Chapter Twenty Three

The shouting that was coming from behind Legolas and Aragorn had not increased. But then again, it hadn’t decreased either. That could only mean one thing: the trolls that had evidently found Scron’s body had not spend any time staying by their dead leader. They were moving upriver away from the boulders and toward the fleeing former captives.

The trolls had shown no regard for Hatch, having thrown him in the campfire to burn like a common piece of wood. Neither Legolas nor Aragorn knew exactly what had happened to Pickett, though he could well have ended up in the same burning wood pile. So, it wouldn’t be a stretch to think that Scron may well have been chucked in the river, letting the current carry him away so nothing further need be done with him.

Whether the trolls were actively in pursuit of the elf and ranger or whether they were simply aroused by Scron’s mysterious yet obviously violent death and were heading back to their camp, Aragorn didn’t even try to hazard a guess. Even so, the man couldn’t imagine that even these stupid creatures would be able to make the connection between Scron‘s death and him and Legolas. Right now, though, all he was certain of was that he needed to get the two of them somewhere that would offer them a measure of safety.

Even if the trolls were going to their camp to select a new leader, the man had no false illusions that they wouldn’t soon be searching again, once the question of who would lead them now was settled. Whatever else they were, these trolls were relentless.

Unwilling to stop for even a short breather, the ranger kept moving upriver, as he continued to hold tightly to Legolas in an effort to keep the elf on his feet. It was all too obvious to him that Legolas’s strength was waning, and it wouldn’t be long before it failed completely. Thus it was imperative that they be much farther along than they were right now, a fact that was driving the man to do possibly more than his own body would stand for.

So much of Aragorn’s efforts had been directed at helping Legolas that he had neglected his own well being, except where it directly affected his ability to offer aid to the elven prince.

As he moved, Aragorn remembered something that Lord Elrond had told him on more than one occasion. “Who can you save, Estel, if you deny yourself life-sustaining food, or water or if you fail to protect your own life in a fight? It may sound selfish, but remember, ion nin, that you cannot help anyone else, if you do not help yourself first.”

That philosophy was often a hard one for the altruistic ranger to adhere to, because it went against the grain of his very nature. He was a fierce warrior but a gentle man. He was also a healer, and his instincts were to help others before he gave any thought to himself. Still, he understood the wisdom of his father’s words.

Knowing that if he collapsed from exhaustion, there would be no one to help or protect his ailing friend, Aragorn moved toward a small thicket of bushes he had spotted a moment ago. This would have to be the place they sought rest, however brief that rest might prove to be.

The ranger maneuvered himself and his friend between the stout, intertwined branches of the bushes. He had hoped to find a secluded area surrounded by the thick greenery, which would offer a shelter of sorts. However, he found that the bushes only existed on two sides of an open area and that they would offer a screen from prying eyes from those two directions only. It would just have to do, he told himself, because both he and Legolas had to rest, or their bid for freedom would soon end.

Aragorn laughed, thinking that had he known, he could have simply walked around the bushes, instead of forcing his way through them. He was sure he and Legolas had some scratches, but they were hardly worth the effort to worry about.

Once inside the meager protection, Aragorn gently lowered Legolas into a sitting position on the ground, being careful to avoid touching the elf’s bad shoulder. Amazingly, the archer was still conscious, though just barely so.

When Aragorn checked, he found that he still had a little water in the small pouch he carried on his belt. It was much smaller than the water skin he normally carried and consisted of only a few swallows, but it had served him often in a pinch. And he couldn’t think of a time it was more needed. Aragorn wished he had had the time to refill it in case they were forced to leave the river. ‘Well, nothing can be done about that now,’ the man said to himself.

He removed the stopper of the small container, and slipping his arm around Legolas’s back for support, he held the container’s opening to the elf’s lips, allowing him a few, small swallows of the cool, refreshing water.

He may have need of water, as well, but this time Aragorn was giving some to his ‘patient’ first. Then he would drink. “Sorry, Ada,” he whispered, thinking that maybe for this one time, Elrond would have understood and wouldn’t have been so hard on him for ignoring this particular teaching.

Legolas eagerly drank, though Aragorn held back on the amount he allowed the elf. He suspected that Legolas had a concussion, and too much water could easily cause nausea.

Then the ranger drank a little. He was tempted to save all the remaining water in the container by holding his head back with his mouth open and letting the rain water fill his mouth. However, he knew that was really only practical if all you were going to do was moisten your mouth. It was not going to quench your thirst. Beside, they were under the trees not out in the open.

No sooner had Aragorn finished taking his meager share of the water than Legolas began to heave, almost bringing the water back up. His body, affected by his head injury, wasn’t going to let him put anything into his stomach without trying to expel it, just as Aragorn had feared.

“Hold it down, if you can, Legolas,” the man encouraged. “You need the water, or your body will dehydrate and make it worse on you.” Aragorn spoke soothingly, hoping that if the elf relaxed instead of trying to actively fight the nausea, he might keep from losing the precious, essential liquid.

After a few moments, it looked as if the water was going to stay put. Just the same, Aragorn wasn’t going to chance trying to give Legolas more. Even though he knew the archer needed it, forcing the issue might result in none of it staying down. Best to leave things as they were. He would try again later.

Putting the little pouch back on his belt, Aragorn sat down in the grass next to the elf. “Legolas, how does your head feel?”

It took a moment for the elf to answer. “Hurts,” was all he said. It was enough.

That word, coming from this elf, who would sometimes deny having a wound, even when it was bleeding for all to see, was worrisome. It meant Legolas felt too bad even to try and deny his condition.

At this point, the ranger would have preferred a bleeding wound. At least then he would be able to clean, close and bandage it. There was nothing he could do for a head injury like this.

The best way to treat a concussion was plenty of rest with as little movement as possible. It looked like this was going to be another instance where Aragorn was going to ignore the teaching of his father. Under the current circumstances, staying put and letting Legolas rest quietly was not an option. The more immediate danger was the trolls, and Aragorn felt that Lord Elrond would understand that, too.

It only took a couple of minutes of quiet stillness for Aragorn’s weary mind to begin drifting away. He was sitting up with his eyes closed and his hands resting in his lap. When he began to sway, he jerked awake.

Blinking several times and shaking his head to clear it, he looked over at Legolas. He was not surprised to see that the elf was lying on the ground, sound asleep. His friend looked so peaceful, unlike the expression he wore while fighting the pain in his head and shoulder. How he wished he could leave Legolas like this. But, he knew he couldn’t.

The ranger reluctantly reached over and gently shook the elf. At first, there was no response, and Aragorn experienced a moment of panic. He continued to shake the elf, though slightly harder this time, until his eyes finally opened. Greatly relieved, Aragorn said, “We have to go, Legolas. I’m sorry.”

He held back a groan, as he stood up and leaned over, gripping Legolas by his good arm and pulling him to his feet. He did it without giving the elf a chance to resist. “I wish we could stay and rest, mellon nin, but we must leave before this place becomes too dangerous for us. And you must stay awake.”

The elf nodded. He raised his head slowly, as if it weighed almost more than he could manage, and gave his friend a small smile. “I know, Estel. You have told me before.” He closed his eyes but quickly opened them before Aragorn could say anything, or before he could fall asleep on his feet.

Aragorn smiled back. “I suppose I have.” His smile broadened. “I remember a time when you talked, sang and drug me around to keep me awake for almost two days straight after I had fallen and hit my head. You even threatened to throw me in a river. Shall I do that to you?”

“I feared you would die on me, and no, you may not throw me in a river.” the elf said, barely clearer than a mumble. He bit down on the inside of his lower lip, hoping the new pain would keep him from succumbing to the overwhelming desire to lie down and drift back into comforting oblivion.

“Then you know what we must do. I will not lose you.”

The man’s words made their way into Legolas’s foggy mind and touched him with their sincerity. He made the effort to straighten up, so he would be less of a burden to his friend. The gesture lasted barely more than two minutes before he began to slump sideways, once again leaning heavily against Aragorn’s shoulder.

What little good the water and the brief rest had done both of them was soon dispelled by Legolas’s pain and exhaustion and by Aragorn’s exhaustion and worry. Both of their lives were in the ranger’s hands.

It wasn’t much longer before Aragorn’s feet began to stumble and slide on the wet ground. Each time that happened, he had to tighten his grip on Legolas to keep the elf from falling, while also trying to keep himself from falling. Aragorn was forced to slow his steps, because if he lost his balance, they would both go down, and he felt sure that if Legolas was to hit his head again, it would kill him.

*~*~*~*

The elf and the ranger continued on through the forest. It became increasingly evident that Legolas was not going to make it out of troll country on his own two feet. It became just as evident that Aragorn did not have the strength left to carry the elf, light as he was.

The edge of the forest near where they were traveling began to turn to the left. The roar of the river told the ranger that there was a bend in the river. He knew that he and Legolas had one chance to get to safety. If the river broadened once it straightened out again, the current might slow down enough to allow them to cross. It was a small chance, maybe one in a hundred, at best, but Aragorn clung to it, because there was no other hope to cling to.

Slowing down to get a firmer grip on the elf and take a small breather, Aragorn asked, “Legolas, do you hear the river’s roar getting any fainter? Or is it the same?”

He waited for an answer that wasn’t coming. Turning his head, he looked at Legolas. The elf’s eyes were open, but they didn’t hold any evidence of cognitive thought. The ranger’s heart skipped a beat. “Legolas?”

“I am here,” the archer replied wearily.

The answer struck the man as odd. Of course, he knew that Legolas was there. If they had been any closer, they would have been wearing the same clothes. Aragorn shook his head, wondering if maybe he himself was not thinking clearly. Legolas was probably just letting him know he was still conscious.

“I hear a river,” Legolas said. “I did not know we were near one. Is it the Forest River or the Bruinen?” His words were becoming so slurred that he sounded like someone who had had too much wine to drink. Even more worrisome was the fact that Legolas evidently thought he was either in Mirkwood or close to Rivendell.

Aragorn knew exactly what was happening. He had no doubt that the elf could tell him every detail of his entire childhood, but he couldn’t remember anything that had taken place recently. Legolas was suffering from concussive amnesia. “What is the last thing you remember?”

Legolas frowned in thought. It was obvious he was having trouble trying to recall the last events that were clear to him.

Aragorn wasn’t sure how far back Legolas’s memory would go. Anything longer ago than a couple of days would have surprised the man. He was anxious, but knew he had to be patient while the elf sorted out his memories.

“We were being held by trolls.” He looked at Aragorn and then at the surrounding forest. “How did we escape?” The elf seemed very frustrated that he didn’t know the answer to that question.

Now was not the time to catch Legolas up on how their escape had come about. He simply said, “I’ll explain later. Right now, we must move quickly or be captured again.”

“Estel, where are we, and when did it begin to rain?” The idea of being captured again hadn’t even registered with the elf.

Aragorn needed to find something to keep Legolas’s mind occupied, as well as keep the archer awake, so he himself could concentrate on getting them through the forest.

“Legolas, talk to the trees and ask them to tell you if any danger comes our way. You must remain alert to any warning they may give.” He might as well put the wood-elf’s ability to commune with the trees to good use. They needed all the help they could get.

The ranger realized that it didn’t matter if the river slowed up around the bend or not, because they had no choice but to go that way. And once they got there, they would just have to deal with whatever they found.

TBC