Escape from Moria

By Gwenneth

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. Just for fun.

Summary: As the Fellowship escapes Moria, a small misstep results in injury for their Elf companion and a glimpse into the Elf's past. LegolasWhump!

Legolas leaped across the broken expanse of the stone bridge, landing lightly on the other side before turning to gesture for Gandalf to follow. The old Wizard wasted no time throwing himself across into the arms of the Elf.

As each of the Fellowship followed, Legolas began firing arrows into the dark reaches above them, drawing the cries of orcs and goblins as his shots flew true. He turned his attention briefly away to watch with trepidation as Frodo and Aragorn perched precariously on a teetering bridge remnant and the man urged Frodo to tilt this way and that to drive the tower forward.

When they finally made the leap, he caught his friend steadily as Boromir and Gandalf both grabbed Frodo. The Fellowship turned and ran further toward the Bridge of Kazad Dum where Gandalf stood his ground against the ancient Balrog, raising his staff and sword high against the towering inferno.

As he fell, he urged the Fellowship onward.

"Run!" Aragorn shouted, pressing Frodo and Sam ahead of him. Boromir urged Gimli and Merry to scramble after, with Pippin and Legolas bringing up the rear. The group mounted the steps, each disappearing around the bend as arrows rained down on them.

Pippin fell a step behind Legolas as an arrow snagged his pant leg. In his panic, the youngest of the Fellowship missed a stone step and crashed to the ground. Arrows sparked off the rock around him and he flung his arms around his head with a yelp.

Legolas skidded to a stop, taking in the scene. He fired off three arrows in rapid succession, hoping to slow the rain of projectiles long enough to haul Pippin to his feet and propel him up the steps to safety.

He dragged the Hobbit up and wrenched him behind him with his right hand, effectively putting himself between the danger and the youngster.

It nearly worked. Until it didn't. As Pippin regained his footing and moved up another step, Legolas started to turn and run again. He stumbled back two steps when an arrow slammed into his right side, just above his waist. The blow knocked his breath from him and he staggered before the hand he still had on Pippin tugged him forward with the Hobbit.

Slipping his bow over his shoulder was second nature. He clamped his right hand around the arrow and tried to steady it as he ran behind Pippin out into the fresh air and sunlight. He would normally have basked in it, but he turned away from the wide expanse of space and focused back on the dark exit of Moria.

He'd feared the mountain may be his doom. As he felt the blood on his tunic and hand, he realized it still might.

The youngest Hobbits were crying. Sam was trying to hold his tears. Gimli and Boromir were holding it together, but only just. Frodo was in a daze, wandering away toward Lothlorien. Only Aragorn was thinking ahead.

"Legolas, Gimli, get them up!"

Boromir countered: "Give them a moment, for pity's sake!"

"These hills will be swarming with orcs by nightfall," Aragorn insisted. "We must reach the woods of Lothlorien before that. Legolas, Gimli, get them up!"

Gimli moved toward Merry and Pippin. Legolas didn't move.

"Master Elf, I thought your hearing was best among us, did you not hear Aragorn?" Gimli said, huffing as he tugged Merry to his feet.

Legolas still didn't move, but his shoulders fell and he shuddered. The latter drew the Ranger's attention. "Legolas?" He moved closer to the Elf. "Mellon nin?"

The Elf didn't want to worry his friends, but he knew it was inevitable. He knew he would need to turn around at some point and they would see the arrow still embedded in his side. Either that or he'd collapse, with the same end result.

While he was contemplating, Aragorn reached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Legolas turned slightly toward him, but his legs chose that moment to fail him. "Legolas!" The Ranger cried out, grabbing him more securely and lowering him to sit on the rock at their feet.

That was when he saw the arrow.

"You're injured!"

The others gasped in varying degrees of loudness, Gimli first to reach their side. "Injured?" His eyes fell on the arrow. "Aye, forgive me Master Elf, I didn't know!"

Legolas huffed as Aragorn cut away the jerkin and tunic around the arrow. "You couldn't have known," he said quietly, peering up at Gimli. "It happened just as we rounded the last turn."

Pippin shifted foot to foot behind Gimli. "You helped me up, you wouldn't have been hurt if you didn't turn back!"

The Elf might have responded, but Aragorn was now pressing his fingers around the wound, trying to ascertain how deep the arrow might have gone. Legolas sucked in a breath and clenched his hands at his sides.

Pain crescendoed and he gasped. "Aragorn, we must move on. We cannot linger here." He wanted to slap the man's hands away as his continued ministrations grew in intensity. "What do you think?"

Aragorn leaned back on his heels, eying the Elf's midsection. "I'd prefer to leave it, but we have a long way to run and we will need to run."

Legolas swallowed hard. "The last time my patrol left an arrow in place before a retreat, the head separated from the shaft - he died while we tried to find it." He was nearly breathless with pain now.

Turning to Boromir and the Hobbits, Aragorn set his pack on the ground. "Keep a watch out, we need to deal with this and I don't want to be caught unawares."

For a moment, the five members of the Fellowship didn't move. Pippin shifted from foot to foot again, wanting to say something, but his words failed him. This is my fault, he thought to himself.

"Now!"

That sent them scattering, spacing themselves around the rocky terrain. Often, they glanced back at the duo surrounding the Elf. Legolas' color had paled since he'd all but collapsed to the ground. He was trembling lightly and clenching and unclenching his fists.

Aragorn rummaged in his pack for pain-killing herbs, bandages, a small knife, and a mortar and pestle. He poured a small amount of water from his skein into the mortar with the herbs and ground quickly. Holding it out, he watched as Legolas shakily scooped out a dose. They'd treated him often enough to know the routine.

Settling it under his tongue, Legolas watched Aragorn as the man turned to Gimli. "I'm going to need you to hold him down," he said. "Last time we did this, he accidentally knocked me out for hours."

Considering, he sized up the Dwarf. "If you are strongest holding something against you, then do that. If you are strongest leaning and pressing him down, choose that. But choose quickly."

Gimil turned his attention to Legolas. "Do you have a preference, Master Elf?"

Legolas shook his head. "No," he swallowed. "Just get it over with."

The Dwarf hesitated only a moment before sitting at Legolas' head. Aragorn slid his hands under the Elf's back near his elbows and gently lifted. It still drew a pained hiss from Legolas, but he was soon settled over Gimli's legs with his upper back against the Dwarf's chest and his head in the crook of his shoulder. It wasn't exactly comfortable, owing to their difference in size, but it would do.

Aragorn would have liked to start a fire and sanitize his blade, but they didn't have the time. Instead, he dipped it in an antiseptic mix he carried in his satchel. His foster father, Lord Elrond, had insisted he carry at least that for field medicine.

Looking at Gimli, he nodded. The Dwarf reached around Legolas and grasped the Elf's two forearms, pulling them against his chest and securing them tightly. Legolas was briefly surprised at the strength of the smaller being.

He saw Aragorn lean in with his knife and he turned his head away, breathing faster than normal into Gimli's left bicep. The first slice of the blade and he jerked violently, trying to sink into the ground beneath him and escape the pain. Gritting his teeth, he tried not to struggle too hard.

The man made a second cut, perpendicular to the first. The cuts widened the wound in hopes that the arrow would stay intact when he pulled it free. Scoring the skin and fatty tissue layer below would hopefully lessen the resistance on the arrowhead.

Legolas was breathing raggedly as Aragorn put down the knife and took a firm grasp of the arrow shaft. Swallowing heavily, he shared a glance with Gimli and the latter increased the strength of his grip on the Elf.

Aragorn pulled.

The pain increased exponentially and Legolas cried out and heaved backward against Gimli. The Dwarf was hard pressed to keep his grip as the Elf tried vainly to stop Aragorn, such was the agony.

It seemed like an age to those around the trio, who'd all swung their heads around at the cry, but then Aragorn was casting the black arrow down and pressing hard on the wound, now bleeding a lot heavier.

Legolas was gasping for breath and gripping the sleeves of Gimli's shirt so hard his knuckles were white. Aragorn leaned over him, whispering in Sindarin: "Breathe, mellon nin, breathe!"

Harsh gasps eventually slowed and eyes that were squeezed shut blinked open. Aragorn allowed a small smile to cross his face. "It's over, Legolas," he said. "It's out."

The Elf closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, he whispered, "Hannon le, mellon nin."

Gimli, for his part, hadn't loosened his grip on the Elf. He swallowed the lump in his throat, watching the blood saturate the compress Aragorn held against Legolas' side. "That's an awful lot of blood, Aragorn," he said. "Will it slow soon?"

The man looked down. "It should. Elves heal quickly. I have herbs we can pack the wound with to encourage clotting, as well," he said. Realizing he hadn't mixed the clotting herbs, he turned his head and studied the Hobbits around him. Indecision stalled him until Legolas whispered, "Pippin feels guilt."

Nodding, the man turned in the youngest Hobbit's direction. "Pippin, I need your help."

There was surprisingly no hesitation from Pippin. He practically leaped from the rock he'd been perched on and reached Aragorn's side quickly. "What can I do?" He asked, breathless, trying not to look at the blood on the Elf's side, but failing miserably as his eyes locked there and didn't move away.

Aragorn reached out with his free hand and selected herbs from the pile at his side. "I need these ground with some water," he said. "I can't let up on the wound to do it myself. Normally I would do it beforehand, but I was in haste to remove the arrow and move us along."

"I've never done anything like that before," Pippin said quietly. "I don't want to mess it up." He finally looked away from the blood and met Aragorn's gaze.

"You won't, I'll walk you through," he said.

Working quickly, Aragorn instructed Pippin as he added water and ground out the indicated herbs. Soon he had a well-made paste in the bowl. Holding it out, he watched as Aragorn gently pulled away the compress and blood quickened out of the cleanly widened wound.

Swallowing, Pippin shifted his eyes to Legolas' face and was startled to find him looking directly at him. The Elf blinked and then managed a tiny nod of thanks before Aragorn, who had dipped his next compress in the mixture, pressed down again and Legolas squeezed his eyes shut against the next wave of pain.

Pippin bit his lip in sympathy.

After a few minutes, Aragorn deemed it was time to move to the next step. He pushed a long strip of bandaging into Pippin's hands. "Keep this from tangling," he said. "I need to concentrate on wrapping it tightly enough for our run."

Nodding, Pippin held the bandage as Aragorn and Gimli gently pushed Legolas into a sitting position, eliciting pained groans from the Elf as the movement shifted his muscles and aggravated the wound. Aragorn maintained his pressure on it with one hand and gestured for Pippin to start feeding him the length of the bandage.

Legolas held surprisingly still as Aragorn wound the bandage around his torso, releasing the hand on the compress and replacing it with a tight wind of the bandage. He finished the roll in Pippin's hands and tied it off securely, gently pulling the tatters of Legolas' tunic back over the stark white dressing.

With the work done, the man pressed a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "I can only give you 10 minutes, mellon nin."

Nodding, Legolas slumped a bit and was surprised when Gimli guided him back down to rest against him. "Better than the cold, hard rock," the Dwarf grunted in explanation. The Elf blinked, still stunned. Gimli huffed. "Dwarves may not particularly like Elves, laddie, but I'm not going to boot you off me because of it."

Swallowing, Legolas relaxed into Gimli's embrace and watched Aragorn gather up his supplies and turn toward the woods of Lothlorien in the distance. The trees looked heavenly to Legolas. A wood-elf was most at home in trees and the dark and hard length of Moria had been taxing. The cold of the rock beneath him was seeping into his bones. Only Gimli's warmth kept him from shivering.

Pippin was still standing awkwardly beside Legolas and Gimli, once again shifting from foot to hairy foot. He looked pained, albeit mentally versus physically. Gimli peered at him. "Master Hobbit," he said. "Is there something on your mind, lad?"

The Elf followed Gimli's gaze.

"I … Well …" Pippin bit his lip. "I'm sorry!"

Gimli frowned, but Legolas knew what Pippin meant.

"It's not your fault, young one," he said quietly, since quietly was all he could muster. "Just bad luck."

The Hobbit shook his head. "But you turned back to help me," he insisted. "If you hadn't, you'd have been fine. Not … not … here." He gestured wildly in the direction of Legolas' bandaged wound.

Gimli understood now. When Legolas shifted uncomfortably in his grasp, he realized the Elf wanted to speak, but was struggling against his pain. He knew what needed saying and did it for him. "The Elf doesn't blame you, and you shouldn't dishonor him by blaming yourself," the Dwarf said. "No one can guarantee anything here. The arrow may still have hit him if he hadn't turned back. It may have killed you. Don't think about it; move on."

From his lap, Legolas reached out and placed a pale hand on Pippin's arm. "I'd rather me than you, Pippin," he said. "Elves heal faster than the Second Born. And, I know this pain and I can manage. I've had dozens of arrow wounds over the years."

"And daggers, and swords, and spider bites, and rock falls, and … the list is long, mellon nin." Aragorn came to his knees beside Legolas, Gimli and Pippin. He chuckled when Legolas glared at him.

"Wow," Pippin said, rocking back on his feet. The others had slowly returned to the Elf's side now, peering at him. "How are you not one big scar? Do you get hurt every other week?!"

Legolas frowned. "Elves don't scar," he said. "And I only get hurt a few times a century, Master Hobbit. I'm not a walking wound…"

All four Hobbits' eyes widened at that. "Just how old are you?" Merry asked.

Confusion flitted across Legolas' eyes. "Just shy of 3,000, give or take a few decades," he said. "We don't keep count very well."

Jaws dropped. While those in the Company knew Elves were immortal, the youthful looks and nature of their companion blinded them to the fact he was millenia old. Aragorn grinned and added: "Legolas is young, for an Elf," he said. "A few decades past his majority."

"I'm still an adult," the Elf countered, moodily.

Merry and Pippin exchanged glances. "So are you our age, in Elf years?" Pippin asked.

Aragorn and Legolas spoke in rapid Sindarin, the Elf narrowing his eyes at the Man as they went back and forth. Finally Legolas slumped in defeat. "Basically," he said. "But, shouldn't we be going now?" He wanted to divert the attention off his age.

There was a flurry of activity as Aragorn and Boromir hefted Legolas to his feet and the others made sure they were leaving nothing behind. The Elf cringed as he tested putting weight on his right leg. It sent fiery blasts of pain through his side and he lifted the foot off the ground quickly.

Knowing there was a run ahead, he frowned. It would be hard to sling his right arm around Aragorn's shoulder, but it was the only way he could avoid putting a lot of weight on that leg. He tested the range of his arm and cringed as lifting it high enough pulled painfully. It was bearable, but just barely.

Beside him, Aragorn gently slid under the raised arm and settled it over both shoulders. He grabbed the right wrist and then wound his left arm around Legolas' waist. They tried a few steps until they found a reasonable rhythm. The others watched the two friends and quickly realized something.

This was routine for them.

"We're ready," Aragorn said. He gestured toward Legolas' weapons with his head. "Someone will need to carry those."

Surprisingly, Gimli stepped to them. "The bow is too long for the Hobbits," he said by way of explanation. He stooped to lift it and settled it comfortably. The quiver and knives, he nudged Pippin toward. "You can likely manage those, lad," he said. The Hobbit picked them up and hesitantly looked toward Legolas, who was watching him.

"It won't bite," the Elf said with a faint smile.

The Fellowship set off for Lothlorien at a fast clip, everyone thankful that they hadn't lost another of their Company.