Chapter 11 – The River of Blood

The eastern sky began to brighten slightly as the sun inched higher up from the horizon. A new day had come, and Aragorn hoped that it would bring new hope. Elladan started explaining briefly to the ranger what had happened, and how they were tricked into believing that the mercenaries meant no harm. When he finally finished the tale, they had neared the spot where Legolas had fallen. Elrohir was still leaning over the elf prince. A soft glow engulfed the two figures on the ground.

Elladan staggered slowly to his brother’s side, and Aragorn lowered him down gently onto the damp grass. The older twin then placed one hand on his twin’s shoulder and the other rested lightly on Legolas’ forehead. Gradually, his own light extended around his brother and friend, the intensity increasing as his healing energy added to his brother’s and the two elves directed their strength into their dying comrade.

While Elladan and Elrohir attempted to prolong Legolas’ life, Aragorn took the opportunity to gather some branches and started a small fire beside the trio to ward off the early morning chill. There was nothing else he could do but to sit and wait as his brothers fought to save his best friend from an imminent death.

The two exhausted elves brought themselves out of the healing trance about an hour later and bandaged the prince’s wounds tightly with a torn off strip from one of their cloaks. They had managed to stop the bleeding temporarily, but they would need to get him back to their father before the bleeding started again. Flopping onto his back, Elrohir pressed the heels of his palms into his burning eyes, and Elladan tried unsuccessfully to stifle a sigh as he buried his face into his hands.

“We need to leave immediately. He doesn’t have much time,” Elrohir said wearily, his voice a little shaky from the exertion.

Aragorn rose reluctantly from the fire and shivered as a gust of icy cold wind swept through the field. He rubbed his arms vigorously, trying to warm himself before continuing. “I will carry Legolas. Can the two of you manage?” He hoped that the potency of the poison used on his brothers had somewhat lessened by now. The heavy weight lifted partially from his shoulders when Elladan and Elrohir struggled to their feet supporting each other unsteadily.

“We’ll be fine.” Elladan threw Aragorn an encouraging smile. “You take care of Legolas.”

“Just don’t walk too fast,” Elrohir warned good-naturedly, trying to lighten the mood.

The ranger nodded once and reached down to pick up his fragile friend, lifting him into his arms in one swift motion. Although the elf had lapsed into unconsciousness during the healing, the change in position still elicited a soft moan, and his body jerked slightly at the pain. Biting down hard on his lower lips, Aragorn took a deep breath, trying to calm the deep ache in his heart. Seeing his friend in such state and not knowing if he would survive this incident was tearing the ranger apart.

“Let’s head back to our camp,” Elrohir suggested simply, breaking the tension, “we have some athelas in our packs that may be able to help him.”

“And we have two horses waiting for us there…” the young ranger trailed off, a brief gleam of hope flashed across his eyes. Perhaps there was hope after all, provided that Legolas could stay alive that long.

The trek back to the campsite was painstakingly slow. In their weakened condition, Elladan and Elrohir were forced to stop and rest several times along the way to regain their strength. They had urged Aragorn to go ahead without them, but their youngest brother was reluctant to leave his defenseless siblings for fear that Thad might return to finish his job.

Legolas had been moaning throughout the journey, his condition worsening by the hour. His skin was now cold and clammy, giving Aragorn the feeling that he was carrying a bundle of wet cloth rather than a living being. The only warmth he felt was the blood seeping slowly through the sodden bandages and soaking into his tunic. The bleeding had started again, but not as heavy as before and the ranger was thankful for the small blessing. He did not think the elf could afford to lose any more blood, or there wouldn’t be anything left in his body to sustain life.

It was close to afternoon when they finally found their way back to the camp. Laying Legolas down gently onto one of his brother’s previously abandoned bedroll, Aragorn pulled the other one over the elf’s lean form, tucking the edges securely under his arms. The elf prince did not wake, but that didn’t prevent a small whimper from leaving his lips. Aragorn muttered an apology, even though he knew that his friend could not hear him. “I’m so sorry, Legolas. Please forgive me!” The ranger choked back a strangled sob and knelt down beside the prone elf, brushing a strand of wayward hair away from his pain-creased face. His fingers lingered momentarily on the elven prince’s cheek before moving away to rest on his chest, a single tear rolling down his face. He felt an intense cold settle upon his heart, a cold that no amount of sunshine could warm.

Elladan and Elrohir scurried around clumsily, gathering their scattered belongings before they got a fire burning brightly in the gloomy afternoon. Setting a small pot of water to boil over the fire, they rummaged through their packs and found a small pouch of athelas leaves. Pouring the boiling water into a bowl, Elladan crushed the leaves and dropped a handful of them into the steaming water. The sweet scent immediately filled the cold afternoon air. Inhaling deeply, Elladan let out a small sigh, his tense muscles relaxing slightly as the aroma of the healing herb filled his body and mind, making breathing a little easier. He had not realized that the poison powder in his lungs still hindered his breathing until now.

Elrohir too relaxed visibly. A soft smile played across his tired features, but the smile died suddenly when he heard a low moan coming from beside him.

Moving quickly over to where Aragorn and Legolas were, the older twin placed the bowl down on the grass and lifted the makeshift blanket off the injured elf. A frown worked itself onto the dark-haired elf’s face as he noted the soaked bandages.

“When did he start bleeding again?” he asked apprehensively, his expression grim and resigned.

“About two hours ago.” Aragorn recalled the moment he felt the warm wetness seeping into his clothes and estimated the elapsed time.

The younger twin shook his head with an exasperated sigh. “This is not good. We have to get the bleeding under control, or he’ll never make it home.”

Cutting off the strip of cloth binding the prince’s midsection, Elladan lifted the soiled bandage from his stomach, only to regret immediately as blood oozed out from the open wound at an alarming rate. Cursing under his breath, Elladan pressed the cloth back into place quickly.

“Not good at all!” the older twin exclaimed. A heavy sense of dread crushed down on him like a hundred tons of water trying to drown him.

TBC…