Against All Odds
By: Estelle

Rating: PG-13 to R (for a little blood)

Feedback: Constructive criticisms will be kept close to the heart and flames will be used to power the balrog that I’ll be sending after you. LOL!

Spoilers:
By The Hands of Another
Never Tell (with author’s permission)

Archive: Feel free to but please e-mail me and let me know the URL so that I can go and have a look-see.

Beta: Karri.

Series:

Not really a series. I'm just putting them in chronological order.

The Haircut
Aragorn's Revenge
The Need of Many
By The Hands of Another

Disclaimer: I do not own any of J.R.R. Tolkien’s characters or worlds. Everything recognizable belongs to Tolkien and everything else belongs to me. I did not obtain permission to use these characters and I’m not receiving money for this story. I merely take them out for a spin and will return them in one piece… more or less. *g*

Summary: When someone from the past came back to seek revenge on Aragorn, will Elladan, Elrohir and Legolas end up paying the ultimate price? Or will the ranger be able to protect his brothers and friend from this madman?

Author’s Note: When Tolkien said that Aragorn was raised in the House of Elrond, I assumed that Elrond took him in as his adopted son. That will make Elrond’s twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir, his adopted brothers. And Aragorn is in his early twenties in this story. No idea how old Legolas is supposed to be but I am assuming that he is younger than Elladan and Elrohir. This is also an AU story because I’ve neglected the fact that Aragorn had met Arwen after he had been told of his heritage.

I’d also like to thank Cassia and Sio for allowing me to take Celboril out for a spin. :D

Additional Disclaimer: This is sort of a sequel to “By The Hands of Another” although you do not need to read it to understand this one. However, it would definitely make more sense if you’ve read it. If not, this story will spoil the little surprises in “By The Hands of Another”. And there will be a minor flashback from Rhonda’s “Never Tell” which deals with child abuse. If this topic disturbs you, I recommend that you either skip the flashback or do not read this story. You have been warned so please do not flame me. :P Of course this would still make sense without reading it first but just in case you want to be thorough, her story can be found on FFNet under the pen name leggylover03 (storyid1523402) Sorry can't give the URL. Somehow FFNet doesn't like it and have a tendency to chew it up :P And it also took off all the special characters which is making my life a living hell because I’ll have to change all my styles! curses and grumbles.

* thoughts
# flashback

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Chapter 1 - Out in the Cold

The evening sun dipped beyond the trees as Elladan and Elrohir set up camp for the night. The three-day hunt was amazingly successful, and the brothers were rather pleased with themselves.

Gathering some twigs and dried leaves, Elladan managed to kindle a fire within seconds. The gentle evening breeze rustled the elf’s dark brown hair and disturbed the leaves above his head. Elladan knew that the night would be cold, but since elves were not as affected by the weather as humans were, he would be content just to sit by the fire with his younger brother and drink a cup of hot tea. Elladan snickered, remembering how Elrohir hated being referred to as the ‘younger’ one.

“What’s so funny?” Elrohir asked, carrying a kettle of water he had filled at a nearby stream. He set the kettle on the fire and sat down on the grass beside his brother. Rummaged through his pack for some tea leaves, sprinkling them into the water. “So? Care to share the joke?” the younger elf pressed his older brother.

“I was just thinking about our other, more unsuccessful hunting trips with Estel and Legolas,” Elladan answered with an angelic smile on his face.

“Uh huh.” Elrohir did not believe a single word his brother had said, but he did not wish to push him for the truth. The day had passed without them bickering, and he wanted to see if they could survive the entire day without their usual debate. Returning his brother’s smile with his own mischievous smirk, the younger twin stretched out lazily beside the fire and waited for the water to come to a boil.

“If we leave early tomorrow morning, we should be home before dusk.” Elladan popped a dried fruit into his mouth and passed another one to Elrohir. “We will have one more day of peace and quiet before Estel’s and Legolas’ arrival. After they’re back, I doubt we will get much of those.”

Elrohir nodded. His brother was right. Five months of peace would be over in another two days, and they intended to enjoy the remaining days to the fullest.

Two weeks after the incident with Morion, Aragorn had insisted on escorting Legolas back to Mirkwood, much to the elf’s annoyance. But after profuse apologies and a change of the word ‘escorting’ to ‘accompanying’, the elven prince accepted the offer reluctantly. However, the twins could see that Legolas was grateful for the company. The powerful nightmares he had been having since the demon’s capture still kept him up most nights, and he was often seen standing at the balcony in the middle of the night staring out into the darkness. It pained them and their father to see the elf prince suffering the consequences of the possession, but Legolas would just brush them off casually when asked about the dreams, claiming that he was fine. The truth was he needed a friend to be there when he woke from the nightmares, even if it was just a familiar presence to calm his frayed nerves.

Life was back to normal again after the two of them set out for Mirkwood. Elrond took a few days off his daily duties when he could no longer tolerate Glorfindel and Erestor’s constant complaints that he should take some time to rest and regain his strength after all that he had been through. Elladan and Elrohir had also reverted back to their usual selves, filling the house with laughter and annoying squeals once again.

Aragorn’s letter came a month later, informing his family of his safe arrival in Mirkwood. He said that King Thranduil had invited him to stay for the Mid-Autumn Festival, and he had gladly accepted the offer. Everything was well, and Legolas’ nightmares seemed to have lessened after he had returned home to his people. They had told the King all that had transpired, and Thranduil expressed his sincere thanks to Elrond for saving his son’s life.

The letters came regularly for the next three months, but after that they stopped abruptly for several weeks. Just when Elrond and the twins started to worry, a messenger bearing a letter arrived at Rivendell.

“Do you remember the look on father’s face when he read the letter?” Elrohir chuckled as he chewed on the dried fruit.

“How could I forget!” Elladan laughed as he removed the boiling kettle from the fire and poured out two cups of hot steaming tea.

“I thought he would strangle the messenger, although it wasn’t his fault that Estel was injured when he went on border patrol with Legolas.” The older twin passed the tea to his brother, who accepted it with a small nod.

It had taken several letters and a handful of death threats from the twins to finally force Aragorn into explaining the nature of his injuries. The young human had apparently gotten bitten in the buttocks by a wolf during one of their patrols. He claimed that the injury was not life threatening but rather painful and humiliating. He had to let the healers tend to his wound and had stitches put in. The worst part was that he was unable to lie on his back or sit for weeks. The twins had burst out into laughter after their initial shock, finally understanding why the letters stopped for quite some time. Elrond however was not amused by the situation and the twins could understand their father’s protectiveness over their little brother. Aragorn was meant to do greater things rather than being chased around by rabid wolves. He would reclaim his heritage when the time was right and take his rightful place as King of Gondor. His life was too precious and Elrond would do anything to protect his son from harm. The twins and Legolas had also sworn to protect him with their lives.

“Legolas should have known better than to take Estel out on a border patrol, knowing his tendency to attract trouble.” Elrohir laughed at the memory. He sipped at his tea and watched as a smile crept into his twin brother’s face.

“Yes, but it may be Legolas who attracted the trouble, and not Estel. Don’t forget that trouble seems to find him, too,” Elladan remarked.

“Yes, both of them are walking disasters!” the younger twin joked. Suddenly, he tensed, hearing a twig snap behind them.

Weapons drawn, the twins sprang to their feet with lightening speed, only to discover four hooded figures standing huddled together near the trees. The strangers were unarmed and Elrohir could see that they only carried a small pack each. The tallest of the four men took a cautious step forward and lifted his hands, palms out, to show the two elves that he bore no weapons and had no ill intentions towards them.

“Peace, we mean you no harm.” The man spoke slowly and clearly not sure what the elves’ reaction would be. “We are traders. Two days ago we ran into a group of bandits, who took our possessions and left us with nothing save what we’re wearing now. We are cold, weary and hungry and were wondering if we could share your fire to warm our bodies.”

The other three men moved to join their leader, keeping their hands out, as well, to show that they, too, were unarmed. Elladan and Elrohir relaxed, lowering their weapons as they realized that these men were indeed harmless. Sheathing his knife, Elladan beckoned the weary travelers over to the fire.

“Come and join us by the fire. We have some hot tea and dried fruits.”

The four men jogged over to the fire and immediately started to warm their hands over the welcoming heat. Elrohir poured out some tea for the men, who accepted it gratefully.

“You know what…” The younger twin trailed off and glanced over his shoulder at his brother, who nodded, knowing exactly what his twin was thinking. The younger twin smiled broadly. Turning back to the hungry men, he said, “I think we can spare a couple of rabbits, if you’re willing to cook them.”

The men’s eyes widened in delight. Nodding enthusiastically, they started discussing among themselves how they should prepare their gourmet dinner. Elladan and Elrohir chuckled at the traders’ reaction. Removing two rabbits from their sack-load of game, they handed the animals to the excited traders. The leader accepted two small knives Elladan offered and handed one of them to a man with dark curly hair. Curly took the knife and started to skin the rabbit expertly. Leader gave the other knife to a younger man who bore a scar on the back of his right hand, which Elrohir inwardly nicknamed Scar. The last of the four men was the eldest among them. Elder went to gather more firewood, while his companions prepared the rabbits for cooking. Leader chatted casually with the elves, never once mentioning his name. The twins did not reveal their names to him either. After all, they doubted that they would be seeing each other again after this night.

A few minutes later, the rabbits were roasting over the fire, and soon the four men were enjoying their evening meal. Elladan and Elrohir sat some distance away from the crowd, as they ate and watched them curiously.

“Something is not right,” Elrohir said softly, throwing a suspicious glance at the group of men.

Elladan nodded in agreement. “They don’t look like traders. Did you notice the way they skinned the rabbits? Seems like they had done it countless times.”

“Yes. Traders are not hunters. They usually do not catch their food.” The younger twin looked over at their guests, who were chatting merrily among themselves. “But they seem harmless. I did not detect any weapons, and they seem rather friendly.”

“Nevertheless, it is best that we keep an eye on them just to be safe,” Elladan said, taking the exact words out of his brother’s mouth, and Elrohir could not agree more. Nudging his brother slightly, Elladan signaled discreetly that they should join their guests.

TBC…

Disclaimer, Notes and Acknowledgements: Please refer to Chapter 1

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Chapter 2 – True Intentions

“How’s the food?” Elrohir asked cheerfully, as they casually made their way back to the crowd.

“Excellent!” Leader praised the meal, with a smile. “Thank you for your kindness.”

The man stood and clasped Elrohir on the forearm, expressing his gratitude. His grip tightened painfully around the elf’s arm, and Elrohir felt something sharp penetrate his sleeves and pierce his skin. Startled, the elf hissed. Wrenching his arm away from Leader, he grasped it with his other hand. The pinprick wound started to hurt and the pain intensified with each passing second, traveling from his arm up to his shoulder and chest. His heart hammered frantically in his chest, and he knew that poison had already spread to the rest of his body. Whatever poison the man used had somehow drained all of his strength. His chest tightened as if someone was crushing him under a large piece of rock, and he could not breathe. As the world tilted dangerously, he clamped his eyes shut, trying hard not to pass out from the sickening feeling.

Elladan saw his brother’s reaction and was at his side in a flash, but before he could draw his weapon, Curly materialized stealthy beside Leader and tossed a handful of white powder at him. Elladan batted at the white mist, choking and gagging as he inhaled the fine powder. Fire exploded inside his chest and the searing pain sent him staggering sideways and crashing into Elrohir. Trying to steady himself, he groped blindly at his surroundings. His hand came to rest on Elrohir’s shoulder. He hoped that his brother would somehow stop his fall, but instead of steadying him, Elrohir, who was already weakened by the poison stumbled and sent the two of them crashing onto the ground in a tangled heap.

Elladan gasped and coughed, his lungs still trying to expel the foreign substance from his system. Before he could catch his breath, Leader kicked him hard in the stomach, and the twin gasped as new pain assailed his body. He tried to push himself up, but a boot was wedged between his shoulders, grinding him against the ground.

Elrohir was vaguely aware that was Elladan rushing to his aid when the weird sensation began to assault his senses, but he could not recall what had happened after that. All he knew was that his world had turned into a giant ball of pain, and when it subsided enough for his mind to work again, he found that he was curled up on the forest floor beside his brother. The four men surrounded them, and Leader crushed Elladan into the ground with his boot.

“Why?” Elrohir managed to choke out, but instead of answering his question, the men laughed.

“Such naive and pathetic beings,” Leader sneered and spat out a piece of bone that he had been chewing on before the fun began.“And he said elves are hard to deal with,” Scar added with a snort. “Look at them now, both groveling at our feet and at our mercy.” To stress his point, Scar kicked Elrohir hard in the chest.

Despite his effort to suppress the cry, a small whimper left the younger twin’s lips. “Ohh... I think I hurt him.” Scar grinned lopsidedly at his companions. “How sad.”

“Stop it!” Elladan shouted in a futile attempt to stop the man from hurting his brother, but his words only amused Scar further.

“Oh look, he’s asking me to stop,” the heartless man said mockingly.

“Make him beg.” Elder smirked, and Curly nodded earnestly.

“Yeah, make him beg.”

New malice shone in Scar’s eyes as he kicked Elrohir repeatedly in the chest and stomach. The dark-haired elf tried to protect himself by blocking the blows with his arms, but a pair of strong hands locked onto his wrists and pried his only defense away from his body, exposing his torso to the assault. With his only protection taken away from him, Elrohir could only draw his knees to his chest trying to make himself as small a target as possible. He gritted his teeth and took the beatings in silence, refusing to let his assailants have the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

“Beg. Elf!” Scar punctuated each word with a vicious kick.

“Please… don't hurt him…” Elladan shoved his dignity aside ruthlessly and pleaded for his brother's safety.

“Not so tough after all! And he thought we would have trouble with them,” Scar laughed and kicked Elrohir one last time just to see his face scrunched up in pain.

“All right, that's enough. It’s time to deliver our merchandise.” Releasing his foot from Elladan’s back, Leader hauled the elf up by the collar of his tunic and forced him to his feet.

“I thought you were traders!” the older twin accused, while Curly bound his hands behind his back. Although capturing the elves had not been difficult, they still did not want to risk letting them travel without restraint.

“We ARE traders,” Curly replied with a sneer as he pulled tightly on the rope causing the rough material to cut deeply into the elf’s fair skin. “We’re trading you for gold!” the man cackled and dug into his pack, removing a piece of rope. Working some knots into the rope, he fashioned a noose within seconds and threw it around Elladan’s neck. The man slid the knot tightly against Elladan’s throat, almost cutting off the elf’s air supply. Giving the rope a sharp tug, he watched in satisfaction as Elladan gasped and groaned.

While Curly was attending to Elladan, Scar gave Elrohir similar treatment. The younger twin was hitched up by the front of his tunic, his hands twisted and bound painfully behind his back. Elrohir struggled weakly, even though he knew that it would not do him any good. He ached all over, and the fire within his body continued to burn, his injured ribs making it even worse.

Elder provided Scar with another noose after the man had secured the elf. Accepting the cord with a curt nod, Scar looped it around Elrohir’s neck. After making sure that their merchandise was secure, Leader scanned the campsite. There was a lot of evidence to be left behind. His employer had specifically asked him to leave enough clues to lead the rescue party to his hideout. Furthermore, he had requested that some blood be spilled, although he did not specify how badly he wanted them to hurt the elves. All he asked for was for them to deliver the elves alive.

The leader of the mercenaries motioned for Curly to smother the campfire. Pulling out two wads of cloth from inside his tunic, he balled them up and stuffed the material into the elves’ mouth. Tilting his head towards Scar, he stepped aside as the other man advanced towards Elladan with a knife in his hand, the same knife that Elladan had offered to them for skinning the rabbit. The elf’s eyes widened when he realized what Scar was about to do. He jerked back violently as Scar drew the sharp blade across his collarbone but the rope around his neck prevented him from moving far. The cold metal on his skin sent a small shiver down his spine and the elf drew in a sharp breath as the knife cut into his skin, leaving a bloody trail in its wake.

Elrohir struggled frantically, as much as his injuries allowed, as he watched the men toy with his brother. He felt so helpless not being able to do anything and desperately wished that toying were all they were going to do. His hope was shattered when Scar plunged the knife deeply into Elladan’s shoulder.

Elladan cried out, but the rag in his mouth muffled his voice. The sudden pain sent him reeling, and he stumbled backwards as his vision blurred and light exploded inside his head. He felt someone gripping him tightly around the arms to stop him from sagging towards the ground. A muffled cry was heard, and he thought he saw Elrohir kicking and squirming violently beside him, but the younger elf was subdued when someone kneed him in the stomach.

Scar wrenched the knife out of the elf’s shoulder and smiled wickedly as blood poured out of the wound and splattered onto the grass. “Perfect,” he purred as he examined his handiwork. Wiping the blood off of the knife with his pants, he stuffed it into his pack.

“Lets get moving. Our gold is waiting for us.” Tugging on the rope around Elladan’s neck, Leader pulled the injured elf carelessly towards the forest, not caring how much pain he was in or how much blood he was losing. As long as the elf was still alive when he delivered him to his employer, everything would go as planned.

*****

TBC…

Disclaimer, Notes and Acknowledgements: Please refer to Chapter 1

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Chapter 3 – Departing Mirkwood

Aragorn shifted uncomfortably on his mount. Although his wound had healed well, the long ride home from Mirkwood was jolting his tender muscles, and now a dull ache had begun to spread from his buttocks to his lower back. Elrond had insisted that he return home as soon as he was well enough to travel. The elf lord feared that his foster son would somehow find more than a pack of wolves if he continued his stay in Mirkwood. Miraculously, Thranduil agreed with Elrond’s concern, but the elf lord secretly thought that the King did not want to be held responsible if something bad did happen to the young human.

Legolas Greenleaf had obtained permission from his father to travel with the human, if he promised to return home after winter as soon as the paths were cleared of snow. The elf had ridden beside Aragorn silently for the past half-hour, watching the human squirm and fidget as he annoyingly tried to find the least uncomfortable position on his horse. Chuckling softly, the elf brought his horse to a slow trot and eventually to a full stop.

Eyeing Legolas curiously, the ranger followed his lead and halted his mount beside the elf prince.

“Is something wrong?” the ranger asked, while pulling his cloak a little tighter around his body to shield him against the chilly November wind.

“I should be asking you that question,” Legolas answered with a smile. “You have been squirming and twisting on the poor horse for almost an hour as if you were sitting on an anthill,” the elf said as he dismounted gracefully. “I think we should get some rest.”

Aragorn felt his cheek flush, but pretended that he did not understand what the elf meant. “If you needed rest, you could have just said so.” The ranger grinned at a bemused Legolas as he tried to hide his discomfort as best as he could. Sliding off his own horse, the human failed to suppress a small grunt as the vibration of his landing pulled on his healing muscles. He heard a soft snort and knew that Legolas had not missed his unintentional display. “Fine, you win again,” said the man, admitting his defeat ruefully. The elf could read him like an open book and nothing got past him.

“Maybe it’s not such a good idea traveling so soon after the accident,” Legolas said, genuinely concerned for his friend’s well being.

“I’m fine, Legolas. Don’t worry.” Aragorn offered him a friendly smile. “Besides, Ada would go insane with worry were I to stay with your highness for another few months, knowing how accident prone you are.” The young man grinned mischievously, and Legolas smacked him playfully over the head for the remark.

“Did you know that you have just insulted a member of the royal family?” the blond elf scolded the ranger lightly. “The penalty for that is...” Legolas trailed off, searching for an appropriate punishment. “You have to build a fire to keep your highness warm and comfortable.”

Aragorn laughed. He knew that Legolas was only joking, since he was not affected by the cold. The fire was more for keeping _him_ warm. The sun was slowly setting beyond the horizon, and it would soon be too dark to travel, so he took Legolas’ advice and kindled a fire, while the elf dug into their packs and brought out some dried venison, fruits and bread -- their dinner for the night. They ate over light-hearted conversation about their time spent in Mirkwood, but Aragorn’s mood suddenly turned somber when they touched the topic of the wolf attack.

“If you bring up the subject in front of Elladan and Elrohir, I will kill you!” the man said threateningly. “If you so much as say the word 'wolf', I’ll never talk to you again!” Aragorn stated seriously, but he could not hide the mirth that shone brightly behind his silver-green eyes.

“Yes sir!” Legolas did a sloppy salute, and the two friends burst out into laughter.

“But I’m sure your brothers will not let you forget that incident for a very long time.” Legolas said as he recomposed himself and wiped a mirthful tear from his eye.

The ranger sighed softly. “I know, but I’ll try to avoid that topic for as long as I can.” Aragorn tossed several branches into the fire and poked at it with a small stick.

“It’s getting late. You should get some rest.” The elf rolled out Aragorn’s bedroll for him and added his own on top of it. The night was very cold, and he knew that the human would not be able to sleep comfortably without the extra warmth. He also insisted that the ranger take his blanket, despite the human’s protest, not wanting his human friend to risk falling sick before they reached Rivendell. Lord Elrond would not be happy if his son returned ill. “I will take watch tonight,” Legolas told the ranger, as the human snuggled beneath the blankets.

“Be careful.” Aragorn had no idea what made him say that, but the words rolled out of his mouth spontaneously.

“Don’t worry Estel. Nothing sane would venture out in this weather.” The elf smirked.

Aragorn rolled his eyes catching the meaning of Legolas’ words, but he agreed with his elven friend. It was insane to travel in this cold. Had he known that the weather would take such a drastic change, he would have stayed and hibernated in Mirkwood until spring. The man shifted slightly under the blankets and curled up on his side. Much as he hated to admit it, the wound on his buttock was throbbing annoyingly. The long travel made the discomfort more prominent, as they hurried to reach his home before the weather got too cold to travel. Letting his eyes wearily slip shut, Aragorn hoped that he would feel better after some rest.

Legolas watched as his friend fell into a peaceful slumber. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, concealing his long blond hair, and added some more logs to the flames to keep them burning strong. Picking up the stick that Aragorn had abandoned, he stirred the fire absentmindedly. If they made good time tomorrow, they would be able to reach the Last Homely House in the afternoon. Aragorn had suggested that they leave a day early so that he could surprise his father and brothers by arriving before he was expected. Legolas did not mind the suggestion at all, he was actually craving for Celboril’s infamous mushroom soup and could not wait to taste the faithful servant’s delicious cooking again. A smile touched his lips as he thought of the mouth-watering food, but he shuddered lightly when his thoughts drifted to the wake-up juice. A sudden sense of foreboding rushed through him, but he dismissed it quickly, putting it off as memories of the incident of several months ago. The demon was gone; Gandalf had taken care of it. However, the closer they got to Rivendell, the more uneasy he felt. He did not tell Aragorn for fear that the human would worry for him unnecessarily. Besides, he was sure that the feeling was triggered by the bad memories that he still held.

Legolas stood and stretched, flexing his fingers and rolling his shoulders, trying to relax his tense muscles. Pacing beside the fire, he told himself that everything would be all right.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

TBC...

Disclaimer, Notes and Acknowledgements: Please refer to Chapter 1

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Chapter 4 – Concerned Brothers

The night went by uneventfully, and morning swiftly approached. Legolas woke Aragorn shortly after dawn, and the two friends ate a quick breakfast before packing up for the final stretch of their journey. Throwing some dirt over the fire, the elf put out the flame and mounted his horse. Aragorn clambered onto his steed shortly after, and the two companions urged the animals into a quick gallop.

The morning sun crept out from behind the clouds, and her rays felt warm against his skin. Silently, the young ranger thanked the Valar for the beautiful weather. Despite the extra blanket, the human had still been chilled to the bones the night before, but the uninterrupted rest had refreshed him. He did not think that they would need to make long stops again before they reached home.

“I can’t wait to see Ada again! I missed him!” the ranger raised his voice so that he could be heard over the loud rushing sound of the wind.

“And your brothers?” Legolas winked at the wide-eyed human.

“You promised not to mention it!” Aragorn shot his elven friend a threatening glare that would have turned water into ice, but Legolas just threw his head back and let out a throaty laugh.

“I will get you for this!” the human shouted and raised his fist in mock anger, but that only made Legolas laugh harder.

“Come now, Estel! Do you really think that they will forget about it just because I fail to mention it?”

Aragorn let out an exasperated sigh. Legolas was right. He just had to face it and be teased relentlessly by his brothers, knowing that he could not avoid the inevitable. He only hoped that he would still be able to face the rest of the Rivendell populace after they were done with him.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be that bad,” Legolas called out merrily as he spurred his horse past Aragorn’s. Little did he know that Elladan and Elrohir would not be there to greet them.

*****

The four figures moved with elf-like stealth through the forest. Behind them, their prisoners stumbled along clumsily as their leader mercilessly pulled them forward.

Still bound and gagged, Elladan and Elrohir were helpless in their situation and could only be led by the humans like animals on a leash. The wound in Elladan’s shoulder still bled sluggishly. Blood had saturated his sleeve some time ago and now stained his hands. Small crimson droplets dripped off the tip of his fingers, conveniently leaving a trail for someone with good tracking skills to follow.

Elladan felt weak, weaker than he should be. Cold sweat drenched his face and neck, and small rivulets were now running freely down his back, soaking through his tunic. The damp material clung limply to his pale skin, adding to the elf’s misery. His legs felt like they had turned boneless and could no longer support his weight, but he had to force himself to go on, for he knew that if he fell, his captors would not stop to let him regain his footing. His breathing had also become more labored and painful, which made him suspect that the powder used on him was more than just a muscle relaxant. Blinking hard as he tried to clear his fuzzy vision, the older twin bit down hard on the rag in his mouth and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

Elrohir tried to stay close to his brother. It hurt him to see Elladan in so much pain, but there was nothing that he could do to help him, except offer his silent support by nudging his twin’s arm with his shoulder whenever Elladan stumbled. Elrohir could see the gratitude and concern in his older brother’s eyes each time their gaze locked, and the younger twin would simply nod to let him know that he was all right. But he knew that Elladan did not believe him. Neither did he believe himself. The intense pain in his chest each time he drew breath told him more than he needed to know. His ribs were probably cracked or at least badly bruised, courtesy of Scar. His head throbbed ferociously, each heartbeat sending flashes of pain through his temples, and he had long since given up on trying to get his vision into focus. Holding back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, Elrohir took a deep shuddering breath and prayed that whatever games these men were playing, it would not involve his family and friends. However, he doubted that his prayer would be answered.

They walked for hours, and it was a miracle that the elves were still on their feet and moving on their own accord. Tremors shook their frail bodies, and their chests constricted tightly due to the poison and exertion. Elladan feared that if the gag in his mouth were not removed soon, he might pass out from lack of air. His face was flushed, and the world before his eyes wavered in and out of focus. The elf inhaled deeply through his nose trying to get more air into his starving lungs, but the breath turned into a small wheeze. A sudden fear washed over him as his surroundings started to turn gray and hazy. Heart hammering loudly in his ears, he knew that he could not hold on much longer. He urged himself to stay calm but it was to no avail. In a matter of seconds, he saw the ground rushing up to meet him.

Elrohir watched apprehensively as his brother stopped dead in his tracks, and a muffled scream left his throat as he witnessed his twin collapse. Disregarding the tight rope around his neck, Elrohir dropped down next to his fallen sibling, struggling wildly to break the bonds that were holding his hands so that he could help Elladan, but his actions only made the rope cut deeper into his already bruised and broken skin. The younger elf was devastated. Seeing his brother in trouble, but not able to help, was tearing him apart. He wanted to beg the humans to un-gag his brother, but the words only came out as a garbled muffle.

Leader yanked hard on the rope when he felt the sudden resistance, not knowing that Elladan was near collapse. His employer told him that elves were tough and could take much more pain and mistreatment than normal humans could, so he wasn’t worried about their condition until now. Twirling around when the rope in his hand went taut, he was shocked to see one of the elves curled up on the ground and the other one tearing madly at the cord around his wrists. Calling out to his other three companions who were walking slightly ahead of him, he halted the company and crouched down beside the elves. Quickly removing the wad of cloth from Elladan’s mouth, he hoped that he was not too late. His employer would not be happy if they delivered a dead elf. The human let out a sigh of relief when the elf started to gasp for air.

Elladan took large gulps of air in attempt to replenish his lungs of the deprived substance. His head started to clear a little as oxygen-saturated blood rushed into his brain. It took him several minutes to finally regain his bearings and realize that Elrohir was kneeling beside him, watching him intently with horror-filled eyes.

“I’m all right,” Elladan croaked, his throat parched and dry from being gagged for long hours. Straining to sit up, he groaned and fell back towards the ground when pain ripped through his shoulder and across his chest. He tried again, but this time he was prepared for the pain. Gritting his teeth, he used his legs to pull himself to a sitting position. Despite his efforts to stifle a cry, a small moan escaped his lips, and it took him a while to open his eyes that he did not remember squeezing shut.

“Un-gag my brother,” Elladan whispered, looked from Leader to the rest of the men. “Please.” The elf lowered his head dejectedly as he pleaded. “We will go with you peacefully.” He watched as Leader and his three companions huddled together, whispering to each other and finally deciding that there was no harm un-gagging the other one. Besides, the poison had rendered them too weak to escape, even if they were allowed to. Turning back to Elrohir, Leader pulled out the cloth from his mouth.

“If you do anything not to our liking, I will not hesitate to gag you again,” the cruel man stated coldly.

Elrohir nodded weakly, glad to be rid of the dry material from his mouth. Swallowing a few times to moisten his throat, he inquired about his brother’s condition.

“I am well, don’t worry.” Elladan gave his twin an encouraging smile. “How’re your ribs?” It was his turn to question his younger brother.

“Bruised, and probably cracked, but nothing that I cannot handle,” Elrohir told him truthfully. There was no point in hiding his injuries from Elladan since his brother could see right through him.

“All right! Enough fraternizing. Get up!” Scar took hold of the rope binding Elrohir and roughly pulled him off the ground.

Curly, on the other hand, hauled Elladan up by the front of his tunic, knowing that the elf was too weak to rise on his own. Shoving him forward, the group made their way towards their destination.

For another hour they walked, and finally the company slowed down as they approached an area with densely grown trees. Hidden behind the trees was a worn-down hut with a faint light flickering from the only window in the house. A shadow moved past the window, and the door to the house opened slowly.

TBC…

Disclaimer, Notes and Acknowledgements: Please refer to Chapter 1

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Chapter 5 – Let The Game Begin

The door to the house opened slowly.

“Took you long enough!” the man in the house snarled. Marching out of his alcove, the man brushed passed his employees and approached Elladan and Elrohir. “Well, well, well, look what we have here.” The smile on his face turned into a crooked grin as he scanned the twins from head to toe.

“Who are you!” Elladan spat out the question.

“And what do you want with us?” Elrohir finished his brother’s sentence.

“Patience is a great virtue,” the man grinned. “I have waited for many years and now you shall have your turn.” Digging into his tunic, the man removed a small pouch and tossed it to Leader. “Take your money and go.”

Leader poured out the gold coins into his palm and counted his earnings, making sure that the amount was correct before tossing them back into the pouch again. “Nice doing business with you.” Leader threw him a half-hearted smile and motioned for his companions to leave.

The dark haired elves stood on unsteady legs beside their new captor. The man was young, perhaps about the same age as their human brother. He seemed familiar, although they could not quite put a name to the face. The man threw them a mirthless smile as he picked up the leash, yanking the rope sharply and causing Elladan and Elrohir to gasp in surprise and pain. Leading his newly acquired trophies into the hut, he shoved them into the far corner of his hideout.

“Sit,” the human commanded shortly.

Elladan and Elrohir stumbled into each other and crumpled to the ground unceremoniously, but they were glad that they were finally off their feet, even though their elven prides were badly bruised. Performing a quick visual examination, Elrohir was relieved that Elladan’s shoulder wound had stopped bleeding, but the paleness of his brother’s face worried him. Tilting his head towards the human, who now stood looking out the window, Elrohir whispered softly to his brother.

“Any idea who he is? He looks like someone we know.”

Elladan shook his head. He had silently gone through all the humans that they had known and sorted through their names, but nothing came to his mind.

Letting out a low growl of frustration, Elrohir turned his attention to his surroundings. The house was simple, equipped only with the bare essentials. A table, a chair, and a bed were the only furniture in it. A small candle stood in the middle of the table, the flame flickering dangerously close to extinction as a soft breeze stirred the room. Beside them, a wooden pole was planted deeply in the ground, and Elrohir knew that that would be how his brother and he would spend the night, tied and secured to the wood. Shifting to a more comfortable position, the younger twin let out a weary sigh. His fingers had gone numb, and his ribs ached dully. Silently he berated himself for letting his guard down at the campsite. Because of that, he and his brother had been taken captive to be used as bait for some foul plans.

“I have a bad feeling that this man is after Estel and Legolas.” Elladan leaned his uninjured shoulder on the wall, his voice shaky and laced with pain. “He seems to be waiting for someone, and he also told the mercenaries to leave tracks after our capture.” This was obviously a trap to lure someone in.

“Don’t be so paranoid. Besides, Estel and Legolas won’t be back for another three days. Maybe we can find some means of escape before they come searching for us.” Elrohir hoped that their presence would not be missed too soon. “We might have already gotten free by that time.” The young elf tried to be optimistic, but he knew that there was little chance that they could get away in the condition that they were currently in. Even if they did run, they would not get far before being recaptured again. Elrohir sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

The man stepped away from the window and walked leisurely back towards Elladan and Elrohir, happy that the first half of his plan was in motion. All he needed to do now was wait for his prey to take the bait. Crouching down beside the twins, he picked up the leash and tied them securely to the pole, leaving little space for movement. Elladan and Elrohir complied without struggling, knowing that it would do them more harm than good.

And so the game began.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“You know, this will be one of those rare moments that we enter your father’s house unscathed,” Legolas laughed as he rode into the compound of the Last Homely House.

Aragorn snorted as he brought his horse to a stop beside the elf. “Father will be proud,” the human joked as he dismounted. Handing the beast to a servant, who took the animal away promptly, the human swung his pack over his shoulder.

“Yes, he will be,” a deep voice from behind startled the young man, and he snapped around, coming face to face with his father.

“Father! You startled me!” Aragorn complained. After so many years, he still could not get used to the stealth of elves. Taking another step forward, Aragorn threw his arms around his father and wrapped him in a tight embrace. “I’ve missed you, Ada,” he said as he buried his face in his father’s shoulder.

“I’ve missed you, too, my son,” Elrond replied, affectionately stroking his foster son’s long wavy hair. Breaking the hug, the elf lord turned to Legolas and grasped him by his forearm. “Welcome back, Legolas. Thank you for taking care of Estel.”

“Thank you, Lord Elrond,” Legolas smiled warmly and returned the gesture. “It was a pleasure having Estel with us these past few months. His presence brought much joy and laughter into my house.” The elf prince stole a quick glance at Aragorn and winked at him.

The human caught the tease and rolled his eyes. He knew that Legolas would not let him off so easily. Fully prepared to be humiliated by his brothers, Aragorn wondered where they were.

“Where are Elladan and Elrohir?” he asked, looking around the garden to see if the twins were hiding somewhere ready to pounce on him.

“They are on a hunting trip, although they should have returned yesterday evening. Maybe they were delayed.” Elrond frowned. “Weren’t you supposed to arrive tomorrow?”

Aragorn grinned. His father was so glad to see him that he did not noticed his early arrival until now. “We left a day early to surprise you, Dan and Ro. Too bad they’re not back yet.”

Beside him, Legolas shuddered lightly as a chill ran down his spine. The same sense of foreboding he had felt in the forest flooded through him. Trying to shake the uncomfortable feeling off, he was disappointed when Elrond eyed him suspiciously.

“Is something wrong, Legolas?” the Lord of Imladris asked the elf prince.

Legolas shrugged. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling this way, but something tugged at the corner of his mind about Elladan and Elrohir’s delay. “I think that we should go look for them.”

“What is it?” Aragorn asked anxiously, looking at his elven friend intently.

“I’m not sure, but…” the elf trailed off, not entirely certain about why he suddenly felt such urgency. “I just feel that something is not quite right. We need to go look for them.” Legolas sighed deeply, having no idea how to explain his uneasy feelings to the others.

“You have traveled long and far. Even if you want to go, have some food and rest first,” Elrond suggested as he rested his hand on the younger elf’s shoulder.

Legolas nodded reluctantly, but complied. He was weary, as much as he hated to admit it. They had ridden non-stop since morning, and he had taken full watch the past few nights because the cold would have been unbearable for the human. Thinking that he would be able to rest when he reached the Last Homely House, Legolas had disregarded his own weariness until now.

“Come, I’ll have Celboril prepare some food for both of you.” Elrond placed his hands on Aragorn’s and Legolas’ back, ushering them swiftly into the house.

Legolas smiled appreciatively. The mention of Celboril’s food lightened his spirit somewhat, and he quickened his pace, eager to quench his hunger.

TBC…

Disclaimer, Notes and Acknowledgements: Please refer to Chapter 1

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Chapter 6 – On The Road Again

The trio filed into the dining hall and settled down at the long table. Elrond had instructed a servant to inform Celboril of his son’s and the elf prince’s arrival and ask him to prepare some refreshments. The elf lord watched with a hint of amusement as Aragorn fidgeted on the hard wooden chair, trying to find a comfortable position.

“Do you require a cushion?” the older elf inquired with a straight face.

“Pardon me?” Aragorn raised an eyebrow at his father in confusion.

“A cushion, for you to sit on,” Elrond explained.

Realizing that he had just gotten teased by his father, the young man blushed fiercely and glared at Legolas as the prince choked on the water that he was drinking.

Setting down his cup, Legolas coughed to hide a chuckle, but failed miserably. It looked like he didn’t have to mention the incident for them to remember it after all.

Judging by the look on Aragorn’s face, the human would have pounced on Legolas and throttled him on the spot if not for Elrond’s presence, and for that the elf was eternally thankful. He was not in the mood to fight an extremely agitated ranger. Much to his relief, Celboril chose this time to appear with a tray of food. The scent of freshly baked bread mixed with the pungent smell of mushroom soup filled the air and the two friends immediately forwent their staring contest and turned their attention to their meal.

Picking up a piece of bread, Legolas broke it in half and offered one piece to Aragorn as a sign of truce. The human accepted it and the two friends exchanged a small smile. As they ate, Elrond listened to their interesting tale of the various mishaps and pranks they had pulled while in Mirkwood for the past five months.

“I think if you hadn’t requested my return, King Thranduil would have thrown me out of his realm,” Aragorn said over a mouthful of bread.

“Father would not have done that!” Legolas argued in his father’s defense, but deep inside his heart, he knew that it could very well have been a possibility.

Between the two of them, they had pulled enough pranks to last the King his entire lifetime, not that he did not enjoy seeing their victims with pink and green hair or running around the palace half naked swearing to hang the two of them by their ankles from the nearest tree. He didn't mind much...as long as they left him out of it. Thranduil had decided that Aragorn was a bad influence to his son who was once so well disciplined, but ever since the human entered his son's life, Legolas had changed from a timid and quiet elfling into a fierce, self-proclaimed protector of Isildur's Heir. The human and his son had bonded over the years, and nothing in Middle Earth could break them apart.

Finishing the last of his bread, Legolas leaned back on his chair and let out a small yawn. He yearned for rest, but a small corner of his mind would not allow him to forget the fact that Elladan and Elrohir did not return from their hunting trip on schedule. Not that the twins were never late, but this time was different. He felt that something was amiss. Pushing his chair back reluctantly, the elf prince stood slowly from the table. He knew that if he wanted to leave, he would need to do it soon, before his weariness overcame his decision.

Elrond and Aragorn got to their feet when Legolas vacated his seat, knowing exactly what the elf was planning on doing next. The elf lord rested his hand lightly on his son’s shoulder, a gesture of silent blessing.

“We’ll be fine, and I’m sure Elladan and Elrohir will be too.” Aragorn nodded and gave his father a small smile. “We will be home to create havoc…” the ranger trailed off when the front door swung open, and Erestor strode hurriedly towards Elrond. A deep frown creased his usually calm features.

Turning towards his advisor, Elrond raised a brow in question. “What is it Erestor?”

“My Lord,” the dark-haired elf greeted the elf lord quickly, “the horses Elladan and Elrohir took have returned… without their riders. I fear something has happened!”

The words rushed out of the advisor, and Elrond felt his heart sink at the news. Legolas had been right in wanting to go after them, but Elrond feared that it might already be too late.

“We will find them. The horses can take us to where they were last seen.” Legolas moved beside Elrond and gave the older elf a gentle squeeze on the forearm. “We can track them from there.”

“Please bring them back.” The elf lord heaved a sigh and placed his other hand on top of the elf prince’s.

Legolas gave a small nod and released his grip. Turning around, he made his way briskly towards the front door, where the two horses were still waiting impatiently in the courtyard. Aragorn gave his father a quick hug and followed the elf prince swiftly, eager to begin their search.

By the time Aragorn reached the courtyard, Legolas was already mounted and whispering gently to the beast. Iarephel tossed her head with a soft nicker, understanding that the elf wanted her to take them to her previous master's location. Legolas stroked the mare’s silky mane as Aragorn mounted Alquamor. The two friends exchanged a worried glance and urged their horses into a fast canter, directing the beasts into the forest once again.

Elrond and Erestor stood at the entrance to the Last Homely House and watched Aragorn and Legolas ride out. The elf lord couldn’t help but feel guilty sending them out again so soon after their long journey from Mirkwood, but those two were the best trackers he had, and if anyone could find his missing sons, those two could. Letting out a long sigh, Elrond turned and made his way back into the house, with Erestor following closely beside him.

“Remind me to confine all of them to the house for the rest of the year when they get home. I have had enough excitement this year to last me the next five.” Although Elrond tried to make light of the situation, his heart was filled with dread and anxiety, and he could not shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

Erestor followed his lord into the Hall of Fire and stood quietly beside a chair, as Elrond sank into it, burying his face in his hands. The advisor could see that, despite the elf lord’s efforts to remain calm, his hands shook ever so slightly. He moved closer to the Lord of Imladris and reached out with his hand, patting Elrond’s shoulder lightly, showing his support as well as comforting him.

Elrond lowered his hands and smiled softly at the gesture. Motioning Erestor towards the chair adjacent to the one he was currently occupying, the elf lord invited the advisor to join him. “Sit with me for a while, Erestor.”

The tall elf nodded and in a few quick steps, he reached the large chair and settled down into it. He wanted to tell Elrond not to worry and everything would be all right, but he knew that he would be lying. So instead of speaking, the advisor sat with Elrond in awkward silence. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the burning wood in the fireplace and the soft sighs from the elf lord. For an hour they sat staring blankly at the fire. Erestor stole glances at Elrond every few minutes, but was rewarded with a vacant look. The elf lord was still in shock from receiving the news. Elven horses did not abandon their riders and return home by themselves unless asked to. But Elladan and Elrohir had no reason to send them home, so Erestor feared the worst.

Elrond sat with his hands folded on his lap. He might look dazed but what he was doing was taking inventory of all the healing herbs he had in store knowing that he would most definitely be needing them. The supplies were sufficient for he had just replenished them the day before and he hoped that he would not need more than what he had.

*****

TBC...

Disclaimer, Notes and Acknowledgements: Please refer to Chapter 1

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Chapter 7 – Lost and Found

Aragorn and Legolas urged their horses to go faster. The two friends had traveled for many hours, relying solely on their mounts to take them where Elladan and Elrohir were last seen. The horses, having sensed their riders’ urgency, sprang forward with renewed strength.

Day turned slowly into night as the sun finally sank beyond the mountains. Shadows crept across the land, and soon the only light left was the soft glow of the elf and the stars and moon shining brightly from the sky. Aragorn drew his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders in an attempt to ward off the icy chill of the wind. These were the times that he envied the endurance of elves. Beside him, Legolas rode on without a hint of discomfort, his long blond hair whipped around his face by the gushing wind. The elf was tense, although his calm outer appearance hid his inner turmoil. He suspected that Elladan’s and Elrohir’s disappearance was some deliberate plan. There were no orcs this close to Imladris, and wild beasts hardly ventured out in this time of the year. So what had happened? Just as the thought grazed his mind, the horses slowed their pace to a slow trot and finally came to a complete stop near the small clearing where their previous riders were last seen. Pawing at the ground with their front hooves, Iarephel and Alquamor nickered softly, trying to tell the two friends what had happened in their own unique language.

Aragorn and Legolas dismounted and, in a few quick strides, made their way to the deserted camp. The two companions quickly rekindled the fire by using the remaining firewood. As Aragorn’s eyes adjusted to the brightness of the flame, he let out a small gasp as he took in the ravaged campsite. His brothers’ weapons and their other belongings were scattered all over the forest floor.

Legolas scanned the area, and his keen elven eyesight picked up a small patch of discoloration on the grass. Making his way past the young ranger, the elven prince crouched down, reaching out to touch the grass with his fingers. Even though the substance on the grass had already dried, he knew that it was blood. Legolas scooted a few feet towards and spotted another splotch.

“Estel!” Legolas called out to Aragorn, who was searching for clues on the other side of the fire. “I think I found something.” He beckoned the human over.

The ranger abandoned his search immediately, made his way hurriedly over to his companion, and squatted down beside the elf. “What is it?” he asked urgently and understanding dawned upon him as Legolas pointed at the dark patches. Aragorn stared at the stain, and a sense of dread surged through him. He felt his heart sink to his stomach.

“They’re injured!” he exclaimed and shifted his gaze from the grass to Legolas, his eyes wide, and a deep frown etched into his young face.

Legolas nodded grimly. “And it seems like whoever took them left us a trail. Look...” The elf prince pointed at an area a few feet ahead where the grass was also stained dark brown.

“I studied the tracks by the fire.” Aragorn swept his hand across the field behind him. “There were around three or four of them, excluding Elladan and Elrohir.” The man paused to gather his thoughts and continued. “There were some signs of struggle, but not enough to indicate a fight.”

“Then maybe they were taken by surprise.” Legolas added solemnly and rose to his feet while, scanning the surroundings. “The tracks are easy to follow. It leads to the east. We will have no problem tracking it.”

Aragorn stood and went over to the fire, putting out the flame within seconds, and joined Legolas as the elf began to trace the trail into the forest.

*****

The night wind chilled him to the bone, but Aragorn gritted his teeth and followed his friend closely. He was an excellent tracker, but unfortunately human eyes were not designed to see in the dark. They were now tracking in almost complete darkness, for the moon had been hidden by some clouds several hours ago, so the human had no choice but to leave the task to Legolas. All that he could do at the moment was to concentrate on his steps and try not to stumble and fall.

Legolas had drawn his hood of his cloak over his head to mask his glow so as not to reveal their presence to anyone who may be spying on them. The darkness around Aragorn reminded him of the cavern he and Legolas had fallen into several months ago. The memory sent a small shiver down his spine, as the image of Legolas lying in a pool of blood flashed across his mind. He pushed the thought ruthlessly back into his subconscious and berated himself for bringing up such dreadful memories.

“I don’t like this,” Aragorn muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Legolas, but the elf caught his words nonetheless.

“Neither do I,” the woodland being replied in a low voice. “I feel like we’re being lured into something. The tracks were clearly left for someone to follow, and I get a feeling that the someone was us.”

Aragorn chuckled, despite the graveness of the situation. “You are being paranoid, Legolas,” the ranger whispered and patted the elf prince sympathetically on his shoulder. “Who would take a person against his will and yet leave a trail for someone to rescue him.”

Releasing a small huff, Legolas shrugged off the ranger’s hand gently. “It’s a big world, Aragorn. Strange things happen. Remember the box and…”

“All right! You win!” Aragorn cut off the elf before he could finish his sentence, not wanting to go into that topic, especially when they were stuck in complete darkness. Unconsciously, he stepped nearer to Legolas, suddenly having the need to feel the presence of another living being close to him.

Sensing the tension in the young man beside him, Legolas wrapped his arm around Aragorn’s shoulder and gave him a quick hug. “I’m sorry,” he apologized sincerely, “I promise not to mention it again. I’m not very fond of the memory either.”

The human nodded slightly, knowing well that the elf could see his silent acknowledgement without problem.

“They couldn’t be too far,” the elf prince changed the subject swiftly, trying to ease the anxiety that had momentarily weighed them down.

Picking up his pace, Legolas towed Aragorn behind him by his sleeves, and the ranger was forced to quicken his pace to match the elf’s speed. But suddenly without warning, the elf stopped dead in his track, causing the human to ram into his back. The man grunted and mumbled something incomprehensible, but Legolas quieted him by placing his hand lightly over his mouth.

“Shh... I think we’re reaching the end of our search. I see a light ahead.” The elf pointed in front of him.

Aragorn squinted and strained his neck, but all the ranger could see was a blanket of darkness.

Seeing the human’s reaction, Legolas apologized and offered to take them a little closer to their supposed destination. Aragorn started to see a pinprick light, and it got brighter and clearer as they moved closer to the source. The man could vaguely see the shape of a small house, and his curiosity spiked.

“Who would build a house in the middle of the forest?”

“Let’s take a closer look. I don’t see any movement inside the house,” Legolas suggested and started cautiously towards the house.

Aragorn followed a few steps behind. For some strange reason, he started feeling a little nervous. As they got within a few feet from the structure, the front door suddenly swung open, revealing a figure silhouetted against the light. Judging from the height and build, they were sure that he was a man.

“Hello, Estel,” the man’s voice was coarse and held a tinge of malice. “How nice of you to drop by.”

TBC...

Disclaimer, Notes and Acknowledgements: Please refer to Chapter 1

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Chapter 8 – The Duel

Aragorn was stunned. No one knew him by his elven name, except for his family members and those who knew him in Rivendell and Mirkwood. So who was this man that stood before him? He searched his memory, trying to figure out whom the person could be… a man who knew him by Estel. All of a sudden, a name flashed across his mind. Baran. But Baran was dead! His son! Could it be his son? Thad? But Thad had disappeared after his father’s death, presumably gone to live with his father’s cousin in a distant town.

“Estel? Strider?!” Legolas nudged the ranger on the arm when the human failed to respond to his call. “Do you know him?”

Aragorn shuddered violently at the memory of Baran and his son. So many bad memories that he thought he had forgotten came crashing back at full force. He staggered backwards, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and trying to ward off the sounds of the belt making contact with his skin.

“No…” A strangled cry escaped his lips as the world before his eyes tilted dangerously, and if not for Legolas’ strong grip on his arms, he would have keeled over.

The elf was shocked at Aragorn’s reaction to the stranger. He caught the young man as he staggered into him, almost knocking him over in the process. Legolas shook the ranger hard, trying to bring him out of whatever memory he was trapped in.

“Strider!” The sharp voice pierced into his befuddled mind, and Aragorn blinked hard in attempt to clear his head. Steadying himself, the ranger pushed back the various emotions that were rolling through him and took several steps towards the man. He needed to confront the boy, now man, who had instilled the meaning of pain, hurt and despair in his life at such a young age. The moon crept out slowly from behind the clouds, as if sensing Aragorn’s need for light, and the illumination it cast on Thad gave him a ghostly look.

Legolas watched in utter confusion, not knowing what had just transpired. Aragorn had never mentioned Thad to him, and he never knew that his friend was a victim of abuse when he was only a child. The elf finally shook himself out of his reverie and in a few strides caught up to Aragorn, but the man held out his hand to stop him from going any further.

“What do you want, Thad? And where are my brothers?” the man demanded harshly as he continued his advance towards the older man.

“What do I want?” Thad laughed bitterly. “I want you to feel the pain of losing someone you love.”

When Thad set up the trap, he did not care who the rescuers were as long as they were from the house of Elrond. He was hoping for Erestor or Elrond himself, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was making them hurt… the way they hurt him. They would pay for what they had done. But he couldn’t believe his luck when the human showed up at his doorstep. What a pleasant surprise! And he came with a pretty elf friend. The elf would fall nicely into his plans.

Reaching down behind the wall of the house, Thad hauled Elrohir to his feet and dragged the elf out into the open where Aragorn and Legolas could see him. Elrohir did not struggle. He was too exhausted to fight anymore, especially when the poison in his body had leached away whatever remaining strength he had left. His legs could no longer support his weight, and if it weren’t for Thad holding him upright, he would have crumpled onto the ground in a boneless heap. A wad of cloth was stuck in his mouth to prevent him from speaking, and his hands were bound tightly behind his back. Even though Aragorn and Legolas were expecting Elladan and Elrohir to be held by Thad, they still could not suppress a surprise gasp when Elrohir was so rudely dragged out of the house.

Rage flared through the ranger as he saw the condition his brother was in and the way Thad treated him. At the same time, fear raced through his mind, as he did not detect any visible injuries on Elrohir. That would mean that the one injured was most probably Elladan, and the fact that Thad did not use Elladan as a hostage worried him tremendously. Maybe he was to badly hurt -- or worse, dead.

Thad hooked his left arm around Elrohir’s neck and placed the elf in front of him, using him as a shield. His right hand reached into his tunic and pulled out a small dagger. Its three-inch blade glittered dangerously in the moonlight.

“What do you want, Thad?!” Aragorn shouted the question once again at the crazed man. Fear gripped at his heart as if it were trying to tear the organ right out of his chest.

The man just laughed menacingly and took a few more steps away from his hideout. Aragorn and Legolas backed away from him, trying to keep a safe distance between them.

“I want you to kill your pretty elf friend!” Thad spat out dryly.

Aragorn’s jaw dropped at the man’s words. He would never bring himself to hurt his best friend, let alone kill him.

“No!” Aragorn protested angrily at the insane demand. “You’re crazy!” he shouted at his childhood tormentor, but that only served to excite the man further.

Thad tightened his arm around Elrohir’s neck and brought the dagger up to the elf’s neck, pressing it against his pale skin. “Fight the elf… or I will kill this one.” To stress his point, the man drew the tip of the dagger across the soft flesh on Elrohir’s neck leaving a trail of crimson in its wake. “Do you want me to demonstrate what other things this dagger can do?”

“Stop it!” Legolas cried out, his voice strained with unleashed rage. Twirling around to face Aragorn, the elf prince drew his hunting knife and un-strapped his quiver, letting the object slip soundlessly to the ground. “Fight me, Estel!” the wood elf ground out through clenched teeth.

“I-I can’t!” Aragorn stammered, his face pale and clammy. Cold sweat broke out on his face, and his breath came in sharp rasps as his heart thumped maddeningly against his ribcage.

“You have to!” Legolas maneuvered closer to the ranger and whispered lightly in his ear. “Do it like our practice. Stall him.” Stepping back quickly, the elf raised his weapon before him. “Do it for your brothers,” he said aloud.

Aragorn unsheathed his sword in slow motion, his hand gripping the hilt so hard that his knuckles turned white from the tension. He knew that Legolas would not allow him to lose the fight for the sake of his brothers, and he feared for his friend’s safety. However, if they could come up with a plan during the fight, perhaps they would be able to subdue Thad and rescue Elladan and Elrohir. Swirling his sword in his hand, he positioned the weapon in front of him.

The two friends stared at each other for the longest time before Legolas eventually made the first move. He knew that Aragorn could not bring himself to initiate the fight, but he also sensed that Thad was growing impatient. If they did not do what he demanded, he had no doubt that the man would do serious damage to his hostage. With a soft cry of warning, Legolas charged his friend, slashing out with his knife.

Aragorn snapped out of his stupor at the voice of the elf and brought his own sword up to block the blow, deflecting Legolas’ knife with ease. The clashing sound of the weapons shattered the silence of the night. The ranger whirled around on his heels, his sword sweeping out in a perfect arc at the elf, but the nimble being dodged the sharp blade expertly, spinning smoothly out of harm’s way. A split second later, the elf mounted his own attack on the human, his movements perfectly timed so as to give Aragorn enough time to counter them.

Both friends executed their moves carefully, neither too fast, to avoid accidentally hurting each other, nor too slow, to avoid rousing Thad’s suspicion. But regardless of their performance, the man saw right through their game. He had known that Aragorn would never hurt his friend. He had only asked them to fight to set the next step of his plan in motion. Gripping the dagger tightly in his hand, Thad moved away from the house dragging Elrohir with him and made his way silently behind the elf. Studying each of their movements carefully, he found a pattern to their fighting style. Something needed to be done to make this game more interesting. Raising the dagger, he hurled the small weapon at the elf.

TBC…

Author’s Note: If you have not read “Never Tell”, this chapter might seem a little confusing especially regarding Thad’s identity and what had happened in Aragorn’s childhood. But I’ll explain it in later chapters so please bear with me. :)

IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ!

Author’s Note: I did NOT write “Never Tell”. It is written by leggylover03. The story id is 1523402 on FFNet. If you’re still unable to find it, let me know and I will bounce you a copy :) But be warned that the story deals with child abuse so if you have a strong reaction towards those kinds of stories, I strongly suggest that you skip it. Don’t flame the author for you have been warned :P I merely borrowed the character Thad for a spin and promised her that I won’t kill him. LOL!

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Chapter 9 – Fatal Error

Legolas caught Aragorn’s sword with his knife and twisted it harshly out of the way. The young ranger stumbled backwards slightly under the force but regained his footing quickly, thrusting his sword at Legolas -- a well calculated move that he knew the elf would have no problem avoiding. But instead of sidestepping the oncoming attack, Legolas gasped, his eyes widened with shock as a fiery pain exploded in his back, a dagger buried up to the hilt in his body. The dagger was thrown with such great force that the impact propelled him forward right into Aragorn’s outstretched sword.

Aragorn expected Legolas to move away, but what happened next took him completely by surprise. Seeing his friend lose the grip on his knife, his brain barely registered the painful gasp from his opponent before Legolas lurched forward towards him, plunging straight onto the blade that he was pointing at his friend. Aragorn retracted his weapon sharply, but was unable to move it away in time. He watched in horror as his sword sank into Legolas’ abdomen.

The elf cried out as intense agony ripped through him, sending him reeling. A loud ringing exploded inside his head, and everything went black for a moment before flashes of light invaded his vision, turning his world into a complete chaos. Gripping the sharp blade that was still embedded inside his body, Legolas squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and pulled the offensive object out, before sinking slowly onto his knees.

“Legolas!” Aragorn screamed out the elf’s name as he sank towards the ground along with his friend. His sword abandoned beside him, he reached out to grip his friend’s shoulder to prevent him from falling onto his back. Cradling the elf with one hand, his free hand pressed down hard on the gaping wound on Legolas’ stomach and felt the warm blood seep rapidly through his fingers.

Legolas let out a sharp gasp as a fresh surge of pain tore through his body, sending him into a violent convulsion. He felt a warm wetness spreading down his side and soaking quickly into his leggings. Aragorn was shouting something, but the pain had deafened him momentarily, and he could not hear what the ranger was saying. The only thought that ran through his mind was that he had failed his friend, and he would pay the ultimate price because of his carelessness. And Thad. What would he do to Elladan and Elrohir?

“Thad...” Legolas’ voice was barely audible, but Aragorn heard it nevertheless. Forcing his eyes open, the elven prince blinked hard through the pain, trying to see past the unshed tears in his eyes.

Thad was moving hastily back towards the house, his right arm still wrapped tightly around Elrohir’s neck. The only thing different was that he was now without a weapon, having thrown the dagger at Legolas. His plan was partially successful. He had intended for the elf to die by Aragorn’s sword, but the ranger’s quick reflexes had spared the miserable elf’s life. However, he doubted that the elf\ would live long. The “special ingredient” that he had added to the dagger would finish the job for him. Now all he had to do was to dispose of his two baits to complete the game. Moving stealthily back towards the hut as he dragged Elrohir along, he planned to kill the twins before making his escape, leaving the hated human to grieve for his loss just like he grieved for the loss of his father. His escape would be easy, for he knew Aragorn would not leave his injured friend to go after him, but he failed to predict what Legolas did next.

Clenching his jaw tightly, Legolas reached towards his back and wrenched out the small dagger. Blood gushed from the wound, and the action was accompanied by excruciating pain, but the elf forced himself to raise the dagger and launched the weapon at the retreating man. Unfortunately, his aim was off by several feet and instead of piercing the man in his upper body, the dagger buried itself in his leg.

With a surprised yelp, Thad stumbled and lost his grip on Elrohir as he crashed onto the ground. Before he could get back onto his feet, Aragorn let out an infuriated howl and lunged at his nemesis. Thad cried out in terror at the enraged human and scrambled frantically back onto his feet, making a mad stumble into the forest.

“Estel... let him go...” The elf struggled with the words, while desperately trying to hold onto consciousness, fighting against the force that was trying to drag him into the darkness.

Although weak, Legolas’ voice traveled to the human’s ears easily in the silence of pre-dawn, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. Aragorn spun around forcefully, feeling extremely guilty for leaving his grievously injured friend to seek his own revenge. Rushing back to the elf prince, he was appalled at the sight that greeted him.

Legolas was lying on his side, his knees drawn towards his chest and his hands clenching tightly at his stomach. Despite his efforts, blood continued to seep through his fingers, staining the grass beneath him a dark brown color. Aragorn did not even dare to imagine how badly the wound on his back was. The elf’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Lines of pain marred his too pale face, and his lips were slightly parted as he panted heavily and with effort, his breath labored and uneven.

Tearing a few strips of cloth from his cloak, Aragorn balled the material and placed it on the elf’s back before rolling his friend as gently as possible onto his back. He hoped that the pressure of Legolas’s body would slow the bleeding while Aragorn tended to his other injury. Pulling Legolas’ hands away from his stomach, the man pressed down hard on the wound with another wad of cloth, trying to staunch the heavy bleeding.

A scream tore from the elf’s throat at his action, and Aragorn fell backwards at the unexpected reaction. Legolas was not someone who would give in to pain so easily unless it was so intense that the elf was unable to bear it anymore. The only time the elf had acted this way was when he had to remove the broken rib from his lung. Something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

Legolas was jerked cruelly back to awareness by the searing pain that threatened to tear him apart. Vaguely, he heard someone scream, not realizing that the tormented soul was actually he. His mind had somehow severed itself from his body momentarily, but now they seemed to have found their way back to each other again. Feeling started to creep back into his broken body, and the pain gradually increased as his senses woke from their slumber. An unnatural heat emanated from his back to the rest of his body, the burning sensation found its way to every nerve in his body. The poison had heightened his sense of pain, and the slightest touch now sent him into a whirlpool of agony, as if he were being burnt alive by the fires of Mordor. He wished desperately to sink into unconsciousness, but the intense pain would not relinquish its grip on him and persistently dragged him back towards the surface. He also wanted to tell Aragorn not to touch him, for each touch sent unrelenting agony flaring through the millions of nerves in his body, but the words refused to come. All he managed was a loud moan, and instinctively drew his knees up to his chest causing him to roll onto his side once again.

Aragorn watched in shock as the elf pulled into a tight ball, tears streaking down his deathly pale face. Fingers of pain wrapped around his heart as a pang of guilt rose from deep within him threatening to engulf him whole. His breath caught in his throat, and he choked out a desperate cry when he witnessed a wave of violent convulsions assault the frail elf. The strong tremor caused him to lose his grip on the cloth he was holding over the wound, and the human cursed out loud at his inability to manage such a simple task. However, most of the anger was directed at the fact that the elf was seriously wounded because of him. He would never be able to forgive himself if Legolas succumb to his injuries.

“Legolas!” the deep fear in his voice frightened even himself, and he drew in an agonizing breath trying to steady himself. He needed a clear head to deal with the situation. If he fell apart now, Legolas’ chances of survival would be close to none. Prying the elven prince’s hand away from his body forcefully, he forced the wad of cloth back into place and pressed the other one onto his back. His action earned him another heart-wrenching scream, but he steeled his nerves and kept pressure on the makeshift bandages, while praying to the Valar for the heavy bleeding to slow.

“Come on, Legolas, don’t you dare give up!” the ranger choked out. The unshed tears finally made their way shamelessly down his face, coalescing at and dripping off his chin.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

TBC...

Chapter 10 – A Grim Reunion

Elrohir groaned and finally managed to push himself to a sitting position after the third try. He was forced to watch the horrifying events as they unfolded before his eyes, having no power to prevent it. When Thad threw the dagger at Legolas, he had shouted out as loud as he could, but his voice barely made it out from behind the gag in his mouth. He hated himself for closing his eyes when the elven prince pitched forward right into Aragorn’s sword, thinking Legolas’ death impending. He did not see his brother’s lightning fast reaction, when he wrenched his weapon back, his reflex changing the result of the intended outcome. Assuming that Thad had succeeded, all hope fled his body, and Elrohir had allowed the man to drag him back towards the house. The thought that Legolas might still be alive never occurred to him, until Thad suddenly dropped him and crumpled to the forest floor. Then he heard an enraged howl, followed by the unmistakable voice of the wood-elf calling out to Aragorn. At first he couldn’t believe his ears, but as he twisted his body around and regarded the scene, he knew that Legolas was still alive… at least for the moment.

The ear-splitting scream tore him away from his stupor and sent a shiver up and down his spine. He did not realize that he had been lying on the grass motionless while Aragorn fought to save the prince’s life. Now that he had finally managed to sit up, Elrohir scooted as fast as his weakened body would allow towards his brother and friend. His legs still refused to cooperate, but he could feel some strength returning to them slowly. Knowing that Aragorn would need to care for Legolas, he and Elladan would have to depend on each other, instead of Aragorn.

The cut on his neck burned, and he could feel the heat radiating up his face and down to his chest, but fortunately the poison on the tip of the dagger had been insufficient to cause serious damage. The neck wound still bled sluggishly, which alerted him to the possibility that the poison might be preventing the blood from clotting. Furthermore, the severe pain that he felt when he strained the muscles in his neck made him wonder if the poison were also designed to torture its victims with unimaginable pain. The revelation sent a shudder through his body as he thought of the pain that the wood-elf was enduring now. He had to tell Aragorn of this discovery before the human unintentionally caused their friend more pain. Doubling his effort, he crawled towards the young man with renewed strength and determination.

A soft rustle behind him alerted the ranger of another presence. Automatically seeking out his sword, Aragorn gripped the hilt of his weapon tightly after his fingers searched out the object. Twisting his body around partly, he swept out with his sword, preparing to defend his helpless friend when a familiar face caught his attention. Yanking back hard on his weapon, the ranger barely managed to stop its forward momentum, the sharp blade coming to a halt mere inches from Elrohir’s head.

“Valar! Elrohir! I could have killed you!!” Aragorn shouted at his brother angrily, but his expression softened instantly as guilt flooded through him at the realization that he had neglected his brother and left him where he had fallen.

Elrohir turned, indicating for the human to cut the ropes that bound his hands. The ranger did it with a quick flick of the blade. With his hands freed, Elrohir removed the cloth from his mouth and flung the offensive material aside. Rubbing his raw wrists and trying to work the feelings back into his hands, the younger twin winced as blood rushed back into his numb fingers, causing the feeling of a million pinpricks in his extremities.

The dark-haired elf hissed disgustedly at the pain, and his head snapped up suddenly as he remembered what he was here for. “Don’t...” Elrohir croaked and had to swallow several times before he regained his voice. “Don’t jostle him too much,” he managed hoarsely, as Aragorn pressed the abandoned bandage back onto Legolas’ back.

“What?” Aragorn looked at his brother, not sure what he was taking about.

“The dagger... it was poisoned. It’s slowing down the clotting of blood and also increasing the sensitivity to pain.” Unconsciously, Elrohir reached up to his neck and touched the shallow cut.

Aragorn watched his brother worriedly. The wound on his neck was still seeping blood.

Seeing his brother’s reaction, Elrohir waved his hand at the human. “It’s all right, I’ll live…” but before he could finish, Aragorn cut him off.

“Where is Elladan? He asked nervously.

“Inside the house. He is fine. Don’t worry. But I’m afraid that you will have to go get him. I don’t think I can make another trip back to the house.”

“What’s wrong?” Aragorn eyed his brother worriedly, concern written all over his face.

“It’s a long story,” Elrohir replied, while ripping several strips of cloth from his own cloak and folding them into pads. Nudging Aragorn’s hand away from Legolas’ body, Elrohir replaced the soaked bandages, trying his best not to jar the elf too much, but despite his mindfulness, Legolas let out a muffled cry. The younger twin apologized silently, but he had to relieve Aragorn so that he could go and release Elladan.

The human nodded curtly and hurried towards the house, disappearing through the door.

Elladan leaned restlessly against the pole. His keen elven hearing had picked up the soft conversation outside the house, and he was relieved when he heard Aragorn’s approach. Letting out a grateful sigh when his brother removed the gag and relieved him of the unpleasant position, Elladan could not help pulling the young man into a fierce embrace.

“Are you hurt?” Aragorn pulled away and immediately began to fuss over his elven brother, scanning him from head to toe, taking in the torn tunic and the dark brown stain that marred the material.

“I’m fine. The wound has almost healed,” Elladan informed the anxious man to put his mind to ease. “Let us get out of this house. I don’t like this place.”

Aragorn agreed with much enthusiasm and helped his brother onto his feet.

Elladan’s legs wobbled dangerously and he was forced to grab onto Aragorn to steady himself. His brother scowled at his weakness but the elf dismissed the man with a small wave of the hand.

“It will pass. Don’t worry.”

“Tell me what happened, `Dan,” the ranger pleaded as he slowly led his brother out of the house.

TBC...

Chapter 11 – The River of Blood

The eastern sky began to brighten slightly as the sun inched higher up from the horizon. A new day had come, and Aragorn hoped that it would bring new hope. Elladan started explaining briefly to the ranger what had happened, and how they were tricked into believing that the mercenaries meant no harm. When he finally finished the tale, they had neared the spot where Legolas had fallen. Elrohir was still leaning over the elf prince. A soft glow engulfed the two figures on the ground.

Elladan staggered slowly to his brother’s side, and Aragorn lowered him down gently onto the damp grass. The older twin then placed one hand on his twin’s shoulder and the other rested lightly on Legolas’ forehead. Gradually, his own light extended around his brother and friend, the intensity increasing as his healing energy added to his brother’s and the two elves directed their strength into their dying comrade.

While Elladan and Elrohir attempted to prolong Legolas’ life, Aragorn took the opportunity to gather some branches and started a small fire beside the trio to ward off the early morning chill. There was nothing else he could do but to sit and wait as his brothers fought to save his best friend from an imminent death.

The two exhausted elves brought themselves out of the healing trance about an hour later and bandaged the prince’s wounds tightly with a torn off strip from one of their cloaks. They had managed to stop the bleeding temporarily, but they would need to get him back to their father before the bleeding started again. Flopping onto his back, Elrohir pressed the heels of his palms into his burning eyes, and Elladan tried unsuccessfully to stifle a sigh as he buried his face into his hands.

“We need to leave immediately. He doesn’t have much time,” Elrohir said wearily, his voice a little shaky from the exertion.

Aragorn rose reluctantly from the fire and shivered as a gust of icy cold wind swept through the field. He rubbed his arms vigorously, trying to warm himself before continuing. “I will carry Legolas. Can the two of you manage?” He hoped that the potency of the poison used on his brothers had somewhat lessened by now. The heavy weight lifted partially from his shoulders when Elladan and Elrohir struggled to their feet supporting each other unsteadily.

“We’ll be fine.” Elladan threw Aragorn an encouraging smile. “You take care of Legolas.”

“Just don’t walk too fast,” Elrohir warned good-naturedly, trying to lighten the mood.

The ranger nodded once and reached down to pick up his fragile friend, lifting him into his arms in one swift motion. Although the elf had lapsed into unconsciousness during the healing, the change in position still elicited a soft moan, and his body jerked slightly at the pain. Biting down hard on his lower lips, Aragorn took a deep breath, trying to calm the deep ache in his heart. Seeing his friend in such state and not knowing if he would survive this incident was tearing the ranger apart.

“Let’s head back to our camp,” Elrohir suggested simply, breaking the tension, “we have some athelas in our packs that may be able to help him.”

“And we have two horses waiting for us there…” the young ranger trailed off, a brief gleam of hope flashed across his eyes. Perhaps there was hope after all, provided that Legolas could stay alive that long.

The trek back to the campsite was painstakingly slow. In their weakened condition, Elladan and Elrohir were forced to stop and rest several times along the way to regain their strength. They had urged Aragorn to go ahead without them, but their youngest brother was reluctant to leave his defenseless siblings for fear that Thad might return to finish his job.

Legolas had been moaning throughout the journey, his condition worsening by the hour. His skin was now cold and clammy, giving Aragorn the feeling that he was carrying a bundle of wet cloth rather than a living being. The only warmth he felt was the blood seeping slowly through the sodden bandages and soaking into his tunic. The bleeding had started again, but not as heavy as before and the ranger was thankful for the small blessing. He did not think the elf could afford to lose any more blood, or there wouldn’t be anything left in his body to sustain life.

It was close to afternoon when they finally found their way back to the camp. Laying Legolas down gently onto one of his brother’s previously abandoned bedroll, Aragorn pulled the other one over the elf’s lean form, tucking the edges securely under his arms. The elf prince did not wake, but that didn’t prevent a small whimper from leaving his lips. Aragorn muttered an apology, even though he knew that his friend could not hear him. “I’m so sorry, Legolas. Please forgive me!” The ranger choked back a strangled sob and knelt down beside the prone elf, brushing a strand of wayward hair away from his pain-creased face. His fingers lingered momentarily on the elven prince’s cheek before moving away to rest on his chest, a single tear rolling down his face. He felt an intense cold settle upon his heart, a cold that no amount of sunshine could warm.

Elladan and Elrohir scurried around clumsily, gathering their scattered belongings before they got a fire burning brightly in the gloomy afternoon. Setting a small pot of water to boil over the fire, they rummaged through their packs and found a small pouch of athelas leaves. Pouring the boiling water into a bowl, Elladan crushed the leaves and dropped a handful of them into the steaming water. The sweet scent immediately filled the cold afternoon air. Inhaling deeply, Elladan let out a small sigh, his tense muscles relaxing slightly as the aroma of the healing herb filled his body and mind, making breathing a little easier. He had not realized that the poison powder in his lungs still hindered his breathing until now.

Elrohir too relaxed visibly. A soft smile played across his tired features, but the smile died suddenly when he heard a low moan coming from beside him.

Moving quickly over to where Aragorn and Legolas were, the older twin placed the bowl down on the grass and lifted the makeshift blanket off the injured elf. A frown worked itself onto the dark-haired elf’s face as he noted the soaked bandages.

“When did he start bleeding again?” he asked apprehensively, his expression grim and resigned.

“About two hours ago.” Aragorn recalled the moment he felt the warm wetness seeping into his clothes and estimated the elapsed time.

The younger twin shook his head with an exasperated sigh. “This is not good. We have to get the bleeding under control, or he’ll never make it home.”

Cutting off the strip of cloth binding the prince’s midsection, Elladan lifted the soiled bandage from his stomach, only to regret immediately as blood oozed out from the open wound at an alarming rate. Cursing under his breath, Elladan pressed the cloth back into place quickly.

“Not good at all!” the older twin exclaimed. A heavy sense of dread crushed down on him like a hundred tons of water trying to drown him.

TBC…

Chapter 12 – Of Elves and Pain

Elrohir watched his brother in desperation. If they lost Legolas this way, his human brother would be devastated, and a part of him would surely die along with the elf prince. Soaking a wad of clean bandage that he had found in his pack into the bowl of cooling herbal mixture, he squeezed out the access fluid and handed it to Elladan.

“We have to risk it,” he said quietly.

Aragorn nodded comprehendingly at his brothers. Fear ate at his heart as he thought of the danger of removing the bandages, but he knew that it had to be done. “The wounds have to be cleaned to prevent infection. It would be pointless if we got him home only to lose him to infection.”

Elladan agreed grimly and instructed Aragorn to prepare some athelas paste while he and Elrohir proceeded to wash out the wounds. They had decided to start with the wound on his back in hope to clear away any lingering poison. Keeping pressure on the stomach wound, the twins rolled the elf onto his side, exposing his back. While Elrohir held the elven prince in position, Elladan discarded the sodden bandage into the fire and proceeded to cut away Legolas’ tunic, exposing his bare skin so that he could work more efficiently. Upon removal of the cloth, blood gushed out from the elf’s back, flowing down his side and soaking rapidly into the bedroll beneath him. Elladan gritted his teeth and worked fervently, cleaning the stab wound as best as he could before accepting a new bandage that Aragorn had prepared with a thick layer of athelas paste smoothed over on one side. Pressing the fresh material onto the cut, Elladan felt Legolas jerk violently beneath his hands. The three brothers winced in unison, their faces taut with worry and guilt.

“We must continue. The faster we finish, the better it is for him.” Elrohir’s words sliced through the heavy tension, and he quickly guided Legolas onto his back, using the wood-elf’s body to press down on the bandage.

Lifting the other soiled bandage off the elven prince’s midsection, Elrohir removed the remainder of his tunic and moved it aside to allow his older brother better access.

Rinsing the bloody cloth in the bowl, Elladan washed out the wound on Legolas’ stomach gingerly. He also did a quick assessment and was greatly relieved that the deep wound did not damage any of his vital organs. Taking a newly prepared bandage from Aragorn, he laid the cloth across the wound and increased pressure until the blood stopped seeping out from the sides of the material. Motioning Elrohir over to him, the older twin wrapped a broad bandage tightly around the wood-elf's abdomen with the help of his brothers, tying it off securely at the side.

*****

Legolas drifted in and out of consciousness. One moment he was floating in a peaceful oblivion, the next he was thrown into a nightmare of agony as white-hot pain overwhelmed his senses. He could not remember what had happened, or why he was being tortured as such. All he remembered was that he was forced to fight Aragorn by a human whose name escaped him, but before he could ponder the situation, another flare of pain ripped him away from all coherent thought and sent him spiraling back into the welcoming darkness.

The next time his head cleared enough for his mind to function, he was aware of the soft material he was lying on. Voices drifted in and out of focus, sounding muffled and far away, and he could not understand a single word, his brain still too fuddled to process anything aside from the fierce ache that accompanied him every time he woke. He felt hands moving about him and then a sharp sting as something warm dribbled onto his back followed by an explosive pain. He had no strength to muster a scream any longer. Only his body responded by going into a convulsive spasm, but the pain faded away somewhat as he felt someone press something warm against his skin. His brain finally registered the sweet scent to be athelas, the herb that had saved his life so many times.

The hands continued to work on him. The numbing effect of the herb masked the pain, reducing it to a more tolerable level. They finally stopped fussing over him, and he felt something thick and heavy being pulled over his body. He was grateful for the warmth that it provided. The people continued to chatter softly beside him, and the familiar voices offered him some comfort as he slowly drifted back into oblivion.

*****

“That is all we can do for him now,” Elladan said grimly as he wiped his hands on his cloak. “Let us rest for a while before continuing our journey.” Turning to Aragorn, the elf inquired about the horses. “Where are they?”

“Where are who?” Not quite sure who his brother was referring to and having forgotten all about the horses, the ranger arched an inquisitive eyebrow at Elladan.

“The horses, silly. Where are the horses,” Elrohir explained with a faint smile seeing the confused look on Aragorn’s face.

“Oh!” Leaping to his feet, the man let out a shrill whistle and within seconds two honey-colored horses came tottering into the clearing, obviously excited to see their riders.

Iarephel lowered her head and nuzzled Elladan on his arm, and the elf reached out to stroke the mare on the nose. Alquamor, on the other hand, buried his muzzle in Elrohir’s hair, nipping at the younger twin’s hair playfully.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Elrohir patted the horse on the head, and the creature let out a small whiney in return, expressing his own gladness in seeing the elf.

The horse continued to pull on the elf’s hair, eliciting a small chuckle from Elrohir, but the chuckle turned into a soft groan as he strained the muscles in his neck while trying to pull away from the overly enthusiastic animal. His reaction was instantly caught by Aragorn, who squinted at him.

Elrohir cringed inwardly and berated himself for letting that moan slip from his lips. The shallow cut on his neck had finally stopped bleeding, but it had taken longer than it usually would have…much longer. Also, even though the wound had started to close, the intensity of the pain had not faded. He had been hiding it well. Even Elladan had not noticed anything… until this moment. Now his older brother glared at him. A scowl broke out on his face, and Elrohir flinched under the scrutiny of his siblings. Shifting uncomfortably, the younger twin avoided their gazes and searched frantically around the campsite for something to divert their attention away from him. His eyes fell on the flask of water, and he put on a sweet innocent smile in an attempt to hide his discomfort.

“Uhh… anyone want tea?” he asked nervously, while scooting slowly away from the two advancing form.

“Don’t make me hurt you more than you already are,” Aragorn threatened darkly. “Let me take a look at that cut.”

Elrohir sighed dejectedly, his shoulders sagging in defeat, and he suddenly found the grass to be very interesting.

Aragorn reached out and placed his fingers under his elven brother’s chin, tilting his head up gently and prodded lightly around the small cut.

Elrohir winced and pulled away from the ranger’s touch, swatting the hand away from his face. “I’m fine,” he insisted firmly. “It just hurt a little, that’s all.”

“Uh huh.” Aragorn looked at the elf incredulously and shook his head at his brother’s stubbornness. This trait seemed to be a trademark of all elves, and he had grown accustomed to it after having spent almost two decades with them.

“Here.” Elladan spoke up suddenly from beside Elrohir and pressed a cloth that he had soaked in the athelas mixture into his hand. “It may help ease the pain.” He indicated for his younger twin to clean out the wound himself.

Taking the cloth with silent thanks, Elrohir dabbed it tentatively on his neck. Aragorn and Elladan chatted quietly as Elrohir worked earnestly on wiping off the dried blood that had caked around the wound. A soft curse halted the conversation, and the two turned towards the younger twin, who was staring at the piece of cloth in his hand.

“Now what?” Elladan complained gruffly.

“I think I broke it,” came the sheepish reply.

“Broke what?” Elladan leaned over and swore under his breath. “Can’t you do anything right?” he scolded his younger brother, but his voice held a tinge of worry instead of anger.

“Hey! It’s not my fault! I didn’t do it on purpose…” the younger elf sighed dejectedly, as his brother took the cloth from him and pressed it onto the bleeding wound gently.“Does it hurt?”

“Quite a bit,” Elrohir admitted ruefully. There was no point lying now that they had already found out.

Aragorn watched the exchange glumly. He was concerned, but he knew that Elladan would tend to his brother and therefore did not interfere.

TBC…

Chapter 13 – Going Home

Elrohir hissed as Elladan increased the pressure and pressed his eyes shut instinctively, balling his fists into a tight ball.

“Sorry,” Elladan whispered apologetically, but Elrohir gave him a brave smile.

“I’m all right.”

“I want to put a bandage on it,” the older elf explained, and Elrohir nodded his approval.

“Go ahead.”

Smiling softly at his brother, Elladan wrapped a loose length of cloth around his twin’s neck and secured it, before giving him an encouraging squeeze on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll live.”

Elrohir snorted and the two brothers shared an impish grin.

“I’m sure Ada will be able to patch you up when we get home,” Elladan reassured his younger sibling.

The younger twin reached out and touched the other elf on his arm, his silver-grey eyes shining with unspoken gratitude mixed with a tinge of relief. “I’m glad you’re all right, `Dan. Thank the Valar the knife they used on you was not poisoned.”

Although at times the two brothers seemed to want to kill each other, it was moments like these that revealed the true compassion they had for each other.

*****

A soft moan from Legolas drew their attention to the elven prince. The elf stirred under the heavy bedroll and let out another painful groan. His action brought the three siblings to his side in a flash.

“Legolas?” Aragorn called out lightly, not daring to touch his friend, afraid that he might hurt him unnecessarily.

“Cold...” Legolas mumbled, his voice so soft that they had to lean close to his lips to make out the word. As if to stress his point, a deep shudder surged through his body, wrenching yet another whimper from his throat.

“I think it’s time we leave.” Rising to his feet unsteadily, Elrohir removed his cloak and handed it to Aragorn. “Keep him warm.”

Elladan too slipped his cloak off and draped the thick material over the younger man’s shoulders. “You’ll be needing this.” Before the human could protest, the twins hurried off to pack up their remaining belongings, tossing the saddlebags over the horses’ back.

Aragorn fastened his brother’s cloak securely around his neck and proceeded to prepare Legolas for their long journey home. Lifting the bedroll reluctantly from the elf, the ranger’s heart sank as he saw that the white bandage was spotted crimson once again. By his estimation, the elf would bleed through the bandage in several hours. With a heavy heart, he raised the elf to a sitting position and wrapped Elrohir’s cloak around his shivering form.

The elf’s eyes fluttered momentarily as he struggled to wake, and it took him several minutes to pry his heavy lids open. Blinking a few times, he tried unsuccessfully to bring the blurry image in front of him into focus; the simple task seemed to be next to impossible.

“Legolas, can you hear me?” The familiar voice drifted into his ears.

“Aragorn?” he asked groggily, unsure if he was awake or still trapped in some dream, but when the pain woke his slumbering senses, he knew instantly that he wasn’t dreaming.

“We’re going home, my friend. Just hold on a little longer...”

Legolas nodded slowly letting his head droop towards his chest, too weak to hold it up any longer. Aragorn maneuvered behind the elf and positioned himself so that Legolas could lean against his chest. He tilted his friend’s head back and rested it in the crook of his shoulder.

“`Dan? `Ro?” The words came out as a mere whisper, and the simple task cost him much of his remaining strength.

“We’re here.” The twins approached the prince and crouched down in front of him so that he could see them.

“You all right?” the wood-elf managed, before his eyes drifted shut, his body going limp once again in Aragorn’s arms.

Helping his human brother lift the elven prince onto his feet, Elladan held onto the unconscious elf as his brother mounted his horse. He then handed his precious burden to the human, settling him in front of the ranger. Aragorn hooked his right hand under Legolas’ arm, his palm coming to rest on the elf’s chest. He needed to feel the beating of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest to reassure himself that his friend was still alive. Pulling the limp elf against his body, he extended his cloak around the prince, wrapping him tightly to keep him warm.

Elrohir packed up the bedrolls and mounted Alquamor, while his brothers settled Legolas onto the horse. He reached up to touch the light bandage around his neck and regretted the foolish action as pain shot down his shoulder. He had found that if he didn’t move around too much, the pain was bearable. Waiting patiently for Elladan to mount behind Elrohir, the riders kicked their horses into a fast canter towards home.

The four companions rode with great urgency, stopping only to change Legolas’ bandages. They were later forced to slow their pace as the hustling caused the prince much pain, even in the state of unconsciousness. His soft moans alerted the human, and Aragorn had to bring Iarephel down to a slow trot.

Elladan and Elrohir matched their brother’s speed, riding slightly ahead of them. The two elves chatted lightly throughout the journey, but now Elrohir’s reactions seemed to have slowed and become rather sluggish.

“`Ro?” Tightening his arm around his brother’s waist unconsciously, Elladan called out gently.

“Hmm…?” The younger elf leaned back against his brother’s chest as the arm pulled at him.

“Are you well?” Elladan felt an unnatural heat radiating from his brother’s body. Pressing the palm of his hand to Elrohir’s forehead, he was dismayed to find it unnaturally warm. “By the Valar! You’re burning up!”

A wave of panic rising within him, he slowed his horse and rode up next to Aragorn. “`Ro is running a fever. I think his wound is infected,” he said briskly.

Aragorn threw a worried glance at his elven brothers. “We’re still a long way from Imladris. At this rate, we won’t be able to reach it for another four hours.” Looking over at Elrohir, who had slumped awkwardly against Elladan, his concern grew another notch. “Ride ahead of us. Get him home fast! We will follow as quickly as we can manage.”

“Be careful…” Elladan reached out and patted his brother on the arm, before kicking his horse into a reckless pace, leaving Aragorn and Legolas far behind.

“What are you doing?” Elrohir muttered as he felt Elladan bring their mount into a run. He gripped his brother’s hand, which was wrapped securely around his waist to keep him steady upon the animal’s back.

“I’m saving your hide, so be quiet and concentrate on not falling off the horse,” Elladan answered smoothly, trying to contain the fear in his voice.

“I do not fall off horses,” Elrohir retorted crossly, “unless thrown off by an insane brother who is riding as if the entire army of Mordor were at his tail.”

Elladan snorted and ignored the remark. Even at this speed, it would still take them close to an hour before they would reach The Last Homely House, and he knew that infection-induced fever raged like wild fire. Elrohir might not even be able to think straight by the time they reached home.

“I’m fine, `Dan.” The lie was dispelled, however, as a shiver ran through his body, drawing a small moan from the young elf. “All right, I’m not fine,” Elrohir ground out bitterly, “but can you slow down? It’s giving me a headache.”

It was actually more than a headache. His entire body ached; every joint in his body felt like it was falling apart. He suddenly felt sick to the stomach as a wave of nausea assailed him, and the rocking motion made it worse. Another groan escaped his lips, and he clamped his hand over his mouth, trying to hold back the bile that threatened to rise up his throat.

“`Dan... stop...” He forced the words out from between his fingers. “I don’t feel good...”

Elladan pulled the horse to a sudden halt. Elrohir practically rolled off the beast and staggered a few feet away, before falling to his knees. Bracing himself up with his hands, he retched and gagged as his stomach tried to empty its non-existent contents. He had eaten nothing since the day of their capture, save for some water.

Elladan rushed to his brother’s side and supported him by the shoulders, while holding his hair out of his face as the heaving continued to assault his body. Rubbing the younger elf’s back in soothing circles, Elladan whispered gently to him in elvish. The words somehow helped his brother relax.

The dry heaves slowly let up, and Elrohir felt a pair of strong arms encircle him from behind, lowering him onto the grass. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he allowed his brother to help him up to his feet. His legs wobbled treacherously and, for a moment, he thought he was going to crash back unceremoniously onto the ground. He was thankful when his brother held him upright. Making their way unsteadily back to the waiting horse, Elladan boosted him onto the animal and then clambered up rather clumsily behind him. He had not yet regained his strength from the recent poisoning.

“I’m sorry,” Elrohir apologized, embarrassed, knowing that his little display had troubled his brother.

“Don’t be,” came the soft reply. “Are you feeling better?”

The younger twin nodded slightly, not daring to think what would happen if they started on a fast gallop again.

Sensing his brother’s anxiety, Elladan brought the horse to an easy trot. Pressing Elrohir’s head against his chest, he whispered into his ears. “Close your eyes.”

Elrohir complied without complain and let his eyes drift shut, while concentrating hard on his ragged breathing.

“Remember the lake that we used to frequent back home?” the older twin asked, and was awarded with a small nod. “Think of the still water of the lake, calm and peaceful... sunlight reflecting off the surface...” He felt Elrohir inhale deeply. “Imagine the flowers in full bloom, their soft petals bathing in the sun... the fresh scent of damp grass after the rain...” Elladan continued to coo softly and gradually increased the pace of the horse when he felt Elrohir relax against him. Soon, they were riding at a reckless speed towards home again.

TBC...

Chapter 14 – Against All Odds

Legolas stirred under Aragorn’s arm, as if sensing his agitation and apprehension. The elf twisted against his body, causing Aragorn to tighten his grip on the Mirkwood prince.

“Shh… be still, my friend,” the ranger soothed kindly, brushing a lock of stray hair out of the elf’s pale face and tucking it behind his ears.

His fingers brushed past the elven prince’s face and stopped dead in their track. Pressing the back of his hand on the cheek, Aragorn felt a slight flush on the previously cold skin. His heart skipped a beat at the discovery, he and silently admonished himself for his negligence. Tightening his legs around the sides of his horse, the young ranger urged the animal into a quick canter. He did not dare to ride too fast for fear of aggravating Legolas’ injuries. However, if he could not get the elf prince back home in time, nothing would matter anyway. Legolas would most probably succumb to the infection. Weighing his options, Aragorn decided that Legolas would stand a better chance with infection than bleeding to death. Therefore he maintained his current speed, hoping against hope that they would make it back home before the full force of the fever struck.

Legolas shifted slightly. A low moan sent a weak vibration through Aragorn’s palm, which was still pressed firmly against the elf’s chest.

“Estel…” The thready whisper would have been lost if Legolas had not reached up and taken hold of the ranger’s hand.

“Hold on Legolas, I’ll get you home and you’ll be fine,” the man said, not knowing if he could fulfill his promise to his friend. Nevertheless, he had to think positive and hold on to what little hope he still possessed. Squeezing the prince’s hand tightly in his, he prayed to Ilúvatar to spare his friend’s life.

“Promise me…” Legolas struggled with his words. He needed to speak to his friend, in case he did not survive the trip. “Do not blame yourself… not your fault…” It was all he managed to say before having to pause for breath, which was now coming in short, painful rasps. He was trying hard not to show his pain, but his body betrayed him as a spasm coursed through his form.

Aragorn’s breath caught in his throat as he heard the elf’s words. How could he not blame himself? It all started because of him. He was the culprit. Thad was aiming for him, but instead it was his brothers and friend that ended up paying the price.

It was all his fault.

“Promise me… please…” the elf pleaded.

Not able to hold back his tears any longer, Aragorn let them flow freely down his face. His throat constricted as if someone had wrapped a hand around his neck and squeezed his windpipe shut. He couldn’t breath, and, for a frightening moment, things started to go dim. He thought he was going to pass out, but then he thought of Legolas. If he fell, he would bring Legolas down with him, and he didn’t think the elf could withstand the pain. Forcing his lungs into overdrive, he drew in a wheezing breath, and his head cleared somewhat. Taking another deep breath as the invisible hand around his throat eased, his world slowly came back into focus.

“Promise me…” Legolas pressed on, determined to get an answer from Aragorn.

“I promise,” the young man said with a small sob.

“Thank you… all of you…” His voice was getting weaker, if that were even possible. “Tell my father… I love him…”

“No. You tell him yourself!” Aragorn almost shouted. “You hear me? You tell him yourself!!” But his words fell on deaf ears as Legolas’ hand slipped from his grasp and fell limply to his side.

Aragorn inhaled sharply as he felt Legolas’ hand fall, and his heart seized in his chest. “NO!!” His scream reverberated into the night. Reaching up with a trembling hand, he pressed his fingers against Legolas’ neck searching frantically for a pulse. Letting out a strangled sob after several long moments, he released the breath that he did not realize he was holding when he felt a weak and erratic pulse, almost undetectable but present, nonetheless. However, he could no longer feel the warmth of his fever, and the elf felt cold to the touch. The prince’s bleeding had also slowed, because he no longer felt the warm blood seeping into his tunic. Legolas’ body was shutting down.

“Don’t you dare die on me, Legolas Greenleaf!” Aragorn whispered sternly into the wood-elf’s ear, as he kicked his horse into a full gallop. He had nothing to worry about now. The prince would not feel any more pain, nor bleed any more than he would regardless of the speed they were riding at. The only thing that mattered now was getting him home before all was too late. But perhaps it was already too late.

*****

Elladan held on tightly to his brother as they rode with great speed into the night, closing the distance between themselves and their home. The older elf could now see the gates of the Last Homely House, the formidable wooden fence stood tall and mighty under the dim moonlight.

“We’re home, `Ro. Hold on,” he spoke softly, but Elrohir was barely conscious to hear him. His fever had spiked during their trip, and the young elf felt unusually warm against his twin’s body. Cold sweat covered his face and neck, flowing in small rivulets down his back.

Elrohir moaned softly in response, but Elladan was not sure if his brother even understood what he said. Spurring his horse onwards, he was glad to see that the gates were open, obviously in anticipation of their arrival.

Elrond was blessed with the gift of foresight, and Elladan was certain that his father had foreseen their return. He must have sensed something was amiss and therefore expected their need for speed. Slowing his horse as he entered the courtyard, he was not surprised to see his father and his father’s advisor waiting for them in the garden. Elladan pulled Iarephel to a stop and slid off the horse rather ungracefully, with his brother still clutched tightly in his arms. As his feet connected with the ground, his knees gave way, and the two brothers crumpled into a tangled heap with a small grunt.

Elrond and Erestor made their way over to the twins in a few quick steps and crouched down beside them, but before either of them could speak, Elladan blurted out their dilemma hurriedly.

“`Ro is running a high fever… the poison is hurting him… the wound won’t stop bleeding… Legolas is hurt bad… they’re riding right behind us…” The words tumbled out of the distraught elf in one breath.

“Slow down, Elladan.” Elrond placed a hand on his eldest son’s shoulder to calm him. “Are you hurt?” The elf lord’s gaze fell on his torn and bloodstained tunic.

Elladan shook his head vehemently. “I’m fine. But the cut on `Ro’s neck is not healing and…”

The elf lord interrupted his son with a wave of his hand. “Let’s get Elrohir inside first. Erestor will wait for Estel and Legolas.” With that, the elf lord slipped one hand under the younger elf’s knees and the other under his upper torso, lifting him off the grass with practiced ease. Elladan stood with the help of Erestor and gave the advisor an appreciative smile, before following his father promptly. His legs still wobbled unsteadily, but he was grateful that neither his father nor Erestor questioned him further. He would gladly tell them the full story once he was sure that everyone was on the mend. Now that he had gotten his brother home safely, he wondered how Legolas fared.

TBC…

Chapter 15 – From Bad to Worse

Elladan's mind drifted as his legs carried him automatically into Elrohir’s room, depositing him in the middle of the chamber, where he stood rooted to the floor while his father laid his precious burden onto the bed. Healers bustled into the room carrying water basins, bandages, and various healing herbs, making their way around the elf standing unmoving in their path.

A pair of strong arms took Elladan by the shoulders suddenly, and the elf snapped out of his reverie with the touch. Turning around, he found himself staring at Celboril. The servant was trying to steer the elf away from the busy path towards a large chair at the corner of the room.

“Sit down, Master Elladan. You look like you’re going to fall over soon,” the older elf said gently, while lowering the exhausted elf into the over-stuffed chair.

Elladan sighed heavily and sank into the seat. His eyes darted around the room, following the movements of his father and the healers as they fought to lower Elrohir’s fever and clean the cut on his neck before stitching it to promote healing. He never noticed Celboril’s departure as the servant left the room silently.

Elrond unwound the sodden bandage from his son’s neck and tossed it into an empty basin before picking up a piece of damp washcloth and daubing around the wound tenderly. The cut was partially crusted with dried blood, but a part of it still seeped. The elf lord pressed the cloth lightly on the wound and heard his son whimper under his touch. He jerked his hand away, his heart breaking into a hundred pieces at the pitiful sound.

“I’m sorry, my son.”

The soft whisper floated through the quiet room, and Elladan let out a small sniffle at his father’s words. He knew exactly how the elf lord was feeling at that moment.

“Tell me what happened, Elladan,” Elrond requested from the bed, his sight never leaving Elrohir as he worked on closing the wound on his son’s neck.

“It was Thad, father,” the dark haired elf said blatantly, but when he received no reaction from his father, he added, “the son of Baran.”

Elrond’s body stiffened at the mention of Baran, and his head snapped up suddenly. Quickly finishing what he was doing, the Lord of Imladris cleaned his hands and left the remaining tasks to the healers. He made his way across the room to Elladan and crouched down beside him, looking intently into his silver-gray eyes.

“Tell me more.”

“Thad blamed Estel for his father’s death. He hired someone to ambush Elrohir and I, rendering us defenseless with some sort of powerful muscle relaxant. That was when I received this wound.” Elladan reached up and touched his torn and tattered tunic. “But fortunately, the knife they used was one of our own and not their foul weapon.”

The elf paused when his father brushed a lock of stray hair away from his face, and then he continued, “He wanted to kill us so Estel would feel the same pain and grief he felt when he lost his loved one. He forced Estel to fight and kill Legolas by threatening him with Elrohir’s life... and that was when he cut Ro on the neck with that poisoned dagger.” Elladan shuddered at the recollection of the details, which Aragorn and Elrohir had told him after he was freed. “The poison not only hinders the normal clotting of blood, but also increases its victim’s sense of pain.” Pausing momentarily, the older twin gathered his strength before delivering the final blow. “And he threw the dagger at Legolas, stabbing him in the back.”

Elrond paled visibly at the information. If a small cut on Elrohir had brought him such discomfort, he dared not imagine what condition the elven prince would be in. Elladan’s next words brought his world crashing down upon him.

“Father... Legolas fell onto Estel’s sword when he pitched forward after Thad ambushed him.”

Sweet Eru! Elrond had to brace himself on the arm of the chair to prevent from falling backwards. Elladan reached out a hand and grabbed his father’s arm to steady him.

“That is the reason why they are riding slower than us. We cannot control Legolas’ bleeding, and the slightest movement causes him great pain,” Elladan explained, although he knew that fact was already quite clear. Before Elrond could question him further, shouts erupted downstairs, signaling the return of his human son and the elven prince. The commotion moved rapidly up the stairs and past their room into the guestroom in which Legolas always stayed when he visited them. Springing onto his feet, Elrond summoned two of the healers and rushed out of the room towards the one next door.

*****

Erestor was just setting Legolas gently onto the bed as Elrond and the two healers dashed into the room. Aragorn was hovering anxiously around the bed, until the advisor forcefully pulled him aside to allow the healers access to the injured elf.

Legolas was still as death. All color had left his face, and his lips were tinged slightly blue. His eyes were closed; dark circles marring the pale skin under his them. The rise and fall of his chest was barely noticeable, and the bandage around his body was stained dark red. The elf lord did not understand how the young prince had managed to stay alive for so long.

“Get a fire burning! Hurry!” Elrond shouted the command at no one in particular. “We must keep him warm!”

Erestor rushed to the fireplace and started a fire, as Aragorn added more logs onto the hearth. Soon, flame warmed the room, but unfortunately the heat failed to warm the cold body of a certain elf prince.

Working diligently, Elrond rolled Legolas onto his side and examined his injuries. The wounds were small but fairly deep. Usually they would not have been fatal, but with addition of the poison, the wounds could bring death to the Mirkwood prince. The elf lord wondered if stitching the wound would make any difference, but he could not just sit and do nothing. No matter what the expected outcome, he still had to do his best. So with the help of Dûrsereg and Nilram, he cleaned and closed the wounds, before wrapping a heavy bandage around Legolas’ abdomen. Finishing all that could be done, the two assistant healers retreated discreetly, leaving Elrond, Erestor, and Aragorn in the room with their friend.

Elrond placed his hand on the injured elf’s chest and chanted quietly, his soft elven glow extending around Legolas as he shared his strength with the dying elf. Aragorn stood numbly by the fire, watching his father infuse his strength into the limp body of his friend. He half expected the prince to suddenly open his eyes and tell him that everything was all right. However, Aragorn knew that wasn’t going to happen this time.

Waiting for his father to break off from the trance, Aragorn approached him tentatively. “H-How...” the human stammered. He couldn’t bring himself to say more and choked on the rest of his words.

Elrond shook his head sadly. “We have done all we can. It’s all up to him now.” The elf lord clasped his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “He’s lost too much blood, and the bleeding has not stopped yet. I don’t know if he can survive the night... but if he is still alive by late morning, there may still be hope.”

Aragorn’s shoulders shook as broken-hearted sobs racked his body. Sorrow and anguish overwhelmed him, and the pent-up emotions that he kept locked up inside of him tore down his defenses. The ranger wept openly in front of his father and the trusted advisor.

TBC...

Chapter 16 – Voice from The Past

Elrond felt his heart twist painfully in his chest. Suppressing a small sob of his own, he pulled Aragorn into his arms and embraced his grieving son, rubbing the man’s back up and down to calm his ragged breathing. “Do not despair yet, Estel. There may still be hope...” Elrond repeated the words, even though he knew them to be a lie... unless they could stop the bleeding in time. “The healers are working on a remedy to counter the poison in his system,” the elf lord said as he turned slowly to look at the unconscious elf and then back to his son. “Elladan told me that it was Thad.” The statement hung heavily in the air.

Aragorn nodded, not trusting his voice to speak yet.

“I need you to do something, my son. It will be difficult...”

Before Elrond could finish, Aragorn interrupted. “I’ll do anything, if it might save Legolas.”

“I need you to go to Thad’s old house and see if you can find any strange plants or flowers. Baran was a man of many talents, and one of them was developing exotic tonics and toxins. If Thad has somehow inherited his father’s skills, he may have gone back to the old house and continued Baran’s work,” Elrond explained. “This may be the last chance we have. I can’t spare any healers to go with you, for I need them here to continue working on a cure.”

“I’ll go with him.” A gentle voice from the doorway brought their attention to the figure standing by the entrance to the room. Elladan had changed into a set of clean clothes and his tangled hair hung slightly damp and silky straight, and he smelled of fresh pine. Apparently, he had been held back by Celboril when he wanted to join Aragorn and Legolas upon their return. The servant had appeared mysteriously just as he was about to follow his father out of the room, and Elladan was forced back into the bedchamber. He was later shoved into the bathing room, much to his protest, but the insistent servant threatened to lock him inside if he didn’t get clean up and have something to eat.

The elf walked unsteadily over to the bed and brushed his fingers over the young prince’s cheek, hoping that his touch could miraculously wipe the lines of pain from his friend’s features. “I’ll go to Baran’s with Estel.”

“No, Elladan. You’re still too weak,” Aragorn pointed out firmly. “You need to rest for your body to remove the remnants of the poison.” The young man approached his elven brother and rested his hand lightly on Elladan’s shoulder. “Thank you for your offer, but I’m afraid I cannot accept it. I’m sorry.”

Elladan sighed resignedly. “I understand, Estel. There is no need for apologies.” He reached up and patted his little brother’s hand, resting on his shoulder, affectionately. “Just… be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

Despite the graveness of the situation, a small smile crept into Elladan’s face, but it only lasted for a fraction of a second before his demeanor turned serious again. His brother was always careful, but no matter how vigilant he was, trouble seemed to find him on a regular basis.

Someone cleared his throat and gained the attention of the two brothers. Aragorn and Elladan turned in unison to face their father and the advisor, who had watched the exchange in complete silence.

“If you two are done, I would like to finish what I was saying.” Elrond’s smooth voice cut through the stillness like a knife. “I was going to suggest that Erestor go with you, Estel.”

Erestor bowed slightly at Elrond’s suggestion, indicating that he would be honored to accompany the young man. He knew that the trip would not be easy for Aragorn, for he had suffered much, both physically and emotionally, at the hands of Baran many years ago. In addition, he was the one who had ended Baran’s life and so thought that he was partially responsible for what had happened. The least he could do was to be by Aragorn’s side when he faced his demons once again.

Aragorn returned Erestor’s bow and accepted his offer gracefully. “We will depart immediately.” With one final glance at his sleeping friend, Aragorn followed Erestor out of the room.

*****

The ride to Baran’s old house was uneventful, and by the time arrived it was already dawn. The man and elf dismounted and approached the gate of the wooden fence. The place looked the same as it had almost twenty years ago, except that the grass had overgrown and the house was weatherworn. It did not look like anyone had stayed there for quite some time, but it also didn’t look like it had been abandoned for close to twenty years.

Unlatching the gate, Erestor and Aragorn entered the compound and made their way cautiously towards the door. Heart thumping in his chest, Aragorn couldn’t help the feeling of dread and panic that was building up rapidly inside of him. Every aspect of the house reminded him of his two-week stay at this place… fourteen days of sheer terror and pain.

The ranger stopped abruptly as he stepped under the roof and realized that he was standing on the exact spot where he had landed when Baran pushed him off the roof. Memories that he thought he had forgotten came crashing back to him without mercy, and Aragorn was forced to squeeze his eyes shut against the assault. Baran’s voice exploded in his head, so clear that it seemed that he was reliving the nightmare again.

# “Get up you worthless piece of....” Baran shouted at the young child as he strode into the pantry, accusing the boy of breaking the glass door to the cupboard. Estel's befuddled mind was still trying to make sense of things when the belt connected with his back. #

Aragorn gasped and his body stiffened as he felt hot flashes of pain flaring through his body. Erestor noticed that something was wrong when the man’s eyes slammed shut, his thoughts turned inward with some horrifying memories. The advisor moved in front of Aragorn and reached out to grab his arms, trying to get his attention, but the young man suddenly cried out as if in pain.

# Baran yanked Estel forward by his slender wrist, and they heard a sickening crack as the fragile bones snapped under the force. Estel screamed out in agony, searing pain shooting up his arm and tears streaming down his pale face. “You will never tell your father! For I will tell him you should be cast from his house before you shame him further. You are worthless!” #

The cruel words echoed in his ears and tears sprang from his eyes involuntarily. The pain and fear he felt were so real that he thought he had traveled back in time… back into the nightmare.

*NO!* His mind screamed out in a frenzied panic.

*Will never tell! Will never tell!* The three words played over and over inside his head.

# "You must learn, you filthy boy. If you even dare tell your father, I will hunt you down and kill you in your sleep." #

Aragorn shook his head violently and staggered backwards, trying to pull himself free from the source of pain, not knowing that it was all merely the haunting memories of so long ago. As he retreated frighteningly from Erestor, the young man tripped on a piece of log lying hidden among the tall grass. Unable to regain his balance, for a part of him was still trapped in the horrid memory, Aragorn lost his footing and fell, landing hard on the ground. The sudden jolt tore him away from his waking dream and brought him back to reality. Blinking at the tears that clouded his vision, the man took several deep breaths in attempt to steady himself and calm his pounding heart. He could feel his heart hammering ferociously in his chest, like a caged animal trying to make its way out of his ribs. His hands trembled as he brought them in front of his face. He couldn’t believe what had happened so many years ago still affected him such. Burying his face in his hands, the ranger let out a shuddering breath. A hand touched him lightly on his shoulder, and he looked up to find that he had drawn his knees up to his chest and was sitting on the slightly damp grass.

“Estel?” Erestor’s voice was gentle as he locked gazes with Aragorn, staring into his silver-green eyes. He wasn’t sure if the man had regained his senses, or if he were still trapped in the past.

“I’m all right,” Aragorn replied and was disappointed when his voice came out a little weak and shaky. He didn’t want the advisor to worry about him, but his voice had already betrayed him.

Erestor stood and extended his hand towards the man. Aragorn grasped it and pulled himself back to his feet. The advisor did not need an explanation for what happened because he already knew the incident in detail… too much detail.

Brushing the wrinkles out of his tunic, he turned to Erestor with a determined nod. “Let’s go inside,” he said.

The elf gave him a wary look, unsure if entering the house would bring back more bad memories, but Aragorn gave him a light push and directed him towards the entrance.

“We don’t have much time. Legolas’ life depends on me. I cannot fail him,” the man said, more to encourage himself than to inform Erestor.

TBC...

Chapter 17 – Unexpected Discoveries

The floorboard creaked loudly as they stepped past the threshold. The air inside the old house was stale and musty. A thin layer of dust covered the floor and furniture, an indication that the house had been unoccupied for quite some time. However, the condition did not give the impression that it had been abandoned since Baran’s death. It looked like someone had been staying there until several months ago, for the house seemed tidy and ordered.

Moving into the kitchen and over to the dining table, Aragorn ran a finger over the surface, drawing a line in the dust. It was on this table that he had knocked over the glass of milk accidentally and earned his first beating. The young man closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, his gaze traveled to a tall cupboard standing in a corner. A few quick strides brought him over to the cabinet, and he saw that one of the glass panes on the door was missing.

“Looks like they neglected to replace it…” the young ranger muttered to himself.

Rows of books sat neatly on the shelves, and one particular title caught his attention. Pulling the doors to the cupboard open, he ran his fingers across the spine of the books and stopped at one with the title ‘Portal to Wisdom’. Aragorn hooked his fingers on top of the book and tried to pull it out, but it wouldn’t budge. Tugging at it a little harder, he dislodged the book and slid it out on its base. Suddenly, the shelves rattled, and the cabinet shifted slowly to the left, exposing a hidden compartment almost as tall and wide as the cupboard itself. Inside the compartment, the shelves were lined with bottles of various colors, shape, and sizes. Unfortunately, none of them were labeled.

“I think we found their stock of merchandise,” Erestor said from beside Aragorn, handing him a small pouch.

“I only hope one of them can help Legolas,” Aragorn said as he picked up the bottles hurriedly and placed them carefully into the bag. After collecting everything, he pushed the book back into place, and the cupboard slid back to its original position. “We should check the garden for any suspicious plants,” the man said, after shouldering the pack.

“Lead the way,” Erestor replied and followed as Aragorn found the exit to the backyard.

Weeds covered the small garden, but what caught the elf’s and man’s attention was a small patch of ground that was devoid of any weeds. Several tall plants, which Aragorn had never seen before, grew in abundance. Bending over, the ranger wrapped his hand with his cloak and uprooted the smallest plant, stuffing it into his pack.

“This may be what we need. I’ve never seen any plant like that before.”

“And the fact that no other plant-life grows beside them tells us that they may be poisonous,” Erestor added.

Aragorn nodded in agreement and surveyed the remaining plants, but none of them looked unfamiliar. Mentally noting the names of all the plants in the garden, Aragorn turned to his left, and his eyes fell upon an old axe and some logs. Without warning, a vision of the past hit him like a boulder, crushing all the air out of him. An apparition of Baran materialized out of thin air and took shape in front of his eyes. He could hear the man's voice clearly, as if Baran were actually there… towering over him.

# “Why is there no wood chopped?”

“I- I can't do it...”

“What do you mean you 'can't'?”

"My hand is hurt... I cannot lift the axe... it is too heavy.”

“Do you mean this hand?” Baran growled and reach out, grabbing Estel's right hand and squeezing the small hand in his much larger one. The small boy howled in pain as Baran twisted his wrist.

“Get inside, you worthless thing!” Baran said as he shoved Estel towards the door. #

The strangled cry that rose from Aragorn’s throat alerted Erestor that the man was once again been assaulted by memories from the past. Stepping over to the human quickly, he was able to steady Aragorn when he staggered backwards, almost loosing his balance.

“Easy, Estel...” the tall elf soothed as he supported the wavering human by wrapping his arms around the man's shoulder and guiding him towards a stool beside a small stone table. “Sit down.” Erestor pushed the ranger down upon the seat and brushed a lock of his wavy brown hair out of his face tenderly.

Aragorn took in several shaky breaths to recompose himself, before apologizing softly to the advisor. “Seems like I’m more trouble than help,” the young man laughed bitterly, his head still hanging and his eyes fixed on a spot on the ground.

“Do not say that, Estel, it was not your fault.” The dark haired elf placed his fingers under Aragorn’s chin and tilted his head upwards until they were looking into each other’s eyes. “Let go. Do not let the past haunt you any longer. I know it is difficult, but you have to try. Baran is dead. He can no longer hurt you.”

“I will not let the memories haunt me anymore.” Aragorn repeated Erestor’s words with determination, as his eyes shone with unshed tears. “He cannot hurt me.”

“Good. Now, let’s go home and let your father work his miracle with the things that we’ve discovered.”

Aragorn looked up into the sky and squinted at the bright afternoon sun. “I hope we’re not too late,” the man said with a deep sigh as he lowered his head.

“Have faith, Estel. Legolas may be young, but do not underestimate the will power he possesses. He is stronger than you think.”

Erestor’s encouraging words drew a soft smile from Aragorn. “You are right, as always.” Reaching out his hand, the man clasped the elf on the forearm and allowed the advisor to pull him to his feet. The two companions made their way hurriedly to their waiting horses.

TBC…

Chapter 18 – Encouragements of an Old Friend

Elrond smoothed his son's hair back from his forehead and planted a small kiss on the warm skin. Elrohir was doing much better after several hours of rest. The stitches that held the cut on his neck closed had done their job, and the wound had finally stopped bleeding and started to heal. The bruises on his chest had already faded, indicating that the internal bleeding had already been under control before the poisonous dagger cut him. The elf lord was relieved that he did not need to worry about that injury. Elrohir’s fever was also diminishing slowly and steadily, and the young elf had woken briefly when Elrond checked on him a few minutes earlier. He was still rather disoriented, but coherent enough to inquire about his brothers and friend. Elrond reassured him that Elladan and Estel were fine and that Legolas was still clinging desperately to life. Elrohir did not press for more information, for he had drifted back into a deep sleep, and his father was thankful that he did not have to go into any details.

Pulling the thin blanket over his son's shoulder, the Lord of Imladris rose from the bed and exited the room. Making his way down the corridor to the adjacent room, Elrond halted as he noted familiar footfalls coming up the stairs. Turning around, he waited as Glorfindel caught up with him in a few quick steps.

“Welcome home, my friend,” Elrond greeted the blond warrior warmly. “It’s good to have you back.” The elf lord was glad that he would have an extra pair of hands to help him take care of the children while he worked to find a cure.

“It’s good to be back. Two weeks in Lorien was getting a little unnerving. I can’t believe I missed your son’s mischief after the first week.” Glorfindel’s smile turned into a frown when Elrond did not seem to share the jest. His friend looked weary and tired. His once proud posture was slumped slightly, as if an invisible weight were weighing him down.

“Is something wrong?” the blond elf laid his hand on Elrond’s shoulder as he searched those deep grey eyes of his friend’s. When Elrond did not answer immediately, Glorfindel felt a pang of fear rise from within him. “Elrond? What’s happened?”

“It’s a long story.” The dark-haired elf motioned for Glorfindel to follow him. “Come. Walk with me.” The elf lord led Glorfindel towards the next room and, the blond elf let out a surprised gasp as he saw the pale figure on the bed buried under layers of blankets.

Legolas’ ashen complexion gave him an almost transparent look. The elf prince’s eyes were closed, and dark circles marred the skin beneath his long lashes.

“What on Middle-earth happened to him?” the warrior exclaimed, shocked.

Elrond did not answer, but approached the bed and lifted the blankets gently. Noting the blood soaked bandages, the elf shook his head and sighed out loud. “Remember Baran and his son Thad?” Elrond asked as he removed the soiled bandages.

Glorfindel nodded numbly, his heart suddenly turning cold at the mention of the names. “Yes, I remember... too clearly.”

“Thad decided to avenge his father’s death.” The words hung thickly in the air, and it took Glorfindel a moment for the news to finally sink in.

“And Estel?”

“He’s fine... at least physically,” Elrond assured his long time friend and began to relate what had happened to him as the two of them worked on cleaning Legolas’ wounds and applying fresh bandages. “I’m more worried about Legolas. He’s already bled through three bandages since his return. I don’t know how much longer he can hold on...” the elf lord trailed off as he pulled the blankets back over the woodland being. “His body temperature is dangerously low, and if we can’t stop the bleeding, he’s going to die.”

The statement was blunt and straightforward; there was no room for maybes.

Glorfindel brushed his fingers over Legolas’ sunken cheek, and his hand rested on the elf’s face momentarily. “He’s so young,” the blond elf lord whispered sadly, “and yet he has taken up such great responsibilities in protecting Estel. The poor child had gone through so much.” After a short pause, he continued, “Thranduil will be devastated if he loses his only child...”

“We will all be...” Elrond choked out, unable to suppress the emotions that rose from within him any longer.

Glorfindel removed his hand from Legolas and in turn rested it on Elrond’s shoulder. “I know you have long treated Legolas as one of your own,” the warrior said sympathetically.

The Lord of Rivendell nodded slightly. “I love him just like any of my other children. It pains me to see him...” The rest of the sentence was lost when a sob robbed him of his voice. Silver tears trailed down his flawless face, and he quickly wiped them off with his sleeve. Taking a shuddering breath, Elrond exhaled slowly and tried to recompose himself.

Leading his distressed friend to a chair, Glorfindel eased him into it gently. “Do not despair, my friend. You said you have sent Estel to search the old house. Maybe he will find something useful.” The blond elf crouched down beside the large chair and tried to encourage his friend.

“I am not sure if there is anything to find. Even if he did, I am not sure if I can develop an antidote in time.” Elrond buried his face in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees and his body bent forward in defeat.

“You need to have faith in yourself, Elrond. If you give up now, Legolas is as good as dead.”

Elrond’s head snapped up abruptly at his friend’s words. “No! I will not let him die while he’s under my charge!” the dark haired elf said determinedly. “I will do everything within my power to save him.”

“Good! That’s the attitude I want to see in you,” Glorfindel said encouragingly and patted him light on the back.

“Thank you,” Elrond replied appreciatively, with a weak smile.

“Anytime, my friend,” came the other's reply.

Rising from the chair, Elrond moved towards the window and looked down at the garden below. Judging by the shadows cast by the sun, it was several hours past noon. The fact that Legolas was still alive gave him hope that the elfling might survive. All that needed to happen now was for Aragorn to return with something useful and for them to find a cure. In the meantime, the other healers and he were working frantically to develop something to counter the poison in the elf prince’s system, just in case Aragorn came back empty-handed.

“I need to get back to work,” Elrond said, while his gaze was still affixed to the fields beyond the gates, hoping to catch a glimpse of Aragorn and Erestor.

“I will send them to you when they return.” Glorfindel approached from behind and pulled him away from the window, directing him towards the exit. “Go. I will look after Legolas.”

Elrond nodded once and glanced back at the unconscious elf one last time, before being shoved out of the room by Glorfindel.

After Elrond’s departure, Glorfindel dragged the empty chair next to the bed and settled down into it with a heavy sigh, If he had not been away in Lorien, he would definitely had gone with the two children to search for Elladan and Elrohir. Then maybe none of this would have happened. But it was too late for regrets now. Taking the smaller hands in his own, the elf lord rubbed them tenderly, trying to work some warmth back into the icy fingers.

“Legolas, I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can, I want you to know that we are doing our best to help you. So you have to be strong and hold on.” Not expecting a response from the comatose elf, he was taken aback when he felt a twitch in his hand. But when he examined the prince closer, he was disappointed to see hat there were no signs of him waking, and it made him wonder if he had only imagined it.

A soft knock at the door drew his attention away from Legolas momentarily, and the turned to see Elladan standing by the entrance.

“I thought I heard your voice,” Elladan said with a small smile.

Returning the greeting, Glorfindel motioned for the twin to enter. The younger elf moved towards the blond warrior and sat cross-legged on the floor beside his chair. The elf lord ruffled his hair affectionately, while giving him a quick visual examination. Elladan looked fine, except a little tired. He seemed to have regained his strength and was glad that the poison did not cause any long lasting effects. His shoulder wound had almost healed completely, but Elrond had insisted he wear a sling for a couple of days, so that he wouldn’t over exert himself.

Elladan squirmed uncomfortably under the scrutiny of the older elf. “I’m fine Glorfy, really,” he tried to reassure the elf lord, but Glorfindel was determined to see for himself.

Silencing Elladan with a wave before the dark haired elf could say anything else, the warrior prodded his injured shoulder.

“Hey!” Elladan yelped, “that’s not fair!” Reaching up to rub the sore spot, Elladan glared at Glorfindel with an annoyed pout.

“Yes, you are definitely fine.” Glorfindel grinned and dodged a swat from the younger elf. Both of them shared a brief smile, before turning serious once again. “How’s your brother?” the warrior asked.

“`Ro is getting better. His fever had gone down when I checked on him before I came over.” He paused briefly. “How’s Legolas?” He tilted his head towards the bed.

“Not too good, I’m afraid. Your father and I have just changed his bandages. He is still bleeding.”

“I hope Estel finds something that will be able to help him.” Elladan scooted closer to the bed and took one of the elf prince’s hands, squeezing it tightly. “Hold on, Legolas... for your father… for all of us...”

TBC...

Chapter 19 – Keeping Vigil

Soft footfalls outside the room notified them of someone approaching. Half expecting the visitor to be Elrond, they were surprised when Elrohir appeared at the door. Bouncing up to his feet, Elladan sprang towards his twin and took him by his arm. “What are you doing out of bed?” he admonished his younger brother, while guiding the weakened elf to the chair that Glorfindel had so kindly vacated.

“I’m getting sore from lying down. Besides, I feel fine, just a little weak.” Thanking Glorfindel for the seat, the younger twin shrugged his brother’s hand off. “I won’t fall to pieces you know. You don’t have to hold me together,” he quipped with a smirk, as Elladan pressed him down into the chair. “Any changes with him?”

“I’m afraid not,” Elladan replied.

“I thought I felt his fingers twitch earlier, though,” Glorfindel added, “but it could just have been my imagination.”

The three of them sighed in unison and then shared a mirthless laugh.

“Estel blames himself for what happened,” Elrohir stated the obvious. “I fear for him if Legolas does not pull through.” His last four words were barely above a whisper; as if by keeping his tone low, the chances of it happening would be lower as well.

“Do not say such things, Elrohir,” Glorfindel berated the younger twin. “You must have faith in your brother and friend. Legolas _will_ be fine and Estel _will_ be able to find something of use.” Just as the last word left his mouth, Erestor strode into the room.

Springing to their feet, the three elves surrounded the advisor, drowning him with questions regarding the search. Erestor stood dazed by the bombardment of questions. Having no idea who to answer first, he finally lifted his hands, palm out, requesting that they stop talking.

“Slow down!” he exclaimed as he retreated from the anxious crowd and moved towards the bed. His gaze fell upon the elf prince’s pale face, and he couldn’t help reaching out to touch his cheek briefly. “We found some bottles hidden in a secret compartment behind a cupboard. Unfortunately, none of them were labeled, but I’m sure Lord Elrond will find them useful. We believe that those were ingredients for concocting vile potions and poison, for they were hidden well. If not for Estel’s curiosity, we would never have found them.” Erestor paused to allow the information to sink in, before continuing. “We also found a strange plant in the backyard, one that grew in isolation, with no other plants growing within two feet of its location. Estel believed it was poisonous. He has taken everything to his father in the healing room. They’re trying to determine the contents of the bottles and the nature of the plant now.”

“That will take a while.” Elrohir let out a heavy breath. The throbbing ache in his neck reminded him of the constant pain Legolas must be in. Even in the state of unconsciousness, the wood-elf’s face was twisted with unspoken suffering. Silence filled the room, for no one knew what else could be said or done. All that was left was a long, agonizing wait and the collective prayer directed at the elven prince.

*****

Afternoon turned into night, but still no news was heard from Elrond and the other healers. Aragorn now sat slumped in the chair beside his friend’s bed, his head rolled to one side in an uncomfortable angle. The soft sound of breathing could be heard from the sleeping man. The ranger had rooted himself in the chair after his father chased him out of the healing room for being overly agitated. He, in turn, chased the twins, Glorfindel and Erestor out of Legolas’ room so that they could get some rest and also to allow him some peace and quiet with his friend. That was almost six hours ago.

Soft footsteps approached the room, but the sleeping man did not stir. The figure entered quietly with a tray and laid it down on a small table near the end of the bed, before moving to Aragorn.

“Estel...” The voice was quiet and gentle, so as not to startle the slumbering human. “Wake up.” The voice got more persistent when the man showed no signs of waking. Elrond tapped Aragorn on his arm lightly, and the man jerked awake instantly, his head snapping up sharply.

“Leg’las?” The man asked groggily but urgently, still trying to clear his mind from sleep. “Is he...” His voice faltered as the thought that Legolas had passed on while he had slept struck him. His heart hammered in his chest, and he could feel his blood pounding in his ears. “Noooo...” The mournful words broke from his lips before Elrond could explain the reason for rousing him.

“Shh... it’s all right...” The elf lord rubbed the young man’s arms to calm him down. It tore at Elrond’s heart to see his youngest son in such grief.

Aragorn inhaled deeply trying to steady his rapid heartbeat. “He’s not... dead?” the ranger asked with a shaky voice.

“No, my son. He lives still. I just need your help,” the elf lord explained to the young man, who was still trying to recover from the initial shock that he had bestowed upon himself. “But we have to work fast. His strength is waning, and he is fading by the seconds. We don’t have much time.”

Aragorn nodded curtly, his heart still thundering against his chest. “What must I do?” he questioned his father, his voice trembling in fear and apprehension.

“Get him into a seated position. I need to apply the poultice to his wounds.”

Heeding Elrond’s instruction, Aragorn slipped his arm under Legolas’ shoulders and lifted the elf’s upper body off the bed. While supporting the limp body, the man sat down on the bed and slid in behind the prince into a position which would allow Legolas to lean back against his chest. Pulling his friend’s head against his shoulder, he brushed the golden hair away from his face.

“Hold him tight. He might get a little...” the elf lord hesitated for a second, “he might get a little physical.”

Aragorn wrapped his arms across Legolas’ chest and signaled with a small nod that he was ready. Elrond removed the bandages from the wood-elf’s midsection carefully but quickly and set it aside. The prince’s upper body was now bare, and Elrond grimaced at the sight of the ugly wounds. The area around the puncture wounds was swollen badly, turning the skin a sickly shade of blue and dark purple. Crimson blood oozed out slowly from the cuts once the pressure of the bandages was removed, and the sticky wetness now ran down the young elf’s stomach and back in small rivulets. Elrond secretly wondered if the young one could survive the infection, even if the anti-poison worked to stop the bleeding. Shaking his head to push the dreadful thoughts aside, the elf lord concentrated on the task at hand. He scooped out a copious amount of paste from a bowl and spread it onto his palm. Setting the spoon down, he rubbed the paste between his hands and then pressed them, one in front and the other at the back, to Legolas’ body.

TBC…

Chapter 20 – Test Subject

Legolas jerked violently, his back arching sharply in Aragorn’s grasp, and the man heard a crack as the extreme movement caused the bones in his battered body to shift and grind against each other unnaturally. For a moment, Aragorn thought the elf was going to break into two.

Sheer unrelenting agony wrenched the prince’s consciousness back toward the cruel world of pain from the dark void that it had taken refuge in. The elf writhed and thrashed wildly as the anti-poison worked its way into his system, searing his every nerve as it attempted to neutralize the poison. A loud groan rose from the prince’s throat and quickly manifested into a heart-wrenching howl. The thrashing and writhing continued for several more seconds, but let up slowly until the elf stopped completely. Finally, he lay limply in Aragorn’s arms, breathing raggedly as he fought for air.

Noting that the bleeding had slowed considerably, Elrond let out a tired sigh and quickly laid new bandages over the wounds, but before he could even clean his hands, Elladan and Elrohir came crashing into the room. They skidded to a stop mere inches from the bed and regarded their father in shock.

“What happened?” Elladan gasped, his voice laden with worry and fear as his gaze shifted from Legolas to his father’s bloodstained hands.

Elrohir wore the same expression as his older brother, and both of them stood paralyzed at the sight. Elrond opened his mouth as he formulated an explanation, but as he began to speak, Glorfindel crashed into the room unceremoniously, braking to a halt as he noticed the crowd.

“What happened?” the warrior demanded nervously.

“We’ve just asked that,” Elladan informed the blond elf lord.

“And father was just about to explain when you barged in,” Elrohir chided mildly.

Glorfindel rolled his eyes at the twin sons of Elrond and turned his attention back to his friend, his demeanor turning grave again.

“Elrond?” the blond elf prompted, eager to find out the reason they had been jarred out of their elven dreams and brought halfway down the corridor without their footwear. Glorfindel had just noticed that in their haste, none of them had the sense to put on their boots.

“I think we managed to develop an antidote...or at least something of that nature,” Elrond said as he applied the new bandages to Legolas, with Aragorn’s help.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at his friend’s words. He was certain that Elrond had not told them everything. “What do you mean ‘something of that nature’?”

“We worked up something to stop the bleeding. However, the poultice will not ease the pain, and he would have to endure the hurt until the wounds are healed completely,” Elrond explained patiently as he finished off his task. Motioning for his youngest son to lay the prince back down onto the bed, the elf lord watched as Aragorn arranged the young elf comfortably under the blankets. Tucking a strand of stray hair casually behind his pointy ears, Elrond stood and brushed the wrinkles out of his tunic.

Determined to find out more information, Glorfindel tried to gain his friend’s attention by grabbing the dark-haired elf’s forearm. “How do you know that it only stops the bleeding and not the pain?”

The question was answered by a small grimace, and Elrond withdrew his hand away from Glorfindel’s touch a little too quickly. The elf lord regretted his unintentional display and prayed that none had noticed his uncanny action. But luck was not at his side this day.

“What is wrong, Adar?” Elrohir jumped to his father’s side. Aragorn and Elladan also appeared beside him in a blink of an eye.

“Nothing.” The elf lord tried to dismiss the group of inquisitive onlookers, but Glorfindel’s gaze was persistent.

“Elrond, do not try to brush us off. We are not easily fooled.”

The three children nodded in agreement, as the blond warrior reached out and took Elrond’s hand, smoothing back his sleeve to reveal a lightly bandaged forearm. Realization dawned on them immediately.

“You tested it on yourself!” Aragorn almost shouted. He could not believe that his father would take such risk to develop an antidote to save his friend, and he felt even guiltier than he had before. It was he who had led Legolas into this mess, and now his father had to suffer in trying to undo his mess.

Sighing in defeat, the Lord of Imladris sank into the chair that had suddenly appeared behind him. “I cannot ask someone to do something that I’m not willing to do myself,” he justified, while pulling his sleeve over his arm and hiding his secret behind silky material.

“You could have tried it on me,” Elrohir said softly.

“Nay. It took us quite a while to get your bleeding under control and break your fever. I did not want to risk it.” Elrond waved his hand in dismissal. “I am fine. Do not worry.” Turning his attention to his twin sons, Elrond regarded their tired faces. “The two of you look exhausted. Go back to bed.”

When Elladan and Elrohir started to protest, Elrond graced them with ‘the look,’ and they finally relented and left the room reluctantly. Having settled the twins, he now turned to his youngest son. Aragorn shook his head, knowing exactly what his father was about to say.

“No, I’m staying right here...with him,” the young man told his father evenly, and when Elrond’s stern gaze did not waver, he pleaded. “Please Ada, I need to do this. I have to see that he is all right.”

The elf lord’s features softened at his son’s words, and he sighed resignedly. “Very well, you may stay, but if you insist on camping here, you better get comfortable. Go find yourself some blankets.”

The smile on the ranger’s face broadened at his father’s approval, and the man slipped out of the room in search of the items he needed to set up a temporary outpost in the elf prince’s room. Glorfindel watched in amusement as the young man made a beeline out of the room.

“It’s amazing how these two have grown so attached to each other, Elrond. They’re almost inseparable.”

“Yes, but Estel is mortal, and one day he will depart from this world. Legolas will be left alone to mourn his passing... though now we don’t even know if he will outlive Estel...”

Glorfindel laid a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “He is strong. He will pull through. Come,” the blond elf guided Elrond to his feet and pushed him gently towards the door, “you should get some rest.”

Elrond nodded warily. He did not deny the fact that he was worn out. The many tedious hours of working to determine the contents of the unlabeled bottles had drained him both physically and mentally. He had insisted that his healers get some rest when their tasks were done, and he had spent the last few hours testing the antidote against the poison that they had extracted from the mysterious plant, which also happened to be found in Legolas’ blood. Unfortunately, they were unable to determine what toxin heightened his sense of pain, but Elrond thought it would be wiser to stop the bleeding first, before dealing with anything else.

Dragging his feet heavily across his bedchamber after Glorfindel left him by the entrance to his room, the elf lord sank into his bed with a soft moan. ‘I’m getting too old for this’ were the last words he muttered before his head hit the pillows.

*****

TBC…

Chapter 21 – Falling Apart

Aragorn dozed in a large chair beside the bed where his friend rested. A book lay unattended across his lap, the pages flapping softly as the night breeze found its way through the open window. The weather was getting colder with each passing day, but the cool air was not able to ease the raging fever that plagued the Mirkwood prince. The infection brought on by his injuries had spread into his blood, and for the past five days, none of his caretakers had gotten any decent sleep. Day and night they tried to bring the fever down, but to no avail. Legolas was dehydrated, but they could not get any fluid into him. Whatever they managed to force into the prince was rejected violently by his body, and eventually they had to stop trying for fear of choking him. That would do more harm than good.

The man shifted slightly in his sleep, his movement disturbing the balance of the book. The reading material slipped from its perch and landed on the floor with a loud thud. The sound of the impact reverberated in the silence of the night. Aragorn jolted awake and jumped onto his feet in an instant. He swayed slightly as his sleep fogged mind adjusted to his sudden movement and tried to connect his legs to his still awakening brain. Blinking several times to clear his blurry vision, his eyes slowly adjusted to the dimly lit room. Letting out a heavy sigh, the man bent over and picked up the book, tossing it back carelessly onto the chair.

Checking Legolas’ temperature for the hundredth time since he took over the watch from Elladan, he was disappointed when the persistent fever did not show any signs of leaving its victim. However, he thought the intense heat had diminished somewhat and hoped it wasn’t just his imagination. Wringing out the cloth in the basin that they kept beside the bed, Aragorn bathed Legolas’ chest and arms, before placing the cool material across his forehead. The elf moaned as the wet cloth made contact with his burning skin, and he turned his head towards the source. Aragorn’s heart leapt as he noticed the elf’s reaction to the external stimuli. This was the first time in many days that Legolas had shown any signs of movement at all.

“Legolas?” Aragorn called out to the archer gently, but all he received was another small groan.

“Legolas, please wake up,” the young man pleaded, but only silence greeted him. Aragorn wanted to scream. He was frustrated and angry. Angry with himself for causing his friend such pain and torment. Angry that he had been unable to pull his sword back fast enough. Angry that he had been unable to find a cure to the vile poison. The ranger banged his head on the bedpost repeatedly, trying to silence the little voice inside his head that kept telling him that Legolas was going to die. Finally, the man burst into a loud sob and sank onto the floor, burying his face in his hands as he wept openly in sorrow and pain.

So profound was his grief that he felt his heart ripping inside his chest and his lungs constricting forcefully behind his ribs, making breathing an agonizing task. He felt dizzy from lack of air, and his head swam sickeningly. When he forced his eyes open, the man was not surprised to find bright green spots floating before his vision. Pulling himself unsteadily to his feet, he knew that if he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, he would pass out, but no matter how hard he tried, his body refused to cooperate. The grief stricken human gasped and wheezed, desperately trying to breathe, but he could not. As the world around him slowly swirled out of focus, he thought maybe that was for the best. The pain was just too much to bear, and he welcomed the temporary relief.

Strong hands grabbed him from behind as he staggered backwards, holding him firmly by the arms. Aragorn felt himself being lowered to the ground, but his oxygen-deprived mind was too shocked to identify his rescuer, until the person moved to embrace him gently, running a hand up and down his back.

“Relax, Estel, don’t rush it.”

The voice was soothing yet commanding. Aragorn’s fingers closed instinctively around the fabric of his father’s robe, gripping onto it for dear life as his chest heaved painfully. Surprisingly his father’s presence seemed to have helped his breathing, and cool, refreshing air finally filled his burning lungs. His head cleared somewhat, and the loud ringing in his ears faded to a faint buzz.

“Ada...” the young man sobbed brokenly as he buried his face in the crook of the elf lord’s shoulder. “It hu..hurts.” Tears burned his eyes, and he felt a great unrelenting pressure upon his chest, crushing him. He took a shuddering breath and pushed away from his father. One hand still gripping his father’s clothes, he raised the other and pounded his fist against his chest vigorously. “I hurt!”

“Estel!” Elrond barked as he pried the human’s hand away from his body and pinned it down by his side. “Stop it!” the elf lord shouted in a frenzied panic as Aragorn let out a shrill scream that almost shattered his eardrums. Unable to watch his son in such misery any longer, Elrond pinched down hard on the nerve on the side of his son’s neck and immediately felt the human go limp in his arms.

“I’m sorry, my son.” Elrond apologized softly as he lowered the unconscious man onto the floor.

“Estel is taking this really hard,” said Elrohir, who had entered the room with his older brother and father, speaking up for the first time since they stepped into the chaos.

“Will he be all right?” asked Elladan, as he got over his initial shock and laid the tray that he was carrying onto the small bedside table, before crouching down beside his youngest brother.

Elrond reached out and wiped the tears from Aragorn's pale face, as Elrohir proceeded to crush some athelas leaves into the bowl of boiling water that they had brought with them. The sweet smell of the healing herb filled the small room, instantly flooding its occupants with a temporary sense of serenity.

Aragorn moaned. His lids fluttered open sluggishly, and he found three pair of silver-gray eyes staring down at him. Struggling to sit up, the human accepted Elladan’s aid, as the older twin slipped his hand behind his brother's back and helped him sit up. Inhaling deeply, the young man let out a long sigh and lowered his head into his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled, “it’s just that...I can’t bear to see him like this... withering away...”

“He’s not withering away. In fact, I think he’s getting better,” Elrond consoled his distraught son.

“He is?” Aragorn asked incredulously. “But when I checked...”

“You’re tired. Why don’t you go get some fresh air, while we take care of Legolas,” interrupted Elladan, before Aragorn could see through his father’s ‘misinformation’.

“Dan is right. Come, I’ll walk you to the gardens.” Elrohir grasped Aragorn by his arm and pulled him to his feet, ushering him out of the room before he could protest.

Elrond and Elladan watched as the testy human was escorted out of the room, before letting out the breath that they were holding. Elrond shook his head sadly and turned to his remaining son. “Let’s get to work.”

They proceeded to bath the elf prince’s wounds, turning him onto his side to have better access to his back. The task was tedious and gruesome, for the wounds were badly infected. The poison in his veins had retarded the healing process rendering the wounds slow to mend.

“Do you think he will live?” Elladan asked solemnly, as his nimble fingers continued to work on the elf prince, his eyes never leaving his patient.

“I do not know. If he wakes, the chances of his survival will be greatly increased.”

“But it has been five days already, and he hasn’t showed any signs of waking.”

“We have to keep trying and keep hoping. To lose hope is to give up.”

Elladan nodded slightly. Finishing up the last of the dressings, the dark-haired elf eased Legolas onto his back once again and gave one of the prince’s hands a firm squeeze. “Do not surrender to this evil! You hear me?” Placing the limp hand across Legolas' chest, the older twin followed his father out of the room. Had he known that the wood-elf had responded to Aragorn’s ministration earlier, he would never have left Legolas unattended.

TBC...

Chapter 22 – Prisoner of the Mind

Hands. He felt hands all over him… prodding… pressing… hurting him. Why were they hurting him? Hushed whispers whirled about him, but they sounded muffled and foreign to his ears. Who were they? He tried to concentrate on one voice in an attempt to make out the words, but he could not seem to separate one from the other. The voices twisted and blended together, the words jumbled into a language that he had never heard before. But the voices faded away as the owners retreated from him. Gone were the voices… along with his pain.

He had to escape, to get out of this prison quickly, before his tormentors returned. He lay there for a long time, willing his fingers to move, and it felt like an eternity before he managed to flex them. Senses started flowing back into his body at a painstaking rate, but eventually he felt strong enough to at least open his eyes. Prying the heavy lids open, he had to suppress a groan as the room spun sickeningly, forcing him to squeeze them shut again. He tested his legs and arms and was surprised that they were not bound.

‘Must have thought me too weak to attempt an escape.’

Trying to push himself up from the bed, he fell back promptly onto the pillows as knives of pain shot through his body.

‘And they are probably right.’

Bracing himself for the pain, he tried again, this time successfully pushing himself into a sitting position. Daring to open his eyes again, he blinked hard, trying to bring the double images into focus, but failing miserably. In spite of that, he gazed around his surrounding. He was in some kind of room. The place was dark and warm… uncomfortably warm. His skin felt like it was burning. A dull ache started to build behind his eyes, and his breath felt hot under his nose.

‘Have to get out.’

That was the only thought that ran through his mind. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he laid his bare feet on the cool floor. With great difficulty, he pulled himself up, with the help of the bedpost, and stood unsteadily, his hand pressed firmly on the heavy bandage around his abdomen. The walls and furniture around him wavered, and the exit to the room twisted and swayed in his vision. Praying that he could make it out without crashing into the wall, Legolas staggered towards the door.

His throat was dry and parched; each breath he took burned his lungs. His legs were weak from lack of use, and he felt like he had not walked for weeks. It took him forever to finally wobble his way to the door. Bracing himself on the doorframe, he panted heavily, ragged breath tearing through his heaving chest. Despite his vulnerable position, he risked closing his eyes for several seconds to gather his rapidly fading strength.

The place was quiet. The hallway seemed to be deserted, and he couldn’t sense the presence of any guards. Staggering out of the door, he continued down the dark corridor as silently as possible, with little success. His movements lacked their usual gracefulness, and he bumped into the railing, causing it to creak under his weight. Legolas held his breath and listened intently for the approach of guards, but miraculously none came. Heaving a sigh of relief, he continued on, his world still spinning nauseatingly, making him a little sick, but he did not have the luxury to stop and rest.

Legolas realized that he was in a house, and the residence looked vaguely familiar, but his feverish mind could not place the location. Besides, thinking made his head hurt, so he decided to carry on with his plan. Moving to the end of the corridor, he found a flight of stairs leading downwards. Stumbling down the steps, he was relieved to reach the bottom landing without pitching headfirst down the stairs. Leaning heavily on the wall to reassess his surroundings, he couldn’t believe his luck when he saw the front door several feet away. Swaying dangerously on his feet, he gritted his teeth against the increasing pain in his lower back and stomach. He gripped the bandage that lay over his wounds tightly in his fist and headed clumsily towards the door, hoping that the fresh night air could clear his fuzzy mind somewhat.

The journey to freedom was taking forever. Each step sent searing pain through his body, and he was forced to move slowly to prevent himself from passing out. Sweat beaded on his brows, and the wetness was making its way down the sides of his face and neck, drenching his clothes and making the thin material cling uncomfortably to his skin. But he would not allow such small discomfort to deter his mission. He had to find Aragorn and get out of this place, before they discovered that he was gone. Aragorn. Where was Aragorn? His mind was a complete jumble. He could hardly form a coherent thought, let alone remember what had happened to his friend. Dragging his exhausted body towards the door by sheer will power, the elf finally reached his destination. Pressing himself against the doorframe Legolas forced his body to remain upright as he took in large gulps of fresh air. Unfortunately, the night air did little to help the screaming pain that plagued him.

Opening eyes that he did not remember closing, the elf prince berated himself for his carelessness. Forcing his brain to give the command to move his legs, Legolas took a tentative step forward, praying hard that his legs would continue to hold his weight when he stepped through the threshold into the garden.

The night was quiet and serene. Legolas drew in a sharp breath as his bare feet made contact with the damp grass, not because it pained him, but because he had not anticipated the coldness that pierced his skin. The elf shook himself mentally, gathered his strength, and lifted one foot, placing it in front of the other. Moving slowly and without a destination, Legolas made his way sluggishly across the field, away from the house. He had no idea where he was heading, but moving seemed like a good idea to him at that moment.

*****

Aragorn sat on the stone bench, his face turned skyward at the thousands of stars shinning brightly in the cloudless sky. Elrohir sat beside his brother, a hand resting lightly on the human's knee, silently lending him the strength and courage that he lacked to face whatever might happen. For five days Legolas had held on and fought the infection, but the prince did not seem to be getting any better. Their father had said that unless Legolas awoke, he would eventually lose the battle and slip into eternal rest. For five days Aragorn had tried to coax the elf back to consciousness, but he had received no responses whatsoever. Tonight was the first time Legolas had shown the tiniest sign of waking, but his hope was crushed when the elf failed to respond to his pleadings.

Aragorn blinked once, tears of frustration and despair that had pooled in his eyes rolled down his cheeks. Wiping them away forcefully with his sleeves, the man stifled a sob that rose up his throat. He could not make himself believe it was not his fault that Legolas lay dying in the room. Elrohir patted Aragorn's knee lightly, for he did not know how to comfort the young man any longer. Words were spent, and only actions remained. The human gave his elven brother a forced smile, thanking him for the emotional support.

“The stars are bright tonight,” Aragorn said suddenly.

“Yes they are,” concurred Elrohir. “And Earendil is especially beautiful,” he added. “There may still be hope, Estel. As long as he still draws breath.” The words were gentle, but held much resolution as the younger twin tried to calm his brother.

Aragorn nodded. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as a gust of wind swept through the garden, a small shiver shaking his body. Noting the human's discomfort, Elrohir suggested that they return to the house.

“Father will have my skin if you fall sick under my care,” he joked, trying to lighten the situation.

The young man snorted and rose quickly to follow his brother as the elf turned a corner and disappeared from his sight. When he rounded the corner, he saw his elven brother staring at a figure moving away from the front door of the house, and the figure looked a lot like...

“Legolas?” the human called out automatically.

The figure twirled around and stumbled a little but turned back and hastened his pace.

“Legolas!” Aragorn shouted at the retreating elf and started running after him.

TBC...

Chapter 23 – Escaping the Truth

Legolas heard voices behind him, and his heart went cold at the sound. They had found him! They knew he had escaped! Risking a quick glance behind him, the prince lost his footing in panic when he saw the two figures watching him.

‘No!’ his mind screamed as he broke into a run... or at least he thought he was running. But the footsteps kept getting closer, no matter how fast he ran, and soon his pursuers were right behind him. Bracing himself for the blow that he knew were coming, he was surprised when the hands that grabbed him by his arms were firm but gentle. The owner of the hands spun him around, and Legolas found himself staring into a pair of confused silver-green eyes.

“You’re awake...” Aragorn’s voice broke when he saw that the elf was indeed Legolas. “But why... why are you running from me? Do you blame me still?”

Legolas blinked hard after his initial shock. “You.” He looked at Aragorn, confusion marring his pale and sweaty face. “I...I know you...” The prince struggled to remember. His befuddled mind slowly worked out the details of the human’s face. “Aragorn...”

The human nodded vigorously, having temporarily lost the ability to speak. He was overcome with joy and grief, happy that his friend had finally woken, but saddened that he was trying to avoid him.

“H-H’ve to g-get out...” Legolas mumbled urgently. “T-They coming...”

“Who’s coming?” Legolas’ words confused and frightened the ranger.

The blond elf’s gaze turned upon Elrohir, who stood some distance away to give the two friends some privacy. “They hurt me. They are c-coming!” the prince repeated.

“No one will hurt you. You’re in Rivendell,” Aragorn soothed the distraught elf. “That’s Elrohir. Don’t you remember him?”

“El’hir? R’vndell?”

“Yes, you are safe.” Elrohir stepped forward into the light and moved towards the duo so that Legolas could have a clear view of him.

“Elrohir.” The wood-elf repeated the familiar name and turned to look at Aragorn once again. “Estel...”

“Yes, it’s me,” the man assured his friend.

With a sigh of relief, Legolas let his defenses down, and the exhausted elf sagged against Aragorn, almost dragging the human to the ground with him. The ranger staggered backwards as the additional weight fell upon him, but Elrohir’s quick reflexes prevented the two from toppling on top of each other. Steadying the human, Elrohir lowered the semi-conscious elf onto the grass, with the help of Aragorn. The man then removed his cloak hurriedly and draped it over Legolas.

“We need to get him back inside,” said Elrohir. “Adar will have a fit if he learns that our dear prince tried to escape from his house,” the elf added as he scooped the frail creature into his arms gently. Nudging Aragorn in the arm with his shoulder, Elrohir tilted his head towards the entrance to the house. “After you, little brother.”

Aragorn shook himself out of his thoughts and started back towards the building in a hurry, only to run into a near frantic Elladan.

“Estel!” the older elf gasped as he came nose to nose with his human brother. “Have you seen Legolas? He’s...” Elladan stopped in mid-sentence as his gaze traveled beyond Aragorn’s shoulder and fell upon his twin and the bundle in his arms. The elf’s jaw dropped, and he gaped at the sight. “By the Valar!” Elladan exclaimed. “How did he manage to get out of bed?”

Without waiting for an answer and not expecting one either, the oldest son of Elrond ushered his brothers into the house, before closing the door and shutting out the cold.

“He should be thankful that he’s the prince of Mirkwood, or I would make him walk back to his room on his own,” Elrohir grumbled good-naturedly as the siblings made their way upstairs.

“...heard that...” came a slurred and slightly breathless reply from within Elrohir’s arms, followed by a soft groan.

All the moving around did not help his healing wounds, and Legolas’ body surely did not like the unwelcome exercise. He hurt all over and felt like he would fall apart if they did not reach their destination soon. All he longed for at that moment was to slip off into the welcoming darkness, where he could be free of the pain. Another moan escaped his lips as he felt his body being shifted slightly by his carrier while Elrohir settled him carefully onto the familiar bed. Legolas kept his eyes closed, trying to will the pain to leave him, but to no avail. He heard footsteps around him, but he could not make out to whom they belonged. A wet cloth was pressed onto his forehead, and he welcomed the cool sensation. Someone was checking his bandages, probably to make sure that he had not ruined Elrond’s handiwork during his little performance earlier. The process hurt him, but he tried to suppress the whimper rising up his throat. For the sake of his friends, he needed to be strong. They were no doubt blaming themselves for his injury, in one way or another, even though he could not recall what had happened. All he knew was that he was engulfed by a fiery pain that wound into every fiber of his being. Each breath that he took sent a fresh surge of agony through him, and the elf wished that he could hold his breath forever... never to breath again, for the task simply pained him too much.

“Legolas? Are you all right?” He heard someone ask, and only did he realize that he had been moaning out loud.

The injured elf tried to reply, but words refuse to come. He tried opening his eyes, but the action proved to be too much for his weakened body. When the ‘someone’ leaned over to check on him and unintentionally bumped into the mattress, the fire inside him flared with renewed strength. Unable to hold back any longer, the elf prince cried out as pain tore through him, ripping his consciousness from his body once again.

Elrohir gasped when Legolas’ pain-filled cry was cut short and his body went limp. Reaching out nimbly, he pressed his fingers on the elf’s neck and let out a long sigh when he found the weak but rapid pulse under his digits. Elladan and Aragorn looked on anxiously from behind the younger twin, both wearing a deep frown on their faces.

“He has lost consciousness.” Elrohir turned from the bed, his expression grim and tense. “But maybe it’s better for him. It was a miracle that he made it downstairs. I can’t imagine the pain...” The younger elf trailed off as his hand moved unconsciously to his neck, touching the still tender skin lightly.

Placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder, Elladan guided the elf away from the bed. “There's nothing we can do for him now. All that is left for us to do is wait. But since he had regained consciousness, I suppose he’s out of danger.”

Elrohir nodded and dropped down onto a chair with a grunt. “I need a vacation,” he said in attempt to lighten the mood. “Some place where disaster cannot follow... somewhere you-” the young peredhil jabbed a finger at Aragorn, “cannot follow.”

The young man pressed his hand against his chest and inhaled sharply. “Are you saying that I’m a walking disaster?” Aragorn asked with a hurtful voice.

“No, I didn’t say that. You did.” The next thing Elrohir knew, he was trying to dodge a cushion launched straight at his face. Having not enough time to rise from the chair, the younger twin tilted the furniture to his right, instead, to avoid the flying object, only to lose his balance and topple over. He landed on the floor with a loud thud. The cushion sailed past, narrowly missing his head, and ended its journey in...

TBC…

Chapter 24 – A Crippled Life

Elrond heard soft chatters upstairs and guessed that his sons had decided to reconvene in Legolas’ room. He walked briskly towards the guestroom, intending to tell them to give the poor prince some peace and quiet, but when he stepped through the door, several things happened almost simultaneously. He saw a cushion flying, Elrohir tipping his chair and falling over, and Aragorn gaping in surprise. Before the elf lord could even react, the cushion hit him squarely in the chests and the momentum forced him back a step. Catching the small pillow against his body, the elf lord watched in amusement as Aragorn’s expression changed from surprise to horror, while Elladan tried to help untangle his twin from the chair. Several quick strides brought Elrond to the center of the room, as his children recomposed themselves and greeted him nervously.

“We were just...” Elladan started to explain, but Elrond stopped him with a wave of his hand. The elf exchanged a nervous glance with his brothers and took a deep breath, bracing himself for his father's rage... but it never came.

Instead, Elrond approached the unconscious elf and pressed his hand on the prince's forehead, feeling the fever emanating from the body like a heated hearth. “Has he awoken?” he asked.

“Yes, but only for a while.” Elrohir went to his father's side and quietly told him what had happened. Elrond nodded occasionally as his son filled him in on the events that had transpired only a few minutes ago.

“Will he be all right, Ada?” Aragorn asked after Elrohir finished his tale. Although Elladan had already told him that Legolas was out of danger, he wanted to hear it from his father. He needed the confirmation.

Turning to face his son, Elrond spoke slowly. “Yes... he will survive...”

Aragorn eyed his father intently, waiting for the other half of the sentences, but it never came. Instead of waiting for the older elf to continue at his own pace, the ranger prodded his father. “But what, Ada? Please tell me. I want to know the truth.”

A soft sigh escaped from the elf lord’s lips. “The fever worries me. If we cannot get his temperature down soon, he may suffer some irreversible damage to the brain.”

Aragorn’s heart sank at his father’s words. Brain damage. The proud Mirkwood-elf would choose death over a crippled life. If they could not break his fever by dawn, they had already lost him.

“Is there anything you can give him to ease the fever?” Elrohir asked. He refused to give up after all they had gone through to save Legolas.

“I can put together something...” Elrond walked over to the open window and braced his hands against the windowsill. Looking out but not seeing, the elf lord turned his thoughts inwards and searched through his memory for a remedy that he could use.

Aragorn and the twins stood by the bed in awkward silence, watching their father deep in thought. A few minutes passed, and Elrond remained motionless. The human fidgeted uncomfortably. He wanted to approach his father, but was afraid to interrupt his thoughts. Instead, the man shuffled his feet, and before he knew it, he was pacing the small area before the bed.

“Would you stop that?” Elladan complained softly. His brother had picked up the habit of pacing, most probably from their father, when he was worried or in distress. His actions only served to aggravate the already tense situation.

“Sorry.” Stopping his pacing abruptly, the boy turned his attention to Legolas.

Although the prince was insensible, his face was creased with pain. It broke Aragorn's heart to see his friend in this state. The wall that the elf usually erected around himself had disappeared, to be replaced by a vulnerable inner spirit. The elf's ragged and labored breathing sounded deafening in the quiet of the night, and the ranger had an uncanny fear that it might stop any moment. Picking up the cloth from this friend’s forehead with an unsteady hand, Aragorn rewet it and proceeded to bathe his friend’s arms and chest, attempting to lower his temperature by some external means, while waiting for his father to come up with a solution.

A solution, which he hoped, would work.

Elrond pushed himself away from the window abruptly and walked briskly towards the door without a word. Three pairs of eyes followed his movement, and Aragorn opened his mouth, wanting to ask his father what he had come up with, but elf lord was already gone, leaving the three siblings in stunt silence.

Aragorn slumped onto the floor with a pained sigh. He was frustrated beyond words, and he had an urge to break something to release his tension. The man could not comprehend how his brothers could remain so calm in this kind of situation. He envied their self-control and wished he could be more like them... more rational... to think with his head and not his emotions. Picking up the cloth from the basin, he wrung it with such force that he heard the thread in the material snap under the stress. The ranger let out a frustrated growl and tossed the towel back into the bowl with a small splash. Water sprayed onto his face as he stifled a soft sob.

“Peace, Estel.”

Strong hands pressed down on his shoulders as Elrohir tried to calm his distraught brother.

“Do not let the guilt consume you. Things will work out if you hold on to hope,” Elladan added gently from beside his twin. Picking up the cloth, the older elf continued Aragorn’s abandoned task, while Elrohir led the human away from the bed and settled him into a large chair.

Taking the human's face in his hands, Elrohir looked into the pain-filled eyes. “Have faith in father. Have faith in Legolas. He is too stubborn to give up. He will pull through,” the elf tried to reassure the man, even though fear gripped at his own heart. Elrohir could not allow his brother to see his doubts and worries, for it would surely plunge the human into despair and hopelessness. Silently, he said a prayer for the Mirkwood-elf, begging the gods to spare his life once again.

Minutes dragged passed in painful silence as the brothers drew strength from each other’s presence. Patiently, they waited for their father’s return.

“What is taking him so long?” Aragorn almost shouted. He wasn’t expecting an answer, only wanting to vent his frustration. His anger towards himself was immense, and the pressure in his chest built steadily, until it was almost choking him.

Slamming his fists down on the armrest, the man pushed himself forcefully to his feet and started pacing once again, ignoring the saddened glances cast at him by his brothers. Fists clenched tightly at his side, Aragorn felt like an angry volcano ready to erupt at any moment.

TBC…

Chapter 25 – Persisting Fever

Light footfalls sounded outside the room, and the three occupants sprang towards the door to meet their father. Elrond entered the room with a tray of cups, food, and various herbs balanced expertly on one hand, while the other held a kettle of steaming water. Setting the tray down on the table, the elf lord poured the hot water over the contents of the cups and laid the kettle down beside the tray. Picking up the cup with a darker brown liquid, Elrond swirled the contents until the mixture had cool down a little, before moving to the bed. The elf sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed and, with the help of his eldest son, lifted Legolas into a semi-seated position.

“Wake up, little one.” Elrond tapped Legolas lightly on the cheek, trying to rouse him. After an eternity – or so it felt to Aragorn – a soft moan greeted them, telling them that their attempt had finally succeeded. “I’m going to give you something to make you feel better,” the elf lord explained to the semi-conscious elf prince, who groaned softly in response.

Supporting the elf’s head with his left hand, Elrond tipped the cup to Legolas’ lips and eased the liquid into his mouth gently, while Elladan massaged his throat to help him swallow. With great patience, the healer emptied the cup and laid the prince back onto the bed. Turning his eyes upon his children, Elrond gave a forced smile.

“I gave him a strong dose of anti-infection drug. Hopefully it will aid his body in combating the fever,” the elf lord said, while dabbing the excess fluid from Legolas’ chin. “Now, I want you to drink this.” Elrond indicated the other cup of steaming tea, after replacing the wet towel over wood-elf’s brows.

Aragorn scrunched his nose and sniffed at the content, throwing a suspicious glance at his foster father.

“Don’t worry, it’s just tea, with something to calm your body. It won’t put you to sleep,” Elrond reassured his son, trying to put him at ease. “I think you need it. You will be no use to us if you have another breakdown.” With that, the tall elf handed the cup to Aragorn.

The young man sighed and accepted the drink. He knew that his father was right. He did not wish to burden his family further and cause them more stress than they already had. Bringing the cup to his lips, Aragorn downed the drink in one breath.

The night dragged on, but Legolas' condition did not improve. Father and sons took turns caring for the prince, but despite their efforts, his fever raged on. The elf groaned in delirium as the fever tormented his body. Sweat glistered on his face and drenched the twisted sheets beneath his body.

Aragorn brushed a strand of wayward hair away from his friend's flushed face, before running the towel over his chest again. The elf’s fever had spiked suddenly several minutes ago, and the human’s worry for his friend intensified.

Legolas jerked abruptly, causing the human to pull back, wondering what had triggered the unusual reaction. His panic rose when the jerks quickly turned into shakes. The elf's hands clenched at the sheets twisting them tightly in his fists as he went into a convulsive spasm, his body tensing as his muscles contracted violently under the fever-induced seizure.

Elrond and the twins were at his side in a blink of an eye. Aragorn was grateful for their presence, for he had never before encountered this kind of situation. Even if he had, he had been on the receiving end and too sick to remember anything.

“Hold him down. Gently. Don't let him rip the stitches.”

Elrond's voice broke through his stupor, and Aragorn snapped back to reality. He watched helplessly as his father and brothers worked to restrain the convulsing elf to prevent him from hurting himself.

The seizure lasted less than two minutes, but to the caretakers it seemed like an eternity. Slowly, the shakes let up, leaving Legolas gasping for air. The human stood rooted to the floor, too stunned to do anything. He watched as his brothers eased the breathless elf onto his side, while his father mixed up another cup of healing tea. When the prince's breathing calmed, Elrond forced the second cup of tea into the still unconscious elf.

“Prepare a bath,” the elf lord ordered urgently. “We need to get his temperature down.”

Elladan turned on his heels and grabbed Aragorn by the arm, dragging him towards the door.

“Go get some hot water from the kitchen, hurry!” the older twin said to his petrified brother. Before Aragorn could ask why, he continued. “We need lukewarm water so that he won’t go into shock. Go! Go!”

Elladan shoved the man out of the room before dashing into the bathing chambers. Filling the tub with cold water, he waited impatiently for his human brother to arrive with the hot water.

Less than a minute later, Aragorn came in with a steaming kettle. He poured the content slowly into the tub, while Elladan stirred the water to test for the temperature. When the desired temperature was achieved, he signaled for the human to stop.

“Go tell father the water is ready.”

Aragorn nodded and disappeared out of the chamber. Moments later, the elf lord materialized with Legolas cradled in his arms. The unconscious prince was stripped to his undergarment, and only the heavy bandages covered his battered body. Sweat drenched his body, and his once silky long hair now lay in a tangled mess that clung limply to his skin. His tightly closed eyes were sunken and swollen. The skin beneath them had turned a shade darker since Elladan last saw him, which was only a few minutes ago.

Helping his father ease Legolas into the tub, the oldest son of Elrond picked up a washcloth and proceeded to bath the younger elf, while the elf lord sprinkled some herbs into the water. To help with the fever and prevent his wounds from further infection, Elrond explained to his anxious children.

Aragorn and Elrohir stood by the door with towels as they watched their father and older brother work in silence. Legolas would moan occasionally, but showed no other signs of waking. Suddenly, the young princes' eyes fluttered open, but the dull and feverish silver-blue orbs showed no recognition in them. They were looking right through Elladan, instead of focusing on him. In his fever dreams, the prince groped out blindly at Elrond, as if searching for something...or someone. His breath came in shallow, raspy gasps.

“Legolas,” Elrond soothed gently as he took the distraught elf's hand, “rest easy child. We will care for you.” Unsure if Legolas had heard him, the healer continued to stroke the prince's hair gently, uttering soothing words, as Elladan threw him a nervous glance. Eventually, the elven prince's eyes drifted shut, and, with a sigh, he sank into oblivion once more.

“That doesn't look good,” Elrohir commented warily beside his human brother.

“But I thought he was getting better!” The ranger's tone held a tinge of accusation. “He woke up earlier. Adar said he would be fine if he woke. He even made it to the gardens...”

“It was fear that gave him the strength and drove him to perform the impossible. It was either fight of flight.” Elrond explained. “His injuries are very severe, and the poison is wreaking havoc inside his body.” After a short pause, the elf lord continued, when Aragorn did not interrupt. “Give it some time. Let the poison run its course and allow his body to fight the infection.”

Aragorn nodded numbly with his eyes upon the floor, ashamed for his earlier outburst. The only indication of his tension was the death grip he had on the towel. Silence descended upon the chamber. Only the sloshing sound of the water was heard, as Elrond and Elladan continued to bath the feverish prince. The human had stood staring at the floor for what seemed like hours when a jab in his arm brought him out of his daze.

“Towel,” Elrohir said simply.

“Wha-?” The human’s head jerked up in confusion.

“The towel, Estel. They are moving Legolas out of the water,” the younger twin said as he moved in to help towel dry the prince, while Aragorn busied himself with drying Legolas’ hair. After fifteen minutes of fussing, the family of four re-bandaged the wounds, got the prince out of his wet garments, and fitted him with an oversized tunic and leggings to prevent the clothing from pressing against his injuries. They settled him back into bed and pulled a light blanket over his chest. All the while, the woodland being did not stir.

*****

TBC...

Chapter 26 – Slow Healing

Aragorn pressed his hand against his friend’s forehead and was overjoyed when he found that the intense heat had lessened to a tolerable level. The young man let a small smile creep into his face and settled back down into the chair that he had vacated moments ago. ‘I’ve been doing this way too often,’ he mused as he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders to ward off the morning chill.

“You have got to stop doing this to me, my friend,” Aragorn said with a soft chuckle. “My heart can’t take any more of your abuse.”

The man had stayed up all night, insisting that he wanted to keep vigil until the prince woke. Elrond knew how stubborn his foster son could be once his mind was set upon something and hence did not insist that he leave his friend’s side. Legolas had become restless sometime after midnight, as nightmares invaded his dreams. Several times he cried out and thrashed around wildly. Aragorn was forced to hold him down to prevent him from hurting himself, but as the ranger restrained the ailing elf, Legolas had pled for his “captor” to stop hurting him. The words split Aragorn’s heart in two when the man realized that he was the one who was supposedly hurting his friend. Fighting back tears of guilt and frustration, the ranger tried his best to calm the distraught prince by whispering soothing words and singing to him all night. Finally by dawn, Legolas quieted down and drifted into a more peaceful sleep.

A soft knock drew Aragorn’s attention from the bedridden elf, and he turned to see Elrohir at the door. The dark-haired elf gave his brother a smile, before making his way to the bed.

“Has he awakened?”

“No. But he’s finally getting some decent rest.”

Aragorn stood and stretched, causing the blanket to slip off his shoulders. Bending over, he picked it up from the floor, but as he straightened, a wave of dizziness swept through him, and the human staggered into his brother.

“Whoa! Easy there,” Elrohir caught his swaying brother and held on to him until he found his balance. “You should get some rest. You have hardly slept these past few days, and I don’t want you falling sick because you over exerted yourself.”

Aragorn started to protest, but was cut off before he could make further excuses.

“Legolas would not be happy if he knew that you got sick because of him.” Elrohir moved his brother gently out of the room and gave him a little push to get the ranger moving on his own. “Go and get some sleep. I will watch over him.”

“Call me when he wakes,” the man mumbled, and, with that, he dragged his exhausted body into his own room, which was fortunately just next to the room Legolas was staying in. The human seriously doubted he could walk any further than that. Flopping down onto the bed face first, Aragorn was asleep even before he could remove his footwear.

o-o-o-o-o-o

Elrohir took over his brother’s position beside the bed and adjusted the light blanket around the prince. Legolas looked much better compared to the day before, but he was still a long way from full recovery. At least his face was no longer scrunched up in pain. That was a good start for the day. His fever remained, but that was expected, for his body was still locked in a battle with the infection and poison that coursed through his veins.

‘If only he would wake...’

As if on cue, a soft moan escaped the blond elf’s lips, and he shifted ever so slightly. Elrohir could see that his friend was struggling to reacquaint his mind with the world of the living. Leaning closer, the older elf took one of Legolas’ hands from beneath the blanket and squeezed it gently.

“Legolas? Can you hear me?” Elrohir whispered, while patting the elf’s face lightly with his other hand. “Open your eyes for me...”

Legolas moaned again, this time a little louder. His breathing also became deeper, and Elrohir felt the prince's fingers curl weakly around his own hand.

“Come now, I know you can do it,” the older elf said encouragingly as he brushed a strand of damp hair from Legolas' face. “Aren’t you tired of sleeping yet?”

The statement elicited another groan from the elven prince, which Elrohir took as a good sign. Or at least he hoped it was.

o-o-o-o-o-o

Legolas shifted slightly under the light covers, and his face turned towards the familiar, yet irritating voice. Incoherent words flittered into his still muddled mind, and the elf wished he could tell the annoying person to leave him be. But opening his eyes proved to be more difficult than he’d thought it would be. His lids seemed to have been weighted down by some unknown force, and the various aches in his body made him want to sink back into oblivion. But that voice… It sounded so… tense. Something must be terribly wrong for someone to be so worried. Was it he who was causing the other’s distress? He wanted to tell the person that he was fine, but his brain refused to make his lips move. Thinking that he might have more success in opening his eyes, Legolas focused all his energy into prying his heavy eyelids open. Slowly but surely, his eyes fluttered open and were immediately greeted by a blur image. The face hovered above him, and he could see the lips moving, although he was unable to make out the words. Blinking a few times, the blond elf finally managed to bring the image into focus.

“Legolas? Thank the Valar you’re awake!” Elrohir exclaimed with relief, and a wide smile graced his handsome face.

“W-wh…” The still confused elf prince tried to speak, but was dismayed that he couldn’t find his voice. His throat felt like sandpaper, and his head seemed to have been stuffed full of cotton.

“Here. Drink this.”

The twin slipped a hand behind Legolas’ neck and lifted his head slightly off the pillow, while his other hand pressed the rim of a cup to his cracked lips. Cool liquid trickled into the elf’s mouth, and the prince swallowed instinctively, letting the sweet water glide down his parched throat. After several small sips, the cup was removed, much to Legolas’ disappointment.

“M-more,” he whispered with effort and was shocked to find his voice weak and unsteady. He wanted to reach for the cup, but found that he was too weak to even move his arm.

Elrohir shook his head.

“Not so fast, young one,” said the dark-haired elf as he eased his friend back onto the pillow.

Elrohir set the cup down on a small table beside the bed and turned back to face Legolas. Looking into the glazed and slightly unfocused eyes of the wood-elf, Elrohir forced himself to ask the question that he had been dreading ever since Legolas woke. Bending over slightly, the young peredhil touched his finger on elven prince’s face to get his attention.

“Do you know who I am?”

His father had told them about the risk of brain damage. He hated to be the one to find out, but someone had to do it. It might as well be him. It might not be bad news after all.

Legolas squinted at his caregiver and frowned. Staring at the face above him, he could not answer.

No! Elrohir’s heart sank at the silence. He did NOT want to be the one to break the ill news to the rest of the family.

TBC…

Chapter 27 – No More Surprises

Legolas squinted at the elf looking down at him. Normally he could easily distinguish the faces, but not today. Today, he felt that his brain had turned into a puddle of useless mush. ‘Must be what the orcs feel like all the time.’ He watched as the facial muscle in dark haired elf tensed, and he thought it would be best if he said something.

“Can’t remember,” Legolas paused for breath before continuing, “which twin you are...”

Elrohir wanted to shout with joy, though he also felt like whacking the Mirkwood-elf for making him worried sick with fear. But now, only a stupid smile was plastered on his face.

“What’s happened?” the prince asked tentatively as he tried to find a more comfortable position on the bed. His entire body ached, but his back hurt the most, sending waves of fire up his spine.

“You don’t remember?”

Legolas shook his head feebly.

“I remember riding towards Rivendell with Estel,” he paused to lick his dry lips. “I thought,” he hesitated. “I thought that I was going to die…”

“And you nearly did,” Elrohir said with a sad smile. “But right now, you just concentrate on getting better.” Moving the cup to Legolas’ lips again, he propped the prince up slightly and let him finish the remaining water.

Legolas was unable to suppress a wince as Elrohir once again lower him down onto the pillow, and, this time, the twin caught the expression.

“Let me help you onto your side. It will take the pressure off your back.”

The offer was gladly accepted, and Legolas gritted his teeth as Elrohir turned him to his side. Despite all the care he took while moving the injured elf, he still jarred the prince, causing him to bury his face into the blanket and bite down hard on the material to stop himself from crying out. Working nimbly, Elrohir settled Legolas into the desired position and then brushed a strand of hair from the prince’s sweat-drenched face. Picking up the towel, which lay in the basin, he dabbed the sweat and tears away.

“Sleep now.” He smoothed Legolas’ hair back affectionately. “You will feel better after you wake.”

“Tell me…” the prince whispered, while keeping his eyes closed, for he did not think he could open them just yet.

“What do you want to know?” Elrohir asked gently as he took a seat beside the bed.

“Which twin are you?” Legolas paused to catch his breath. Prying his eyes open eventually, he locked gazes with the younger twin.

“The younger one, if you must know,” Elrohir chuckled lightly.

“Y-you were… hurt…” Legolas lifted a shaky hand to touch the young peredhil’s neck, but his hand was caught quickly and tucked back under the blanket.

“I am well. Father is an excellent healer.” Elrohir tilted his head to expose his neck to the prince. The scar was already fading leaving a thin red line across the porcelain skin.

Legolas heaved a sigh of relief, knowing that his friends were safe, and his eyes gradually drooped from exhaustion. But suddenly, they flew open again. “Estel?” the elf voiced in panic. He was sure that the human would be blaming himself for what had happened.

“He’s fine. I sent him to his room to get some sleep.”

“He blames himself,” Legolas forced out. His human friend would always find a way to blame himself, just like the way he would when something happened to Aragorn. “Tell him…not to…” The prince was slowly losing his battle against the pull of unconsciousness.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he doesn’t, even if it means that I have to beat some sense into that thick head of his.” Elrohir laid his hand on Legolas’ shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “Rest now.”

The touch seemed to be magical as the woodland being drifted off into a deep healing sleep almost immediately. The elf smiled as he arranged the blanket around the Legolas’ shoulders and then left the room. Time to tell Estel the good news.

*****

Elladan strolled into the garden. It had been days since he had been in the mood to take a walk in the beautiful compound of the Last Homely House. Between Estel’s emotional outburst and Legolas’ dire condition, the twin was close to a mental breakdown himself. But with everything smoothening out gradually, his spirit lightened, and he actually found the desire to go outdoors. Settling under an old oak tree, he watched the clouds drift by in the afternoon sky. The sounds of birds and other small animals around the vicinity gave him comfort. Life was such a beautiful thing. Hours passed by, but to him, it seemed like mere minutes. The elf leaned against the trunk of the tree and started humming softly. Soon, he broke into a joyous song, the fingers of his right hand twirling around a blade of grass leisurely.

All of a sudden, his keen elven ears picked up the sound of an arrow being released from a taut bow. A “twang” followed by a “whoosh” filled the air, but before he could take action, an arrow came flying straight towards him…

TBC…

Chapter 28 – Road to Recovery

When Legolas woke again, it was already late afternoon. The first thing that his mind registered was Aragorn eyeing him intently from the side of the bed.

“Legolas? How do you feel?” asked the man anxiously.

Elrohir must have told Aragorn that he had awaken earlier, and now the man was back at his post, rooted beside Legolas’ bed.

“I want to sit up,” said the elf, who was still lying on his side, his right leg slightly bent to hold him in position, while his right hand draped casually across his abdomen.

“Sorry, can’t let you do that just yet,” replied the man. “But is there anything else I can do to make you more comfortable?”

Just as the words left Aragorn’s lips, the voice of someone singing drifted in from the open window in his room. On normal days, he would have welcomed the cheery song, but not today. Right at this moment, his head felt like it was going to split open, and the singing was not helping. So when Aragorn asked what he could do, Legolas ground out his absurd request.

“Kill… the singing elf…”

“Pardon me?” Aragorn raised an eyebrow that would have matched Elrond’s infamous frown, but then a wicked grin broke out on his face. Without a word, he picked up the prince’s bow, which was leaning against the wall near the foot of the bed, and removed an arrow from the quiver. Then he headed towards the window.

Legolas’ jaw fell open. He didn’t think the human would take his request seriously, but before he could utter a word, Aragorn leaned out of the window, took aim, and fired.

The effect was immediate. There was an “Oww!”, followed by a string of colorful curses.

“You son of an orc! Are you trying to kill me?” the victim of Aragorn’s latest prank hollered from below.

The ranger ducked back into the room just in time, as the arrow came flying back through the window haphazardly, the trajectory of its path clearly showing that it was thrown rather than fired from a bow. A few moments later, Elladan came stomping unhappily into the room, nursing a scratch on the back of his hand. The elf glowered at Aragorn, before advancing menacingly towards him.

The man gulped and took a step backward.

“He asked me to do it!” He tried to put the blame on the defenseless elf.

The said elf was watching the show in silence. Although Elladan looked furious, he could detect a glimmer of mischief dancing behind those grey eyes of his. Knowing that the older twin would never harm his little brother – at least, not seriously – Legolas did not attempt to break off the staring contest. Finally, the human was backed up against the wall, and he lifted his hands in a wordless defeat. With a triumphant smile, Elladan approached the bed and deposited himself on the empty chair.

“You find that amusing, princeling?” the raven-haired elf asked grouchily, but his voice was soft and gentle.

Legolas flashed him a small smile. “Sorry, I didn’t know he would take that literally,” the prince said apologetically as he tried to rise.

Elladan immediately pushed him back towards the bed. “Lie still.”

“I have already done that for the past several days,” Legolas said jokingly, and he heard a snort from behind Elladan. It was Aragorn. “Thanks for the support, Estel,” the elf grumbled.

The sarcastic remark drew another snort, but this time it was from someone at the door. Legolas tried to turn his head towards the sound, but failed miserably. Thankfully, the person stepped into the prince’s view before he could do more damage to his neck. Elrohir strode in with a try in his hands. A bowl of broth and some bread lay neatly atop the tray.

“You need to eat something to regain your strength,” Elrohir said as he set the tray down on the table and picked up the bowl. “Which means you’ll have to sit up.”

Legolas face brightened.

“Don’t be too happy,” Elladan admonished. “It will hurt.”

“I know,” the prince replied, “but it’s better than choking on my broth.” He laughed lightly and regretted it, as an involuntary groan followed shortly after. Instinctively, his hand pressed down on the bandage that still decorated his healing body.

“Told you so,” the elder twin teased good-naturedly as he moved over to prop up the prince and settled him against the headboard.

The three brothers waited for their friend to catch his breath and for the color to return to his pale face.

Legolas opened his eyes. He had no idea when he had scrunched them shut. Then he realized with horror that he had a fistful of Elladan’s tunic clutched in a death grip in his fists. Quickly releasing the twin, he muttered an apology sheepishly. Elladan dismissed him with a small wave of his hand.

“Don’t worry about it. Unlike some people, I’m not overly worried about ruined tunics.” This time it was Legolas who snorted, but before he could retort, a bowl was pressed into his hands.

“Eat. Or do you need us to feed you?” Elrohir laughed at the shocked expression on Legolas’ face.

The wood-elf took the bowl and was appalled to find that his hands were shaking so badly that he almost spilled the contents.

Retrieving the bowl from Legolas before he could drop it, Elladan grinned like a Cheshire cat.

“Looks like we DO have to feed you after all!”

“Fine! Go ahead and humiliate me while you can!” the golden elf growled like an infuriated orc, which sent the three siblings into a wild fit of laughter. When they finally regained their senses, Aragorn knelt down beside the bed and looked compassionately into Legolas’ eyes.

“Let me help you please. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I remember you doing the same for me countless of times, so let me repay you in kind.”

The ranger nodded at his brothers as he took the bowl from Elladan. The twins caught the hint and nodded back understandingly. They slipped out of the room and closed the door behind them.

Legolas sighed. Whether with relief or frustration, Aragorn couldn’t tell. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that his friend had accepted his help without further objections.

Legolas felt ridiculous being fed like an invalid, but he knew that there was no way he was going to be able to eat the broth without aid. The broth would most probably end up on him, rather than in him, if he tried. So he swallowed his pride and allowed Aragorn to do what he did best, half expecting the man to tease him mercilessly. But the elf was rather surprised when Aragorn took care of him diligently without so much as a word. After finishing his meal, the human eased him back onto the bed with great care.

“Thank you,” Legolas said with a genuine smile.

“You’re welcome, my friend,” came Aragorn’s reply as he pulled the blanket up to Legolas’ shoulder.

The elf sighed, this time in contentment. Elrohir must have slipped something into that broth, for the pain in his body was not so unbearable anymore.

‘Bless that elf,’ Legolas thought with gratitude and let his eyes drift shut. He would have to thank him some other time. Right now, he was just glad to be able to sink into the comfort of sleep, knowing that his friends would always be there to chase away his nightmares and keep him safe. And he let his dreams claim him.

- The End -

Well, that’s the end of the story. I hope you all liked it. :) Thank you all for sticking with me until the end. Special thanks to my faithful reviewers. I really enjoyed reading your reviews! You have no idea how much each of your reviews meant to me :D I’m still working on “To Err is Human” Hopefully my plot bunnies will return soon so that I can finish that fic. :P