A/N: Here's another story, this is a chapter in a story that I'm wanting to write but to lazy to and it was also a dream I had along time ago, just more descriptive. Enjoy. ~~~~~~~~~*Legolas Wounded*~~~~~~~~~ Legolas ran down the row of bushes. He turned left, running along them a minute before turning left again and seeing Frodo run down the third row of bushes. He ran after him and stopped at the end of the row. Frodo was talking with an Orc that had popped his head out of the bushes. He was telling Frodo something he couldn’t hear. Frodo suddenly took off after nodding to the Orc and tearing down the row and off to the right then out of sight behind a row of tall bushes. Legolas made his way forward slowly, stopping beside the bush Frodo had stopped by. A whiz sound made him jump back as a thorn flew past and sliced into the bush across from it. He looked at the bush, a small tub-like stick, sticking out from the bush. He dashed pass the bush, running for the end of the row. As he came to the end, he didn’t see the board of thorns sticking out until his right side collided with it and was filled with 10 sharp thorns the size of pencils. He grabbed his side as he hit the end of the row. Sliding slowly to the ground against the wall, he removed the bloodied hand from his side. He shirt soaked up the blood as it ran out of the wound. He put his hand back to his side, placing a little pressure for too much would push the thorns in deeper. He lifted himself from the ground slowly and started to stagger off. Reaching the corner he had last seen Frodo at, he stopped and removed his hand again. He looked at his side, moving his hand to a thorn embedded deep in his side, he pulled it out slowly. Tossing it to the ground, a growl caught his attention; turning around he saw an Uruk running towards him. Placing his hand to his side, he started to move quickly around the corner and down another passage of bushes, loosing the Uruk and his way as he went. He rounded many corners and past many bushes with Orcs and Uruks, but he kept going. His vision blurring and his grace fading, he rounded a corner and finally saw Gimli, or what he thought to be Gimli. He stopped at the corner, placing his right bloodied hand against the stone wall that was so scarce and his left hand against his wound. He lips parted slowly as he breathed out jaggedly and his vision blurred farther. He tried to call to Gimli but couldn’t seem to find his voice. But as he slide down the wall, his right hand leaving a blood line down the wall as he slide, Gimli turned and seeing his hurt friend, ran to his side. Reaching his friend he looked down at his side, seeing the blood that had seeped through his fingers and was starting spill on the back of his hand and the lot that had seeped on to his tunic. Legolas sat, back against the stone wall, hand covering his wound, his other just below, slightly atop the other. His head drooped slightly as he sat, blood escaping him; his eyes closing from blood loss, weakness taking him. “Don’t worry lad, I’m here,” Gimli replied as he removed the elf’s hands from his side and set his hands on the ground beside him. Gimli lowered himself to his knees and examined his wound. He would be able to get the thorns out, but didn’t have a way to stop the bleeding. “I’m sorry,” he said as he grabbed one of the thorns and ripped it out; blooding dripping from the end, he dropped it to the ground. Legolas sucked in his breath quickly, head snapping up, his eyes shooting open and looking directly at Gimli. “Ooowwww,” he managed to say as he slightly banged his head against the stone wall. “Sorry, sorry,” Gimli said. He grabbed a second thorn, ripped it out, and dropped it to the side as Legolas wined again. The pain rushed to Legolas’s head, so much pain he couldn’t feel the third thorn that Gimli ripped out. His head set against the stone wall, eyes closed, lips parted slightly; he rolled his head to the side, teeth gritted from the pain. Gimli ripped out two more thorns, Legolas rolling his head to the other side; suddenly a growl caught their attention. Gimli stood up, slightly standing over his friend, guarding him. Legolas blinkiedly opened his eyes, turning his head in the direction of the growl. The blurred picture of an Uruk was charging towards them. Gimli then said something Legolas didn’t catch and suddenly had an axe. He then charged the Uruk, slicing its head off, upon jumping past it. “That’s for messing with my friend,” he said as he turned around and the Uruk head rolled to his feet. Then shoving the axe into the head, he walked back over to Legolas and knelt beside him again. “Gim-Gimli,” said Legolas weakly as Gimli knelt beside him. Gimli looked at him, waiting for his reply; Legolas leaned his head up to him and smiled a ‘Thanks’. He suddenly rolled his head to the side and started to shake, jaggedly, from the blood loss. Gimli reached over, grabbed the four remaining thorns and ripped them out. He tossed them to the side and muttered something, then a long piece of cloth appeared in his hands. He leaned Legolas forward slightly, who was stilling shaking, and wrapped the cloth around his abdomen, making it as tight as he could without making it too tight. He wrapping it around many times then tied it off at his wounded side. Legolas slowly stopped shaking and sat there, eyes closed and head drooped to the side. Gimli rose from the ground, then grabbed Legolas’ left hand and pulled him up, him groaning slightly as he bent his side. Gimli stood under Legolas’s left arm, though he was almost too short, and helped him walk as they tried to find other members of the Fellowship.