The Shadow Walker

100. Woodland Magic

Legolas's bow clattered to the ground. Trembling fingers pressed to the hilt, trying to hold it steady.

"Legolas!" I dashed to him.

Thranduil got there first. He knelt and braced one arm around Legolas's shoulders, keen eyes assessing the damage in a glance.

Legolas sucked in a sharp, agonized breath. "W-what of Aragorn?"

I glanced over just in time to see him strike a blow that knocked Boromir's sword from his hands. Then he smashed the sword hilt into Boromir's jaw.

"Aragorn's fine," I reported, putting my hands on Legolas's shoulder.

Boromir fell, unconscious, and Aragorn stood over him, looking incredibly tempted to remove Boromir's head. Instead, he sheathed his sword and strode to us. "How bad is his injury?"

Thranduil glanced up. "We need to get him to an infirmary. He needs Elven healing immediately. Take his feet Aragorn, we can carry him."

Thunking footsteps brought Gimli closer. "How might I be of assistence? He's my friend, yeh know."

Thranduil paused. "Steady his midsection while we carry him. The less that dagger is jarred, the better."

While I stood out of the way and fretted, Thranduil, Aragorn, and Gimli lifted Legolas off Denethor's body. Legolas gave a cry of excruciation, which tore into my soul. My eyes rested on Aragorn's coat, which Legolas had dropped, and I ran and snatched it up. "Wait, let me wrap this around the hilt...it'll steady it more."

They held Legolas up while I gingerly wrapped the coat around the hilt. The blood staining his tunic made my gut twist, but I forced a tight smile when I met his gaze. "You're going to be fine. I'll never be far, don't worry."

Legolas gave me a faint nod, his ivory skin already pallid with sweat.

Thranduil began walking backwards toward the long, winding path, and Aragorn and Gimli followed his example.

"Wait," Èowyn called. "Take him into the throne room. It looks like the city's inner keep...if that's true, it'll have a store of medical supplies."

After a short hesitation, Thranduil nodded. No one said it, but if all this boiled down to a civil war, our little party might need a stronghold while the Elf and Dwarf army subdued the uprising.

I desperately hoped it didn't come to that.

Èomer silently walked to where Boromir lay and slung the Steward's son across his shoulders like a sack of grain. Then he, Èowyn, Dwalin, and the wide-eyed rascals followed us into the throne room.

None of the Gondorians made any move to stop us, but I didn't dare breathe evenly until we'd gotten the doors shut and bolted.

I helped Èowyn search for supplies while the Hobbits quickly cleared a meal off the table situated in front of the Steward's seat. More like dumped it on the floor as Thranduil, Aragorn, and Gimli carried Legolas in that direction. As they set him down, Èowyn carefully took his bow and removed his quiver, and I used my hands to pillow his head.

Thranduil shrugged off his cape, letting it flow to the ground, then he carefully removed Aragorn's coat from around the blade. "We have to get his tunic out of the way before we remove the knife. The moment the blade leaves his flesh, the wound will start pumping blood, so we'll need immediate pressure." His eyes flicked to Dwalin, and a flash of wariness crossed his features. "Master Dwarf, you have the bearing of someone that's seen a great deal of war."

Dwalin crossed his arms. "Aye. And I've treated my fair share of nasty wounds. But if ye want my help, ye'll have to trust me."

Thranduil hesitated for a millisecond, then nodded. "Ready a bandage, Master Dwarf. Eda, I need you to hold Legolas's shoulders down. This will be excruciating for him, but if he moves, he will hurt himself more."