Chapter Five

Grath seemed to be so fascinated with what Aragorn was doing that he didn’t even notice how much time was slipping by. He and the other Easterlings were just standing and staring as the ranger tried desperately to save the elf.

Legolas didn’t move or utter a sound while Aragorn attempted to stem the flow of blood, which had now spread beyond the size of his hand pressing against the bandage.

The ranger looked at Hobert. “Look in my pack and get some more bandages.” He didn’t care that he was giving an order to one of the Easterlings, who now held him captive for the second time. He was not only used to giving orders, but he needed something done he couldn’t do himself right then.

Hobert looked at Grath, who nodded. The big man still didn’t care anything about the elf as a person. If he died, so be it, as far as his own feelings were concerned. But he had been given a job to do and that was to deliver the elf and the ranger to the one who had paid him to do it. Grath was not one to fail in anything he set his mind to accomplish. Besides, he knew that his current ‘boss’ was likely to react violently, if he didn’t get what he had paid for.

Hobert bent down and opened the ranger’s pack, pulling out more strips of clean, white cloth. He handed it to Aragorn. “This is all there is.”

“It’s not enough,” the ranger said, as he took the cloth from the Easterling’s hand. “You all must carry bandages. I need some.”

Grath hesitated. He and his men carried cloth to be used for the various injuries that inevitably occurred during their travels. For that reason he was reluctant to give any to this man. “We may need them for ourselves.”

Angrily, Aragorn said, “I need bandages now! You can always get more.” When there was no answer to his outburst, he turned a furious face to Grath. “Then give me the cloaks you took from us. I can tear some strips from one of them.”

This suggestion met with more acceptance, though Grath asked, “Why do you want both cloaks? You won’t need that many bandages.”

“I’ll need one for a blanket. He’ll need to be kept warm.”

Grath frowned. “I thought elves weren’t effected by the cold, and it’s barely even chilly.”

“Normally, he wouldn’t be effected at all, but he’s wounded and...”

“All right. All right. I get it,” Grath grumbled.
“Get the cloaks,” he ordered, jutting his chin at Donnis, who he knew was the one carrying them.

Donnis retrieved the cloaks and handed them to him.

Forcing himself not to snatch the familiar items out of Donnis‘s hands, Aragorn lay one cloak down and, holding the other one, began tearing off several long strips of the soft, dark green elvish fabric. Setting the shortened cloak aside, he unwound the blood-soaked cloth from Legolas‘s shoulder. The top wound had almost stopped bleeding, but more blood streamed down from the lower wound. He shook his head in dismay at what his practiced eye told him. “Bandages alone aren’t going to do it.” He knew what would do it but didn’t think Grath was going be too happy about granting the procedure, since it involved handing over a weapon.

“I need to cauterize the wound. It’s the only way to stop the bleeding.”

“You expect us to try to build a fire with wet wood and then just hand you a knife?” Grath said incredulously. “You must be daft. Or you think I am.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I am not going to attack you and leave Legolas to suffer the consequences. If I don’t stop this bleeding, he will die. It’s as simple as that.” There was such pure conviction behind his words that they carried far more weight than any of the tales he had spun about elves.

Grath believed him without doubt. He could see for himself how much blood the elf was losing. “All right. But I don‘t think there’s any dry wood around here to start that fire you want.”

No sooner had those words left Grath‘s mouth than several small branches fell out of the tree and landed right in front of Grath. They appeared to be fairly dry. All of the Easterlings took two or three steps backwards, staring up into the tree with more than a little fear in their eyes.

“What’s this? Some kind of elven magic?” Hobert asked.

“The tree understands,” Aragorn began to explain in all sincerity. “Wood elves can communicate with them. Why do you think no rain has fallen on him and I under its branches? It wants to protect and save Legolas.”

As strange as this sounded to the Easterling leader, Grath had seen too many unnatural things in his life to doubt what he was being told.

“Gather that wood, and start a fire,” Aragorn ordered, his patience running very thin at this point.

No one moved.

As startled as anyone by the falling branches, Grath recovered quickly. It took several commands from him before any of his men would touch the fallen wood. Even then they stared wide-eyed at it, as if fearing some sort of dark magic would erupt and consume them. Grasping the branches at arms’ length two of the men piled them together and using flint and metal, got a small blaze going. Then they backed off.

Grath drew one of his knives from its sheath and put it into the center of the flames. Then he, too, stepped back, not sure what to expect. However, he refused to let his face betray his fear. Inwardly he had to force down any betrayal of his true feelings in front of the captives and especially his men.

When the knife was hot enough for Aragorn’s approval, he took a small piece of a fallen branch and put it into Legolas’s mouth. He didn’t have to tell the elf to bite down.

Aragorn quickly removed the athelas on the wound and set it aside. Then he reached for the knife and, knowing that hesitation would only make things worse, he placed the flat of the hot blade against the wound.

Legolas jerked and bit down on the wooden piece in his mouth as hard as he could. The searing pain was pure agony. He tried unsuccessfully to block out the sound and smell of sizzling blood and flesh. The pain let up only a fraction when Aragorn pulled the knife away.

The ranger grabbed the used athelas, pulling away the blood soaked part and then placed it down on the now-cauterized wound. He took the strips of cloak and again bound the elf’s wounds, this time also making a sling to ease the pressure on the elf’s arm and shoulder.

Aragorn could feel Legolas shaking. He remembered how he had suffered uncontrollable tremors from fierce sunburns on several occasions in his childhood. They had been so bad that each time it had happened he had been forced to spend several days in bed, his father and brothers taking turns slathering his super-sensitive skin with salves and ointments.

Those memories of painful times paled in comparison to this, or so it seemed to him now. He wasn’t so sure that a very young Estel would have agreed with that assessment. Perhaps it was just that this situation was life-threatening, while his earlier misadventures in the sun had only been painful.

Before Grath could demand his knife back, Aragorn handed it to the man accompanied by a cold stare. He was grateful that the big man had consented to let him use the knife, but he felt he should not have had to demand something that was obviously needed to save someone’s life. He didn’t want to take the time to analyze the fact that he had spent a large part of his life learning the healing arts from Lord Elrond, acknowledged by most as the best healer in Middle-earth, while Grath was a brute of a man who did unsavory things for money and the pleasure of being in control.

Legolas pulled the piece of wood out of his mouth. He wanted to thank Aragorn and tell the ranger that he was all right, but he was afraid that if he tried to speak, his voice would tremble as bad as he body was doing, and prideful though it may be, he was not willing to let the Easterlings hear that, even if they did understand it was because of what he was going through. The elf simply looked at his friend and gave him a weak smile of reassurance. Then he passed out.

Aragorn grabbed Legolas before his head could hit the rough bark of the tree. Holding him carefully with one arm, he put the fingers of his free hand against the elf’s neck, detecting a weak but steady pulse. He was relieved but also worried, knowing the elf was not yet completely out of danger.

“Is he alive?” Grath asked, his voice devoid of any concern, other than that of losing one of his captives.

“Yes,” the ranger replied. “His body is giving him the rest he needs to try to recover.”

“Try to recover?” Grath asked. “You mean after all you did, he could still die?”

Aragorn knew it was unlikely now, but he wasn’t above putting a scare into the Easterling leader. “Yes.”

Grath didn’t look very happy but said nothing in response.

Aragorn held Legolas against his shoulder, as he folded the remainder of the cloak he had used for bandages into a pillow as soft as any made of feathers. He put the cloak down beside a large tree root. Shaking the other cloak out on the wet ground with one hand, he gently laid Legolas down and covered him with the extra folds of the cloak. He put the elf’s right hand on the root, so he would stay in contact with the tree, which Aragorn hoped could offer comfort to Legolas’s subconscious mind.

Grath started to say something about them wasting time letting the elf rest when they needed to get moving. He stopped himself, as he realized that that was rather an impractical thing to do, at the moment. Even if the ranger carried the elf, it was too late, because when he looked around him, he saw that not only had the rain stopped but a deeper gloom was beginning to settle over them. He sighed. This was evidently going to be their campsite for the night. “It’s too late to leave, so we’ll camp here tonight,” he announced to the group.

There were grumbles from the men. They were not too happy about spending the night here under this ‘magic’ tree. Who knew what might befall them while they slept.

Hobert blurted out, “I don’t suppose that tree would give us some more dry wood. We need to build up the fire.”

Donnis took a swing at Hobert. “Leave well enough alone,” he snarled. “I, for one, don’t want anything from that cursed tree.”

As if in response to Donnis’s insult, several large drops of water hit the man on the head.

The other Easterling’s laughed, when Donnis jumped backwards, catching his boot on an exposed root and falling on his butt.

“That’s enough!” Grath yelled. He didn’t feel too comfortable being here, either, but he wasn’t going to give in to these fears of magic. “It was just a coincidence. Now get your gear ready to settle down. We’ll eat and then turn in. I want to get an early start.” He was determined that no matter the elf’s condition, they were going to continue the journey to their destination.

“To comment on your comment, Donnis,” Aragorn said, “the tree is not cursed. It just doesn’t like Easterlings.” He hadn’t done much to hold back on the sarcasm evident in his voice.

Donnis glared at Aragorn but said nothing. He snatched his pack up and moved out from under the trees, choosing a spot in a small clearing that was open to the cloudy but now rain-free sky. He would put his blanket in the mud before he slept under any tree that talked to elves. He noted with satisfaction that all but Grath had done the same thing.

With a sadistic grin, Grath said, “You can take the first watch tonight, Donnis. That way you’ll have pletny of time to contemplate whether this very large tree can still reach you out there should it have a mind to.” Grath wasn’t above mentally tormenting his own men for a bit of fun, if the mood took him.

Donnis was used to Grath’s sadistic comments, but that didn’t stop him from blanching at the thought that the tree might actually try to hurt him. The man tried to hide the fact that when he laid his blanket out, he moved it a little farther away than the spot he had first chosen.

Before turning to get his own pack, a curious Grath asked Aragorn, “What are you going to sleep on?” It was obvious from his tone that he had no intention of offering the ranger a blanket.

“I’m not going to sleep,” Aragorn declared simply.

Grath realized that the man was going to stay awake all night and watch the elf. “Suit yourself. Are you going to eat anything?”

“I’m not hungry.”

That was also fine with Grath. He would have given the ranger something if he had wanted it, but since he didn’t, the big man wasn’t going to worry about it. He did throw the ranger’s water skin on the ground beside him and walked away.

After the Easterlings had eaten their meager but relatively nourishing meal of dried meat and water, they turned in to get what sleep they could. Grath had assigned three of them to stay near Legolas and Aragorn to make sure the ranger didn’t attempt to carry the elf off and disappear in the darkness of night. He was fairly sure that the ranger wouldn’t move the elf for fear of starting his wounds bleeding again, but he wasn’t prepared to count on that.

Once the Easterlings settled down, Aragorn ignored them. He cared not one bit if every one of them stood and watched him all night. As Grath had suspected, the man was not going to risk Legolas getting worse in a likely vain attempt to escape. It wasn’t worth it.

Aragorn sat down next to Legolas and placed the open palm of his right hand over the elf’s heart. In elvish he whispered, “Rest and recover, Legolas. I’ll watch over you.” He knew the elf was well aware of that fact, since they had done it for each other many times in their long friendship, but the ranger felt better saying it.

*~*~*~*

As the night wore on, all remnants of the storm disappeared. leaving a cloud-free sky in its wake. The tree that had protected elf and ranger from the rain earlier now moved its leaves in such a way that a clear view was opened up directly above the two friends.

Aragorn looked up and saw the heavenly diamonds twinkling in the small part of the inky sky that he could see. He then looked at Legolas and wished the elf could see the stars that he loved so much. For the second time the ranger sent a silent thank you to the tree. Even though Legolas couldn’t see those stars, perhaps the elf could somehow sense their presence above him.

The ranger did not know what the dawn would bring, but for now, even under the current circumstances, there was peace of sorts, and Aragorn was grateful for it.

TBC