Work Text:
“Aragorn!” Gimli shouts, the words cutting through and echoing throughout the field in which they were currently fighting.
Aragorn whips around, quickly finding the source of why Gimli had been shouting. Legolas was surrounded by his own pack of orcs, at least five monstrosities strong. The elf seemed to be holding his own, nothing to be too worried about at the moment.
Or so he thought.
His eyes quickly spot the dark crimson stain of blood spreading across the clothing covering Legolas’ abdomen. He shoves the uruk-hai he’d been fighting back, sprinting across the field towards his friend.
Aragorn slaughters the first uruk-hai that he’s able to reach, leaning into the momentum of the situation. He hacks and stabs and cleaves, carving the uruk-hai away.
He’s unable to see how bad Legolas’ wound is, but it cannot be superficial. Not without how the crimson is still continuing to spread.
“Legolas!” Aragorn shouts, cleaving a uruk-hai’s head from his shoulders in one fell swoop. “Go! Find somewhere safe!”
The elf laughs, pain echoing across his features. “And miss all the fun?”
“You’re injured!” He shouts again, more insistent this time. “Go!”
Legolas responds by shoving Aragorn aside, stabbing the uruk-hai behind the would-be king in the neck. “I am fine.”
“There’s only two more, boys!” Gimli laughs manically, sprinting to their sides. “They’re outnumbered now! We can take them!”
Aragorn groans in frustration at Legolas’ stubbornness and forces himself to shove his worry down. They needed to finish this pack off. And they needed to see if Merry and Pippin were with them.
Gimli hacks at the knee of the uruk-hai before him, causing it to fall to the ground. Legolas responds by shoving one of his knives deep into its head.
Aragorn kicks his uruk-hai back, then charges at the thing with his sword at the ready. The blade slides clean through, appearing on the other side.
His enemy, however, grabs the hilt of the sword and forces Aragorn closer. He tried to reel back, but its hold on the metal was too much for him to match.
The uruk-hai roars in his face, the sound nearly deafening him. He pulled back, grip so tight that his knuckles had turned white.
An arrow whips past Aragorn’s ear, nearly grazing him, and embeds itself in the uruk-hai’s eye. The monster teeters and then falls, leaving his sword behind. His lungs ache for air as he attempts to catch his breath.
“Legolas-” Aragorn hears Gimli gasp worriedly, followed by a soft thump. He turns and rushes over, jumping over bodies as he goes. The elf had fallen to a knee, his perfect skin paler than he’s ever seen it.
Legolas shoves Gimli back, trying his hardest to rise to his feet. The whole lower half of his tunic was soaked in blood now.
Aragorn kneels beside him, gently taking the elf by the arm. “Now will you accept help?”
“No…” His friend gasps, forehead lined with beads of sweat. “No, I am fine. We must continue forward. Merry and Pippin, they’ll need-”
“They’ll need us all at our full strength.” Gimli interjects. “You will be of no use to the hobbits if you’re dead.”
Legolas stares off at some unknown spot in the distance, his brown-blue eyes slightly glazed over. He grips Aragorn’s forearm tightly and pushes upward, rising unsteadily to his feet. “We cannot stay here. They may send more uruk-hai back this way.”
“Then you will accept help?” Aragorn pushes again, keeping his hold on the elf. The way he was swaying does not escape him.
Legolas rolls his eyes, wincing in pain. “Then I will accept help.” He says, annoyance dripping from each and every word.
— — — — — —
The trio travels for about half a day before they feel safe enough to stop. Blood on the edges of the stain on Legolas’ tunic had begun to dry, but there was still that unmistakable sheen of the fresh liquid.
“I…” Legolas murmurs, leaning against Aragorn heavily. “Merry and Pippin are not far. I can feel them. But I… I need to stop.”
Aragorn nods, gently lowering the elf so that he could lean against a large rock that was embedded in the hillside. He kneels next to him, hands hovering over the blood covered fabric. “I need to take off your tunic to be able to take care of your wound.”
Legolas nods, watching the man before him carefully. “You may r-” He groans in pain as he readjusts himself up against the rock. “You may remove it.”
Aragorn, in turn, responds with his own nod. He wastes no time in shedding the elf of his many layers of clothing. There was no missing the wound, either.
It was not some small, inadmissible thing.
The wound was a large, deep gash that spanned from Legolas’s ribs on his right side to his hip on his left side. Such a wound would have been enough to kill any man long ago.
Legolas must have noticed the look on his face, and reaches out a trembling hand to place it over Aragorn’s hovering one. “I trust you.” The elf’s brown-blue eyes hold his gaze intensely, something unsaid being communicated between them.
Aragorn pulls his hand away and averts his eyes, moving to grab his emergency needle and thread. He rinses out the wound and douses the metal in what’s left of his water before threading the needle.
And then the work begins.
Little by little, he begins to delicately close the wound. He’s careful. Much more careful than he would be with himself.
Legolas hisses when Aragorn gets to a particularly deep spot, pressing his back against the rock behind him once more. Aragorn pulls back reflexively, watching the elf breathe through the surge of pain. “Do you wish for a break?”
The elf shoots him a look, almost offended that he would ask such a question.
Aragorn, however, ignores it. “Do you wish for a break?” He asks again.
“How much do we have left?” Legolas asks quietly, watching as Aragorn threads the needle with another line of thread.
“Less than half.”
“Keep going.”
“Legolas, we don’t-”
“I said to keep going.” The elf growls, pain biting through the frustration.
Aragorn nods mutely, continuing to push the needle and thread through the skin. Blood still sluggishly pulses out from the open wound. “Gimli?”
The dwarf turns quickly at the sound of his name. “I need you to keep watch. Set up a perimeter.”
Gimli nods quickly, watching the duo for a moment before grabbing his axe and walking away.
And he was nearly finished with the wound when Gimli came thundering back, gasping for breath.
Aragorn ties a knot, turning quickly. “What is it?”
“Ride- riders. A whole army of them.”
Heart dropping through his stomach, he stands. “Saruman?”
“They were too far away to be able to tell.”
Aragorn looks back to Legolas before running off, eyes squinting in the direction that Gimli had seen the riders. The ground was rumbling with movement now. No doubt that Gimli had been right.
However, it appeared that they were not from Isengard, but from Rohan. The white and gold horse on their banners glint in the midday sunlight.
Aragorn sprints to their line of sight. “Riders of Rohan!”
The group turns around, quickly surrounding them with spears lowered and ready for use. The leader of them pushes towards the front of the group. “What business does a man and a… dwarf have out here?”
The man hadn't seen Legolas then.
“I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Gloin. We have been tracking a pack of uruk-hai that have captured our friends.” He says simply. There’s no need to mention the business of the Ring. Not unless he has to.
“There’s no longer uruk-hai in these lands. They were slaughtered in the night.”
Gimli steps forward, voice urgent. “Did you see two hobbits with them?”
The man on the horse shakes his head. “We do not know of any hobbits.”
Suddenly, the soldiers behind the man begin to look at something else. Something behind them. And Aragorn turns to see Legolas dragging himself from behind the rock, dressed once again in blood covered clothing. “They were small. They… they would have looked like children to you.”
The man looks at Legolas, something that might be called concern flashing across his eyes. “We spared no one. I’m sorry.” He looks to two of their men and they hop off of their horses, handing the reins over to Aragorn. “Take them. Get your injured friend some care.”
“Where did you encounter the uruk-hai?” Legolas asks, beginning to sway.
“Just over the hill. We burned the bodies.” The man on the horse says, turning to make his leave. “Make your way to Rohan. We have some excellent healers. Though I do have to warn you that Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king.”
Aragorn takes a step to stand next to Legolas, wanting to be near if he falls. “Poisoned?”
“Indeed. He no longer recognizes friend from foe. Exercise caution.” And with that, only what Aragorn could assume was the exiled riders of Rohan, take their leave.
In their wake, Legolas turns to him. “We have to see if we can find Merry and Pippin. Even if they have fallen we have to give them a proper burial.”
“You’re still hurt.” Aragorn says, slipping into sindarin. “You need rest.”
Legolas looks down at himself, at the slash in his tunic and the amount of blood surrounding it. He looks up at Aragorn once more. “I will be alright in due time.” He responds, resting a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “The hobbits are more important.”
Aragorn nods and helps Legolas up onto his horse, then hopping onto his own. He watches as Gimli heaves himself up with Legolas, wanting to be close to take the reins if need be.
They ride off in the direction of the plume of smoke.
And when they arrive, it is utter carnage.
Charred bodies were piled in a heap, the fire having died into a slow murmur now. Aragorn jumps off his horse, rushing over to see if there was any evidence that Merry and Pippin had been there. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Legolas stumbles getting off his horse and is subsequently helped up by Gimli.
The trio search together, not stopping until every stone has been overturned.
It wasn’t until dusk that somebody had found anything.
Gimli comes around the corner from where he had been searching, a charred belt held tightly in his hands. “It’s… it’s one of their belts.”
Despair hits Aragorn like a slap to the face and without thinking too much, he kicks a nearby uruk-hai helmet and watches as it clatters across the grass. The scream that leaves him echoes throughout the landscape.
He stares down at the grass beneath him and tilts his head, something close to recognition flashing through him.
A patch of grass that had been tamped down.
He crawls, now finding a cut piece of rope.
Aragorn listens as Gimli and Legolas follow close behind, likely sure that he’s lost his mind. More tamped down grass. Stray fibers of rope left behind.
“They’re not here.” He says, turning to the duo behind him. “They survived.”
“Then where are they?”
Aragorn looks behind him, foot now aching deeply from kicking the helmet. The Fangorn forest stands like a great wall protecting the landscape. He looks back to Gimli and Legolas, the duo coming to the realization that he had already figured out.
“The forest… what could have possibly possessed them to venture there?” Gimli wonders, watching the forest with trepidation.
Legolas moves to stand beside him. “Safety. That is what possessed them. Compared to the horrors of what happened here, that place must have seemed a comfort.”
Aragorn takes a glimpse of Legolas, a minute nod being shared between them. “Then we go in after them.”
“Go? After Them? In there?” Gimli asks incredulously. “Are you out of your minds?”
Legolas moves to get on his horse, wincing in pain as the movement pulls at his stitches. “Just about.” He holds out his hand for the dwarf to take. “Are you coming?”
Gimli looks between the duo in front of him. “Oh, alright.” However, he does not accept the elf’s help, instead opting to have Aragorn heave him up.
Aragorn hops onto his own horse soon after, taking off towards the forest.
And so go the three hunters-
The three friends-
The three brothers.