
“And you a king before any others.” I add, my knowing stare fixed on the human.
Aragorn sighs, “Must you too remind me, hmm?” he asks, beginning to put his own boots on.
Dressed, I reach for my weapons... but the man notices my wince and the hesitation in my movements.
“Legolas, what happened out there?”
For a moment, I pause... turning to the human I have called friend for most of his life. Weapons snatched up, I start to strap my quiver in place while walking toward his bed. “I am not certain... I felt incredible pain in the back of my skull, and then I knew nothing. When I woke, I was upon the ground and Gimli was trying to get me on my feet. At some point, I assume, I was stabbed obviously... perhaps a passing servant of Sauron thought to spear me for good measure? At any rate, I am alive, though certainly in pain.” I finish the buckles of my quiver and move to pick up my cloak, fastening it about my neck.
“You stabbed yourself.”
My mind seems to freeze for a moment. “I beg your pardon?” I ask, turning confused eyes on the man sitting at the edge of his bunk. Such is... impossible! For me to have stabbed myself?! Why, the very ridiculousness of the idea...
“You heard me.” Aragorn laughs slightly, gesturing to my side. “When you were hit on the head you must have fallen on one of your own knives. I know the cut of Elvish blades well enough and yours was clean, mellon nin. Which means... you nicked yourself.”
“I did not!”
“Did to!” the man laughs again, amusement in his grey gaze. “The cut was not very deep, though no less painful I would imagine, and most of the blood was coming from your head wound. I had worried that it would lay you low for a time but...”
I turn and roll my eyes. “Does the Dwarf know?”
“You need to rest, Legolas.” Estel added, shaking his head to my question.
“And I will... when you are sitting in the White City, a crown upon your head, and the Dark Lord’s tower ash in the lands of Mordor.” I reply seriously, my gaze piercing. “No hurt shall lay me low until this task is complete.”
Again the human sighs, nodding his head. “Very well, Legolas. Until these tasks are done... but straight after you are getting examined again and if I deem it necessary for rest, then rest you shall. Agreed?”
Leaning over, I place my hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “Agreed. Now. I am going to find Gimli and see what the day brings. Will you come? There are Hobbits that should be found and I would very much like to know their tales of the last few days.”
The soon-to-be king shakes his head. “I must speak with those in the city today.” He says, standing as well. “But take care... and do not tear your stitches, hmm?”
Laughing, I nod. “Of course.” I say with a grin before heading out into the warm early morning sun.
As the light crests the horizon and the sun rises fully... I take a slow and very careful deep breath. The pain stings, but it is bearable and thus, with a smile at the new day, I seek for the fires in the midst ofcamp.
Likely... Gimli is eating some salted pork at one of them.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
'The morning came after the day of battle, and it was fair with light clouds and the wind turning westward. Legolas and Gimli were early abroad, and they begged leave to go up into the City; for they were eager to see Merry and Pippin.'
-"The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" The Last Debate; pg 854 (LOTR omnibus 0-618-34399-7)
Summary: Only three remained unscathed after the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Legolas was not among those chosen few.
Rating: G
Characters: Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn
'Aragorn and Eomer and Imrahil rode back towards the Gate of the City, and they were now weary beyond joy or sorrow. These three were unscathed, for such was their fortune and the skin and might of their arms, and few indeed had dared to abide them or look on their faces in the hour of their wrath.'
-"The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" The Battle of the Pelennor Fields; pg 830 (LOTR omnibus 0-618-34399-7)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I do not think I have ever noticed just how soft these small hardy blades of grass truly are. My fingers touch them absently... lightly... as if fearing to break the strands that bend in the breeze. My thumb moves a little to the left... there, the blades are not as soft... no... scorched? Burned by the flames of war...
Ah, that explains everything now. This pain in my side... I must have had the wind knocked out of me.
How long has it been since an enemy drew my blood? How long have I lain here?
Sucking in a deep breath I feel the pull of pierced skin, warmth of blood... nothing vital, I think. Still, my chest hurts terribly. For but a moment I wonder at a tourniquet and my fingers drift down to my quiver’s belt... but no, such field medicine would be of no use here.
Sounds start to filter in now... the screams of the dying... shouts of the victorious... the snarls of the wicked. But, I am most certainly not dying. No... I can get up... I can stand...
My fingers curl on the grass, pulling those fragile blades along with me as I struggle, pushing myself up.
There’s a voice at my side... an arm hauling me up and... cursing? Not at me, I think, but at the madness of it all. He is hurt too, for I can see the dried blood matting hair to helm.
“...las!”
I think he is talking to me...
“Legolas!”
I blink slowly once... twice... clearing my dazed vision just long enough to fix him with a slightly confused blue gaze. “Gimli?”
A sigh of relief escapes the Dwarf as he pulls me to my feet. “Glad you’re with us again. Fight’s dyin’ down now. What hit ye?”
Slowly I shake my head. “Not sure... I felt pain and... then I woke up on the grass.” I reply, wincing as soon as I move. I keep my left arm tucked against my side, putting pressure on the wound.
Gimli holds out one of my knives. I must have dropped it. Reaching for the white handle, I notice my fingers covered in blood... my blood?
“Head’s bleedin’.” The Dwarf remarks as I take the knife.
I realize then that I can not sheathe the blade without pain, so instead I clench my fist about the handle and start walking. I follow after Gimli towards the White City. Somehow I had lost track of Aragorn in the melee, but the Dwarf leads us right to him.
Was I that turned around?
Suddenly I feel sick. The world spins as I blink slowly, trying just to continue forward... one foot in front of the other...
Familiar arms catch me as I stumble, a soft cry escaping my lips.
“If you dare tell me you are fine...”
A small smile breaks through the pain and I can not help but let a chuckle out. “Forgive me. I have added to your burden this day.” My voice is like a whisper as Aragorn helps me regain my footing.
“I need to get you stable, Legolas. You are losing a fair amount of blood.”
I nod, thinking that the din of battle seems quite far away now. Likely we will make camp outside the city tonight... perhaps Aragorn has already found a suitable place...
Before I realize it, I am being hauled up onto a horse... a white horse... My blood stains it’s pure coat...
Shadowfax? I can hear Gandalf speaking from beside me... Estel’s arm keeps me in place, pressed against his chest as my head continues to spin.
Somewhere along the way, my consciousness flees and I slip into the dreams of the Eldar.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Aragorn?” I can hear the worry in Gimli's voice as he waits... patiently, I might add, for a Dwarf.
The coolness of well water flows over my fingertips. It reminds me of a time, a still fresh memory, when I was but a child lazily letting my fingers trail in the little streams of Imladris, my small vessel made of leaves floating downstream as with grey eyes I watched, fascinated by the spectacle.
This time however, it is with slight haste that I wash the blood of a dear friend from my skin. Granted, this is not the first time and certainly not the last that I have tended his wounds. I must admit that the loss of consciousness frightened me at first, but once I realized that such was due more to head trauma than blood loss... even given the amount of blood the Elf was losing at the time, well, it put my mind a bit more at ease.
White bandages adorn his chest and side now, another strip about his head just until the bleeding stops.
My fingers have stitched the wound closed and packed it with herbs... whatever had pierced his side had been lucky, for it slipped between two ribs, missing anything vital.
Legolas would heal.
“He should wake with a mild concussion.” I say to Gimli, not wanting our companion to fret too terribly much.
“Bah!” the Dwarf waves away my comment. “His head’s harder than stone.”
“He is no Dwarf, Gimli. I doubt even Legolas’ stubbornness is a match for a sword pommel to the head.”
For a moment, Gimli stares at the Elven prince before nodding knowingly. “Guess that’s true... an’ he ain’t used to wearin’ a helmet neither. Stands to reason his noggin’d be a bit soft.”
I try not to laugh at the statement... though it is undoubtedly true.
The tents erected after what the soldiers are calling the ‘Battle of Pelennor Fields’ were hastily put together outside the walls of the White City. It is here I am healing all I can, and while Legolas has been placed in my tent, I know I must take my leave and tend to more wounded.
Sighing, I stand, glancing to Gimli. “I trust you with him, Master Dwarf.” There is a small smile that pulls at the corner of my lips. “If I return to find you have drawn a beard upon his fair face...”
“I’d do no such thing!” Gimli reports, huffing and puffing at the very idea... before suddenly bursting into laughter. “Get ye gone, Aragorn. You’ve other patients to be tendin’ to and this Elvish princeling’ll do just fine in your absence. If anything seems the matter, I’ll send word.”
I nod, watching as the Dwarf finds a comfortable seat for himself and sits down to take his watch.
Before the night falls, I pray, I shall return to my tent and check on my dear friend.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
'And when he could labour no more, he cast his cloak about him, and slipped out of the City, and went to his tent just ere dawn and slept for a little.'
-"The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" The Houses of Healing; pg 853 (LOTR omnibus 0-618-34399-7)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“You should be resting, Legolas.”
I turn, a smile on my lips as blue eyes take in the sleepy grey gaze that fixes me in the early morning light. “I should, but it seems your ministrations have worked wonders, as usual.”
Estel rolls his eyes, turning and pushing himself up from his bed. “I sometimes forget how early a riser you are... the sun has not yet crested the horizon and...”
“And sunrise after battle is the most glorious sight for a soldier to behold.” I retort, pulling on my boots.
The human nods, “But you are a prince before a soldier.”
“And you a king before any others.” I add, my knowing stare fixed on the human.
Aragorn sighs, “Must you too remind me, hmm?” he asks, beginning to put his own boots on.
Dressed, I reach for my weapons... but the man notices my wince and the hesitation in my movements.
“Legolas, what happened out there?”
For a moment, I pause... turning to the human I have called friend for most of his life. Weapons snatched up, I start to strap my quiver in place while walking toward his bed. “I am not certain... I felt incredible pain in the back of my skull, and then I knew nothing. When I woke, I was upon the ground and Gimli was trying to get me on my feet. At some point, I assume, I was stabbed obviously... perhaps a passing servant of Sauron thought to spear me for good measure? At any rate, I am alive, though certainly in pain.” I finish the buckles of my quiver and move to pick up my cloak, fastening it about my neck.
“You stabbed yourself.”
My mind seems to freeze for a moment. “I beg your pardon?” I ask, turning confused eyes on the man sitting at the edge of his bunk. Such is... impossible! For me to have stabbed myself?! Why, the very ridiculousness of the idea...
“You heard me.” Aragorn laughs slightly, gesturing to my side. “When you were hit on the head you must have fallen on one of your own knives. I know the cut of Elvish blades well enough and yours was clean, mellon nin. Which means... you nicked yourself.”
“I did not!”
“Did to!” the man laughs again, amusement in his grey gaze. “The cut was not very deep, though no less painful I would imagine, and most of the blood was coming from your head wound. I had worried that it would lay you low for a time but...”
I turn and roll my eyes. “Does the Dwarf know?”
“You need to rest, Legolas.” Estel added, shaking his head to my question.
“And I will... when you are sitting in the White City, a crown upon your head, and the Dark Lord’s tower ash in the lands of Mordor.” I reply seriously, my gaze piercing. “No hurt shall lay me low until this task is complete.”
Again the human sighs, nodding his head. “Very well, Legolas. Until these tasks are done... but straight after you are getting examined again and if I deem it necessary for rest, then rest you shall. Agreed?”
Leaning over, I place my hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “Agreed. Now. I am going to find Gimli and see what the day brings. Will you come? There are Hobbits that should be found and I would very much like to know their tales of the last few days.”
The soon-to-be king shakes his head. “I must speak with those in the city today.” He says, standing as well. “But take care... and do not tear your stitches, hmm?”
Laughing, I nod. “Of course.” I say with a grin before heading out into the warm early morning sun.
As the light crests the horizon and the sun rises fully... I take a slow and very careful deep breath. The pain stings, but it is bearable and thus, with a smile at the new day, I seek for the fires in the midst ofcamp.
Likely... Gimli is eating some salted pork at one of them.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
'The morning came after the day of battle, and it was fair with light clouds and the wind turning westward. Legolas and Gimli were early abroad, and they begged leave to go up into the City; for they were eager to see Merry and Pippin.'
-"The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" The Last Debate; pg 854 (LOTR omnibus 0-618-34399-7)