Unlikely Rescue

Chapter 19 - Life or Death

Legolas sank to the snowy ground once more as the rush of adrenaline left him. Sighing contentedly, he slipped unceremoniously into a fevered unconsciousness.

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Legolas awoke to the sound of soft snowfall. He was lying in a roughly crafted snow cave, surrounded, as far as he could see, by empty, snow-covered wasteland from which high, craggy peaks rose into the sky and disappeared into pale white clouds. It was beautiful, but Legolas saw none of it as beauty. His mind was preoccupied with the ranger's critical condition. Had he died in the night?

Bolstering his courage, he turned to Îdhír. "Is he-"

He was cut off by Tinu's gruff voice. "He's alive, or you'd know about it."

Legolas allowed himself a sigh of relief before they had to set off once more. As soon as he stood, the world span around him, and he struggled to say on his feet.

Dizzy and sick, Legolas trudged on through the snow. Ahead of him he could see Îdhír, carrying Aragorn, and Tinu walking beside him. They were tiring, all of them.

And yet still they toiled on through the snow, between high crags and deep valleys on a route so complicated Legolas couldn't fathom how it could possibly be remembered.

It was late that night that Îdhír broke the news to the rest of the company.

"Estel - Aragorn - he isn't doing well. If we don't reach Imladris soon... I fear for his life. We are merely a day away, and I can't take him alone. Tinu cannot either, he has little experience as a healer. And of course we cannot leave you alone, Dagnir. Do we must hurry. Estel's life depends on it. As soon as morning comes, we'll go, and be warned, I'm setting a fast pace. He's far more important than any of us, do you understand? As soon as morning comes."

When the others nodded their agreement, Îdhír sat. Silence was all that followed as each drifted off into individual thoughts, individual dreams. Individual worries.

Îdhír woke Legolas roughly, shaking his shoulders hard.

"Wake up boy. We're going."

They set out not five minutes later. The wind howled in despair and the mountains seemed to watch in anticipation as the three set off once more.

It went on for hours. Legolas watched as, bit by bit, Aragorn's last strength drained, and the human became weaker with every passing moment. He was fading, and Legolas had no idea how far they were from Rivendell.

And still it went on. Every peak they passed, every stunted tree or scraggly bush. Every white cloud and every dark rock looked the same.

But Estel was fading. With every breath he took, Legolas thought it would be his last, and every time he moved in Îdhír's arms, Legolas could see the pain written clearly across his face.

And with every struggled breath, another piece of Legolas' heart was torn away. Another important piece of who he was, of what he was. His soul, his very fëa, was shredded as he watched his saviour dying before his eyes. He couldn't look any more, couldn't bear to see the pain on the human's face, the desperation in his glazed eyes.

I'm sorry. He looked away, and started. Because there, before him, nestled in the roots of the mountains, was beauty. Light. Song. A large house, seemingly built into the mountains themselves, welcomed him with an orange glow and an enticing aura about the place. Somehow, Legolas knew this was Imladris. A smooth waterfall ran down the deep cliff as the Bruinen flowed on its course away and to the South, and the soft lullaby of its waters soothed the elfling in much the same way as the forest had. Legolas could see a forest just to the West of the house, and felt his spirit lighten at the thought of walking beneath the treetops once more, although the situation muffled his joy with fear, guilt and sadness.

Îdhír broke into a run, sprinting in a burst of final energy toward the last homely house, and taking his precious burden with him. Tinu and Legolas were not far behind.

When they raced, panting, into the stone courtyard of Rivendell, Lord Elrond was there to greet them, face drawn in worry and deep lines of concern on his brow.

Legolas stumbled in last, falling to his knees beside the human in utter exhaustion. Elrond gave him a quick look, then turned back to his son.

"Estel! Estel, what have I done?"

His hands worked furiously as he spoke, unfastening Aragorn's tunic and inspecting the wound, then checking for breath. He checked once. Twice. A third time.

Then he sat back in his heels, shaking his head, a look of utter defeat upon his face.

"I'm sorry, you were too late. He's gone." His face crumpled in despair.

"He's dead."

Thank you for reading and sorry if you were routing for Aragorn's survival! It wasn't his lucky day :)

Next Chapter: Can Legolas deal with the guilt?

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