Disclaimer: I only own the Rucin, and I’m not sure I really want that!

Rating: PG-13 (For heavy angst and later events)

A/N:

This is a companion piece to Flying High, Flying Low, written for the competition on Mellon Chronicles website. It’s also posted here. I strongly suggest you read that first because this won’t make much sense otherwise!

Time Period:

Pre-trilogy. The events in this fic occur when Aragorn is around 23/24. He has been travelling with the rangers for a time and is aware of his heritage.

// Denotes flashbacks //

‘Denotes Thoughts’

***

Aragorn dreamed of falling. Behind his closed eyes he relived the sight of Legolas diving backwards off the cliff, sinking beneath the lake’s surface. Tossing in his bed, he moaned in horror as the figure fell out of sight, his muscles reflexively kicking as he remembered diving forward in a futile attempt to catch his friend. Lying flat on his stomach at the edge of the cliff, arms outstretched in despair, he could only watch, as the elf seemed to fall ever onwards, time crawling by, as it often seems to in moments of horror. Beneath Legolas’ figure, Aragorn could discern the waves scattering across the surface of the lake below, momentarily distracting him. Aragorn watched as Legolas, true to his word, caught the falling arrow in his left hand and waved it in ecstasy at him.

“See Estel I can fly!”

The wind caught the words and funnelled them up to him. The words echoed around him seemingly bouncing of the trees, in a chant, which kept escalating. Unbeknownst to him, his sleeping form was mouthing the words as well. Louder and angrier grew the chorus, and Aragorn began to recognise individual voices within it, that sparked memories.

//

“Estel my leg is fine, I cannot feel any pain and I do not need to lean on you. I am perfectly capable of walking on my own.”

The elf’s words did nothing to appease Aragorn’s guilt. “If it hadn’t been for me you wouldn’t have been hurt, please let me help you. I have no wish to cause you to bleed again today.”

Rolling his eyes with frustration and impatience Legolas tried his best to dissuade Aragorn from his needless guilt. “It was not your fault Estel, it was the orc who slashed me not you. Now come, you go so slowly; I want to dance, to fly.” With that Legolas leapt into the trees and began running lightly along the branches, outpacing the human who watched him worriedly form below. If not for a slight stiffness in the leg it was impossible to tell that Legolas was injured, yet Aragorn was concerned nevertheless, the elf was not acting like himself.

“Legolas are you feeling alright, you are acting quite strangely even for you!”

Legolas turned back, looking down at him. “I grow impatient Estel, it is you who were in such a hurry to return to Rivendell yet you dawdle so! I wish to chase the wind.” On which note he turned again and began running ahead, gaining speed with each leap.

Aragorn sighed in exasperation. “Legolas the Rucin only numbs the pain, it does not accelerate healing, if you do not ease up you shall burst open your wound, or exhaust your leg and fall. Come down here and walk sedately beside me. Try acting like one of the elven folk.”

Legolas complied albeit with a very unelven pout and glare at the human for his over protectiveness. Looking out over the cliff edge he observed the birds darting and chasing each other, smiling he imagined what it must feel like to fly . . .

//

Aragorn swallowed hard at the memories evoked by the voices, swamped by guilt. Picking up on his thoughts the voices began to taunt him. “Your fault, your fault.”

“You drugged him and prompted him, let him fall.”

“You idiot Estel!”

“You gave him Rucin? Have you learned nothing?”

The paralysed figure of Aragorn gazed down at his still falling friend, his dream prolonging the sight; the fall longer, slower than it had been in reality. The wind blew the voices fiercely around him, now chanting with fury at him.

“Your fault Estel, your fault.”

Back in Rivendell his sleeping figure muttered those same words, arms and legs twitching in a desperate attempt to break the paralysis and catch his friend. Unable to bear the guilt any longer Aragorn closed his eyes, blocking the scene from sight. Just as quickly he opened them again in horror at his cowardice, in time to see his friend hit the surface of the water and sink.

“LEGOLAS!”

Aragorn sat bolt upright with a start, trembling with shock, cold sweat plastering his nightshirt to his fatigued body. He rose and paced about his room, unable to remain still. Muttering quietly to himself “My fault, all my fault” he marched over to the window and leaned his throbbing head against the cool pane. Arms wrapped tightly around himself, he looked out into the darkness taking deep breaths to try to calm himself down. Finally realising that the only way to dispel his fears would be to check on Legolas, he left the room.

Creeping silently along the corridor in an effort not to wake anyone, Aragorn eventually found himself standing outside the slightly ajar door to Legolas’ room. Peering inside he perceived the relaxed figure of the elf reclining on the bed, blissful smile upon his face, and light snores of contentment emanating from him. It appeared that he was the only one dreaming of falling then. Relieved that Legolas was spared that horror, he backed away, careful not wake either Legolas, or Elrohir, hunched uncomfortably asleep in the corner chair. Silently, Aragorn returned to his room to continue his wrestle with sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Legolas dreamed of flying. He found himself perched among the uppermost branches of the tallest tree he knew, wind gusting, hair blowing around his face, he looked out at the majestic Greenwood forest. Inhaling he caught the scent of the forest, deep pine and wild berries competing with damp grasses and the earthy smell of the wild creatures that dwelled there. The forest teemed with wildlife; small rodents rooted amongst bushes, searching for berries, while evading their predators. These larger beasts moved with surprising silence, chasing their prey. Almost elf-like in their ability to camouflage themselves, they made a worthy challenge for the hunting parties, which regularly departed from his father’s home. The beasts could stalk nearly as quietly as the elves themselves, but without the advantage of height from the trees they were more vulnerable. The creatures that Legolas most identified with however were the birds. Lying motionless, resting high above the creatures forced to walk the ground, Legolas was level with the flying creatures.

Surrounding him were the chirps and trills of the many species of birds; each movement and flight produced flashes of colour, so beautiful, against the dark green and brown forest hues. They entranced him. Reaching out a hand to brush the feathers of the nearest bird, a sudden gust of wind caused the elf to knock against it by mistake startling it away with a disgusted squawk. As one, the remaining birds hurtled from their perches into the sky, with cries of alarm; flashes of reds, blues, and yellows streaked in formation as they flew southwards. Enraptured, Legolas decided to follow them, leaping lightly from branch to branch, always gazing up at them.

Faster he moved, and still faster, as the flashes of colour became less frequent, and grew more distant. No longer heeding the strength of the branches he trusted his weight to, Legolas concentrated only on catching those colours. The wind surrounding him, lifting him. Feeling cleansed by it Legolas breathed deeply, for what seemed the first time in years, clean air above the forest, untainted by smells or sounds; only the wind accompanied him now. Without realising it Legolas had closed his eyes, following the birds now by instinct. Every nerve felt like it was alive with sensation, he could sense the creatures around him, the trees, everything seemed to fit together; seemingly for the first time he truly felt alive. Even from his great distance he could hear the individual beats of their wings, sense the vibration they caused in the air. Opening his eyes again he realised he was gaining upon the flock of birds, nay he had caught them! With a smile he glanced down to see how far he had travelled in pursuit of them, and gasped!

He was no longer settled amongst the tree branches, he had in fact left the forest far behind, he was flying! Revelling in his new feelings, he stretched his wings and soared higher, for he was no longer an elf, but a pure white falcon, muscular wings stretched out either side, tinged with green and brown at their tips. Experimenting with his newfound wings, Legolas soared through the sky, faster than he had ever seen any creature travelling before! The feel of the wind as it flowed through his feathers was unbelievable, both a comforting stroke, that soothed and lifted him, and the strongest force against which he had ever had to do battle. Looking down to gauge how fast he was travelling Legolas was shocked to realise that his sight was even keener than it had been before; he was astounded to be able to perceive the individual blades of grass at the base of trees 40ft high! Flipping over, Legolas flew looking up at the stars, for night had fallen during his chase. Peering up at them, so bright, so close, Legolas was tempted to fly up until he could touch them and catch one in his beak, but the antics of his flock-mates attracted him. Entering into a game of chase, the birds spent the remainder of the night, diving, dodging and generally trying to outperform each other with daring. Diving until within a feather’s breadth of the ground then pulling out of the dive at the last possible minute was the favourite game, and one which Legolas excelled at. Fearless, his final triumphant attempt ended with him rising victorious to the sky proudly bearing a flower in his beak as proof of his bravery. At last, as the sun began its slow crawl upwards, the birds set flight back towards the forests.

Legolas felt himself growing tired and falling further behind, his wings beat with less force, and it seemed to take more energy to flex them. Gliding onwards towards the trees, their colours seemed to him to be faded, the woods darker and less abundant with life. As he neared the edges of his home he was saddened by the decline; the multitude of life he had observed earlier had seemingly vanished, conquered by the vicious spiders that had colonised vast areas. There was no trace of any birds, and most worrying of all even the trees seemed less vibrant. Decay and rot had taken root among those on the edge, a creeping virulence that was encircling and enclosing around the outskirts of his home, drawing ever nearer the centre. His fatigue greatly increasing and unable to remain at his current height, Legolas began to descend through the trees; each moment spent in them seemed to drain him further of energy, of life. Thankful that his senses seemed dull compared to earlier in his flight, Legolas was able to shut out much of the despair, but when he eventually landed and stood up, he could no longer feel the fresh wind in his face; even the air seemed tainted with this corruption. Truly his home had earned the name of Mirkwood. Sighing with fatigue he took a step forward and froze! No longer bore he a glistening coat of white, no longer had he powerful wings to lift him soaring high. Once again he was but an elf, light and graceful as always, but it felt less; it felt as he had always imagined being a mortal would feel. He saw less beauty, less spirit, his senses were blunted. Sighing again he awakened in his bed, tears rolling down his face, for this feeling of loss remained with him. He had soared; he had felt alive, now he was only an elf; less than an elf even. He felt mortal and diminished.

Legolas’ headache returned with a vengeance then, every muscle in his body seemed to throb in time and it took all his effort not to groan out loud. He had glimpsed Elrohir seated in what looked to be a very uncomfortable position, and had no intentions of wakening him just because he was feeling a bit low. Risking turning his head, he winced as his brain seemed to tilt over as well. After several minutes of blurred vision he managed to focus his gaze upon the window, and perceived that there were still several hours until dawn. Quietly sighing he closed his eyes, hoping that his nausea would vanish and allow him some more sleep, and hopefully more flight-filled dreams.

After leaving Aragorn safely in bed, asleep, the twins silently returned to Elladan’s room to discuss the night’s events.

Elrohir threw himself into a chair by the fire gazing unwaveringly into the flames. Shaking his head in disbelief he turned pain-filled eyes from the flames to his brother. “I cannot believe that father blamed Estel for what happened. He is exhausted! Father had no cause to blame him then, if ever; but especially not when he is unable to argue or even think rationally! Surely he knows that Estel was already feeling guilty, and any accusations he made would only confirm his belief?”

Elladan perched on the end of his bed, back against the wall. He gazed sadly over at his younger brother sprawled inelegantly sideways in his chair, with little regard for his brother’s property.

“He did have a point Elrohir,” Elladan interjected, “if Estel hadn’t given Legolas the herb or the idea of flying none of this would have occurred.”

Elrohir rose in anger, shock upon his face and reflected fire burning in his eyes. Anger and disbelief caused him to raise his voice incautiously at his brother.

“If you feel like that then why don’t you just go and accuse him yourself. Go on, wake him up now and kick him some more while he’s already down!” He rubbed his hands over his face, “Sometimes I despair of you Elladan. It was not his fault! By his own words there was nothing else to give him. Could you have just sat there if I was in pain, and forced me to walk a three day trek home without any relief?”

“I…”

Raising his voice still further, to drown out his brother’s interruption, Elrohir continued. “And don’t try to tell me that you would have left me there and gone for help, for I will not believe that you would have left me alone to defend myself when injured.”

Elladan rose in anger at his brother’s last statement and, launching up, shoved him down into the chair keeping him there with one hand pressing down on his chest.

“Be silent ere you wake the whole household! I fear all of us will have precious little sleep tonight without you raising everyone,” he hissed.

Easing up on the pressure restraining his brother, he continued in a harsh semi-whisper. “Of course I would not have left you there injured! How can you even suggest that I would be so callous as to abandon you there alone! Do you really think I would do that?”

Elladan’s anger tailed off at his question, and a hurt look flashed across his face. Releasing Elrohir he paced away one hand around his waist, and the other rubbing across his face in disbelief, sliding up to grasp his hair in anguish.

Elrohir, too irate to heed his brother’s concerns, rose to his feet and strode after his twin. “How do you think Estel is feeling right now after father said those things to him? I’m sure he feels abandoned and betrayed, and if he heard you agreeing with father…”

Elladan swung back around ending up face to face with his twin. He placed an appeasing arm on Elrohir’s shoulder, “I am not agreeing with father, I would have used anything that worked to ease your pain, and well you know it.” His anger grew again at his brother’s accusations. “You would have done the same as I, and Estel! The only difference is that I would have had the strength to carry you home rather than requiring you to walk. “

Elrohir, thrust his brother away from him, and the two stood glaring at each other in the eyes, fists raised. “What is it with you today and disparaging the boy! Do not think he missed your comments tonight about his human weaknesses, do you not realise he will see that as yet another example of his failings?”

“Elrohir!” Elladan cried, “I do not see Estel anywhere at fault, I was only pointing out what he is going to believe of himself.”

A full minute passed with the two standing at loggerheads with each other, glaring. Eventually Elrohir accepted the truth of Elladan’s words, and lowered himself onto the bed, head lowered onto his arm, one hand covering his eyes. “You sounded like father, accusing him and blaming him. I am sorry, I should not have believed it of you. I would not have believed it of father. He did not even examine Estel for injuries, just accused him and then left. I cannot believe it of him!”

Elladan sat himself down next to his brother, shoulders touching. Looking down at his hands, he sighed. “I agree; it was unlike Adar to act so towards Estel, but I cannot believe he had no reason!”

“A reason? I can see no reason! Estel’s was not such a terrible act, we both agree his actions are those that we would take ourselves; yet we have not been disciplined in such a way, ever! It is because Estel is mortal.” Elrohir cried.

Elladan’s uncertain eyes caught his brother’s. “Ro, you cannot believe that father would punish Estel for being mortal! He has always defended him before, when any blame him for that, and he has never punished Estel any differently. You know he has our best interests at heart, always! No, he has a reason for this behaviour, it is just beyond me to work it out.”

Confused and very worried eyes met his in return. “No, I can see no reason for it either. Do you think he is ill?”

A shake of the head and a very small smile graced the lips of Elladan at this. “He is not a mortal Ro, elves cannot get sick!”

Elrohir turned exasperated eyes upon his brother. “I know that you idiot, I meant…mentally ill. Possessed by the ring maybe?”

Elladan wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders, hand ruffling his hair slightly, “I do not think such a thing is possible. I swear, the things you come up with! Come, it is late and we have both had a stressful night, let us sleep on it and confront father tomorrow. It is plain we are too fatigued to be make any further sense of this situation tonight.”

With a firm push Elladan cleared his brother from his bed and shooed him out of the room, though not for long. Elrohir poked his head back through the door and they exchanged another worried glance. Elladan sighed in exasperation, “If it will enable you to sleep, do you wish to stay in my room tonight?”

Elrohir gaped in mock horror. “I am not an infant of thirty to need tending after a nightmare! Are you sure it isn’t you who is afraid to stay in here alone; you who wouldn’t rather sleep with me?”

Elladan smiled; if his twin was able to joke then things must not be as bad as they appeared. Sharing in the tired smile, Elrohir informed him that he would check in on Legolas before going to bed, and turned to leave. Twin whispers were the last thing heard in the halls of Rivendell that night.

“Goodnight.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dawn’s light saw Aragorn again leaning on his window gazing out into the fading blackness, arms folded around himself tightly in an attempt to keep all his emotions locked tight up inside. The morning rays crept steadily closer to Rivendell, chasing away all hint of shadows, restoring colour to the land. The sky was losing its dullness, being replaced by a spectacular golden red that was reflected up to Aragorn by the River Bruinen below, but even this failed to cheer him. Tired eyes, filled with far too much pain for one so young, stared unwaveringly outside, focussed upon nothing. Gazing inwards, caught up with images of falling, his mind was unable to shake the terrors the night had brought.

After checking upon Legolas, Aragorn had returned to his room, exhaustion dragging in his every step. Unable to resist his need for rest, despite fearing more dreams, he collapsed upon his bed clutching the pillow tightly to his chest for comfort. Alas, as he had feared, he slept fitfully, continually experiencing dreams of falling, waking from the nightmares in horror each time.

Apart from his very first nightmare he no longer dreamed of Legolas vanishing over the cliff, sinking beneath the water below. Instead he was tormented by images of his brothers, his birth parents and Elrond jumping away from him, over the cliff, laughing. Anyone he held dear had been encouraged to fly backwards away from the support of the ground, freefalling down, laughing all the while with joy. Each time he had been painfully aware that it was because of him that they were placed in such jeopardy; it was because they trusted and loved him that he failed them.

His paralysed figure lay upon the stone surface, hands reaching down towards his family as they looked up at him, no terror upon their faces. Knowing that it was his fault, he glanced away every time, only to return his gaze as they fell beneath the waves. Each time he had awoken shuddering with fear and guilt. Aragorn greatly feared the possibility that he might cause injury to his family through his failings; the whispers of guilt brought by the wind in his nightmares had caused those feelings to the surface this morning.

Far worse than even seeing his loved ones sink to their deaths, though, had been the dreams of himself falling; falling not in joyful glee like Legolas and the others had done, but in terror, in full knowledge of the consequences. Falling staring up to the cliff top above, begging for help, and seeing Legolas or his brothers reaching out to him with terror in their gaze, unable to help him. He had seen the despair upon their faces, and known that he stood alone, or in this case fell alone; his brothers would not always be there for him. Another of his fears brought to life by his treacherous mind. He hated worrying his family, causing them hurt that way. He knew they were terrified of losing him, even while certain that he would pass away from their lives ere long, as they measured time. Perhaps he should just leave now, and spare them from any further pain, from witnessing his death. It appeared that is what Elrond desired.

His surrogate father had been furious with him last night, not even taking the time to check him over for any hidden injuries. Aragorn was unable to remember a time when he had been so thoroughly reprimanded for what seemed a relatively minor offence. He was fearful that his days as Elrond’s chosen son were ending, and that he was soon to be abandoned again. He could not imagine living without the knowledge that his brothers would be there to aid him in fights and cheer him up when he was low, nor could he bear that his father would stop teaching him, or worse, refuse him welcome in Rivendell. He was terrified of being abandoned again.

In his fatigue, Aragorn was unable to distinguish Elrond’s actions of the evening before from the twisted version of events his distraught mind had created that night. His abiding memory of the nightmares was of himself falling in despair, reaching out and being clasped safely in Elrond’s arms, his fall arrested, only to have them thrown off and Elrond turn his back on him without even the slightest interest in his fate, as he began to fall again. Once awakening after that torment, he had known that there was no further sleep coming his way, and had risen to gaze at the darkness outside, mirroring that in his soul. Shivering in his sweat-drenched clothes, he had leant over the balcony rail, blanket wrapped around himself for added warmth, and silently cried. Sometime during the night he had lost his sense of security, of family, and deep in his heart he knew that it was all his fault, everything.

Elladan awoke with a yawn, very tempted to just close his eyes and ignore the world for a few more hours, until the memory of the previous nights events hit him. With a groan he rolled over, looking longingly at his pillow, and, with an incredible effort of will, stood up and grabbed his robe. Making his bed he wandered over to the basin, and filled it from the jug nearby. He splashed his face with water, hoping the cold would wake him up. Blinking the water from his eyes, he began to feel at least semi-alive and, deciding that his twin would be in need of a wake up call, he took the jug with him and left his chambers. Entering his brother’s room without knocking, he stopped in alarm. Elrohir was not there. The bed had not even been slept in. His alarm quickly grew to amusement, as he realised exactly where Elrohir would be found and, leaving the room behind him, he entered the guestrooms Legolas used when he stayed with them.

Finding everything to be as he suspected, Elladan crept silently over towards the slumbering form of his brother, wincing inwardly at the stiffness his twin would experience from resting so awkwardly. He was almost tempted to desist from his intended plan, out of sympathy, but a quick glance at Legolas showed the elf to be awake. In order to raise Legolas’ spirits, or so he justified it to himself, Elladan upended the jug of water directly over Elrohir’s head.

For an instant nothing happened, then, hearing a roar of rage, Elladan found himself flying backwards through the air, coming to rest in the chair opposite his twin. Elrohir was standing over him, ringing out his hair and his clothes, shaking the water over his brother until he was quite damp. “What did you do that for, if you had wanted me awakened all you needed to do was whisper my name, or at most shake me! What did I do to deserve that?”

Elladan replied, unable to keep the grin off his face. “I was only thinking of Legolas, my dear brother. Had I not awakened you in such a way, you would most surely be moaning by now about how uncomfortably you slept, how stiff you are. I was sparing him from listening to your griping.”

Elrohir stood stock-still, gazing at him, unable to comprehend his brother’s peculiar sense of humour so early in the morning. “So you think he would greater appreciate my thoughts on how much I enjoy starting the day with an unexpected bath of cold water?” he finally retorted.

“Certainly little one, for it made for a wonderful sight, you shaking water off yourself like a dog.” Elladan was unable to stop from laughing out loud at the sight of his brother still dripping.

Elrohir tensed, one hand raised in a mock attack at his elder brother. “Little one! I am but minutes younger than you. You cannot get away with calling me that!”

Elladan pushed the hand away, still bent double with laughter. “Ai but you look so young there, all wet, clothes peeling to you. Truly you have my sympathy.”

“How good of you to feel sympathetic when it is because of you I am in such a position!” Elrohir answered, sarcastically. Having retrieved the jug, he was saddened to realise that it was completely empty and that he would have no revenge that way. ‘Well,’ he thought, ‘I am pretty inventive and if that fails I can certainly rely upon Estel for ingenuity.’

The two were liable to have continued on arguing all day were it not for Legolas’ interruption. “Truly it was a welcome sight this morning, however if you wouldn’t mind lowering your voices it would be greatly appreciated.”

The twins turned concerned eyes upon Legolas then, who chuckled softly at having so rapidly changed the subject. “Be not concerned I am well, it is only a lingering headache; loud noises seem to increase it.”

“Valar Legolas! I should have realised that you are in no condition for this,” Elrohir reprimanded himself.

“Forgive me Legolas, I meant no harm.” Elladan answered, eying the elf worriedly.

His twin muttered something to Legolas, which caused a small smile to flit across his face. “He meant no harm to you, anyway.” Fortunately Elladan was out of earshot.

Legolas refused to accept the apologies that streamed forth at him, knowing they had not intended any harm. Besides their antics had begun to lift the depression that had sunk upon him overnight.

“You were unaware that it would trouble me,” he said, “and in truth I enjoyed it. If you wish to help me, however, you will both sit down, as far away from each other as you can get, and tell me exactly what happened yesterday; if indeed it was yesterday.” Legolas looked confused for a moment. “I think I have lost track of time; all I can really remember is some battling with some orcs. I never did get to eat that dinner,” he mused. “By the time the battle was over its only use was as charcoal; and then for some strange reason I can remember flying. Was it some trick of Mithrandir’s that went wrong? I do not remember seeing him, but it is just the sort of illusion he would find amusing.”

The twins, seated on opposite sides of the bed exchanged glances before proceeding to tell him of yesterday’s events.

“…So it was an herb that caused such a reaction in me? What name did you call it?” Legolas questioned. “I have not heard of such a thing before. Truly, I could feel no pain at all. I do not believe I even knew what pain was!”

‘Unlike now when my whole world seems to be pain, I cannot even breathe without needing to hide a wince,’ Legolas thought to himself, careful to keep all expression from his face.

One of the twins answered him, though he was unable to distinguish which one in his fatigue. “It was Rucin Legolas, but I do not think that using it was such a good idea, at least father certainly does not think so!”

“Well I can certainly vouch for its effectiveness, although next time I think I could do without attempting to fly.” Legolas’ sentence ended upon a yawn, and the brothers rose to leave.

“I think you are in need of some more sleep. Would you like me to fetch you something for the pain, or something to eat?” Elladan was suddenly recalled to his duties as host in the absence of his father.

“No, thank you,” Legolas replied. “I do not think I could stomach food at this time, and the pain is not really troubling. Perhaps you could bring me something to read for later? I do not think I will be much in the mood for company until I can stand to hear loud voices,” he forced a smile. “I cannot see Estel keeping quiet for very long!” Closing his eyes, desperate to hide his pain from the twins, he feigned exhaustion.

“No, Legolas that we are agreed on.” Elladan wholeheartedly agreed with the blond’s opinion. “I do not think that word is in his vocabulary unless he is stalking something. We will leave you now, rest easy.”

Elrohir agreed with his brother. “Yes Legolas, sleep well, you look much in need of it.”

Nodding his goodbye, Legolas appeared to drift off as the twins left his room one silently, one ever so slightly squelching with each step.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Outside the door, the two turned towards their rooms speaking quietly among themselves until they reached Elrohir’s rooms. Upon entering, Elladan threw himself down onto the bed unable to stop his laughs from bursting forth. The sight of his brother standing over him with a furious look, arms on hips and still dripping wet, started him off again until, sides aching with laughter, he had a fit so intense that he threw himself onto the floor. It was Elrohir’s turn to partake of the humour and several minutes passed until the two were seated quietly, opposite each other on the floor.

Elrohir fumed at Elladan, a wicked gleam in his eye, which boded ill for the future. “I cannot believe you did that to me!” he said, shocked. “I am certainly going to lock my doors in future. Just remember that I will have my revenge on you, so you had best be especially wary for the present.”

Elladan’s humour faded slightly as he considered to what lengths his brother might take his revenge. Mentally he shrugged. “It was worth it to see your face! Besides I think Legolas needed it this morning, he looked rather sick of your snoring by the time I entered.”

“I do not snore!” Elrohir retaliated. “I breath somewhat heavily I’ll admit, but snore? Never! Not like you.” Pausing, he sobered. “Did you notice though that Legolas did not join in the humour? He said it was funny yes, but he did not laugh, or comment, and I’m sure I looked an awful sight.”

“You still do!” his twin responded in amusement, smile fading as he considered his brother’s words. “But I take your point. He did seem in less than his normal humour. Mayhap it is his headache troubling him more than he wished to let us know.”

Elrohir flicked water at his brother in exasperation. “I am not the only one who looks somewhat the worse for wear this morning! Have you even looked in a mirror today? I would love to know just where you managed to collect that remarkable bruise covering half your face.”

Elladan raised his hand to his face, perplexed. “Bruise? I cannot feel any…OW!”

Smirking at him, Elrohir felt that Elladan deserved that after giving him an unexpected bath this morning. It wasn’t his revenge, but it certainly raised his humour. “Perhaps that will teach you to trust me better in future, brother. If you had taken my word, rather than feeling for yourself, you would not have prodded it!” He continued with a slight concern that his brother had been adventuring in his absence. “How did you receive that anyway? As far as I am aware you were all right yesterday?”

Elladan, gingerly rubbing the multicoloured mark upon his face, scowled at Elrohir. He then winced as the movement aggravated his bruise. “It was Estel, last night. He was unable to stop his pounding on the door, and inadvertently hit me.”

Elrohir burst out in laughter again at this. “You mean that you were too slow to dive out of the way! That is almost the funniest thing I have ever heard, an exhausted human is still able to almost knock out an elf. I shall have to ask Glorfindel to start training you again, I do believe you have forgotten everything you were taught.”

“If you dare I shall tell him just who it was who spilt that powder on his clothes by mistake. He itched forever ere he jumped in the Bruinen!”

Elrohir exclaimed in horror. “You wouldn’t dare!” Grinning in sudden realisation, his eyes held a hint of challenge. “If you are so inclined go ahead, but no-one would take you seriously, not looking like that!”

Elladan’s laugh was infectious, “At this precise moment I do not believe that there are many people who would take either us at our word! At least not without a good laugh first.”

Sobering up, the two returned to their discussion of Legolas’ health.

Pondering Elladan’s previous words Elrohir found himself in agreement. It was the only likely explanation for Legolas’ unusual behaviour. “I think it is most likely that his headache is problematic, perhaps if you were to leave my rooms and dress you could get father to examine him. Maybe have a few words with him, also, about his behaviour last night.”

Elladan turned to his brother in disbelief. “You would leave me to face him on this subject alone? Have you no sense of brotherhood or loyalty? I think you have an overdeveloped sense of self-preservation. What are you intending to do? Go back to bed and in a few hours wander back to Legolas with his books?”

Elrohir looked quite offended at that. “You think I would abandon you to such a task? You are welcome to switch with me if you do not feel up to yours, but be warned, I am intending to tackle Estel on the same subject. I believe getting him to relinquish all the unwarranted guilt he has no doubt brewed up overnight to be a nigh impossible mission.”

Elladan grimaced in sympathy, “I do not envy you your task, Ro, and in light of this I am more than content with my own. Yours would have been hard enough had not father cemented Estel’s beliefs last night.”

Elrohir sighed. “I do not envy myself, but I feel that it would be accepted better coming from me; especially if you forget what you are saying and come out with some of your comments from last night…Ah, do not interrupt! I am not accusing you, I am just thinking aloud.” He paused in sudden realisation, confusion flashing across his face. Turning to Elladan, he voiced his worry. “Did you notice that Legolas did not ask after Estel this morning? It must the first time that one of them has been injured without the healthy one encircling their bedside and refusing to leave, and Legolas did not even wonder at Aragorn’s absence!”

Elladan nodded gravely, “I too noticed this, and am disquieted by it. Something appears to be deeply wrong with everyone. Mayhap more happened last night than Estel was willing or able to tell us.” Standing up with resolution he pulled Elrohir to his feet. “Well, we must do our best to resolve the situation so let us away to our tasks.” When his brother made no move, and only looked at him in silence, he wondered why. “Why do you look at me so?”

Elrohir shook his head in exasperation at Elladan, scattering water by accident, “I am waiting for you to get out of my room so that I can get out of these wet clothes.”

“Oh” Elladan fled laughing at his twin. “Why did you not ask me to leave? You look most uncomfortable.”

“Do I really?” asked Elrohir, “I must thank you for your sympathy brother, and unless you want to experience my true feelings on this matter I suggest you leave now. Immediately!” His twin was faster than the words though, he had already left. Muttering angrily to himself, Elrohir could hear his brother’s amusement echoing down the hallway. As he changed he began planning his revenge…

Legolas was greatly fatigued by the twins’ antics, which had both depressed him and managed to uplift him simultaneously. His headache was very troubling; the world continued to tilt on its axis, the colours too bright and noises too loud. It was nearly unbearable being in the same room as Elrond’s sons when they were arguing. As the sound rose he tried to bury himself deeper under the covers, to no avail. Finally despairing, believing that if this sound continued his brains would be trickling from his ears in no short time, he spoke up.

“Truly it was a welcome sight this morning, however if you wouldn’t mind lowering your voices it would be greatly appreciated.” Laughing to himself at how quickly the argument stopped in favour of concern for him, he hurried to alleviate it.

“I am well, it is only a lingering headache; loud noises seem to increase it.” As they rushed to apologise he was equally quick to reassure them that they were not at fault. Indeed they could not have realised that his headache would be so severe. He did not tell them that of course, implying that it was mild only, and that he was a little tired. In truth he felt worse than he could ever remember feeling; every muscle in his body seemed to ache deeply, throbbing in time with his head. It mattered not whether his eyes were closed, the curtains preventing light from entering the room, or the twins absolutely silent, he was incredibly nauseated, and growing worse.

He had not slept after his depressing awakening early that morning. He had contemplated rising to check on Aragorn, but his headache, and the sleeping presence of Elrohir had prevented this. Instead he had lain quietly, trying not to wake the concerned elf. Each attempt at re-entering his magnificent dream had failed; all that he was able to recapture was the feeling of loss as his flight failed. For the first time that he could remember, he was deeply unsatisfied with his elvish form and abilities. Each seemed vastly less when compared to his winged-self the previous night. Attempting to distract himself from these futile thoughts, he encouraged the twins to relate to him the previous nights events, at least he thought they were the previous night’s; in truth he had lost a great deal of time. As they related the events, he began to get flashes of memory…

//

“Estel, there is something malevolent approaching!” the elf said.

“Is that your attempt at warning me there will be after-effects from this meal, Legolas? Worry not, I have experienced them before! Especially when travelling with you!” Aragorn retorted.

“Idiot,” Legolas smiled, “I do not mean that your cooking is terrible, which it is, but that something approaches.”

Before either elf or man could rise, the woods seemed to burst forth with orcs, bent on destroying them. With a last look at the meal, cooked almost to perfection, Aragorn sighed and drew his sword, stepping into a defensive position.

Legolas, with a quick glance at the trees, despaired of reaching cover, and drew his bow sighting upon its length at the first approaching orc. Disgusted by the sight of the malformed, drooling beast, he nevertheless remained focussed until sure of his aim. Releasing the taut string, he sensed the arrow flying directly at his target. Without waiting to see whether the creature fell he focussed on the next one approaching, and in a quick fire process managed to drop all those within range.

Aragorn, sword drawn, was unfortunately facing three beasts at once. Although, for a mortal with his skill, he was more than a match for any orc, three at once would stretch even his elven-taught abilities. Thankfully for him, the orcs were none too bright, and instead of attacking all together, each waited for the other to take his turn. Shaking his head at their stupidity, Aragorn ducked underneath the ferocious swing of the first, an attempt that trapped the orc-blade deep within the trunk of a nearby oak. Instead of releasing the axe, the orc tugged futilely upon it, unable to free it. This provided Aragorn with a perfect opportunity to cleave a hole through its chest.

Withdrawing his sword he spun to face the next approaching orc. This second battle was more challenging; his fatigue from the long day’s journey, the unfortunate lack of food and his previous battle began to tell upon him. His reactions and movements were slightly dulled and stiffer than usual. Momentarily hard-pressed, he found himself forced to defend the rapid attacks of the beast. It did not help that the creature wielded two blades to his one. Feeling the muscles in his arms protesting at keeping his sword raised to deflect the oncoming blows, Aragorn decided a change of tactics was needed. Diving to the right to avoid the multiple slashes, Aragorn entered into a roll which placed him out of reach of the orc, behind him. Rising silently, he thrust his sword through the orc’s back as the creature swung his head from one side to the other, searching for his lost prey. Left now with only one beast to cope with, he felt comfortable, and risked a glance to check on Legolas.

Legolas, who had rapidly dispatched his arrows at the orcs, was just lowering his bow as the last of them fell. Looking up he met Aragorn’s eyes, and flashed up a hand of five fingers, displaying the amount he had felled. Frowning in mock anger, Aragorn indicated the two he had slain. Legolas responded with a look of incredulity, glancing to the meal, obviously enquiring just what Aragorn had been up to while he had been busily at work. Sensing the motion in the air, Aragorn raised his sword just in time to meet the falling blade that would have removed his head had he not been more alert. Legolas shook his head in disgust at the human’s lack of attention, and, drawing his bow, aimed an arrow at the orc’s heart, ready to intercede should it be required. Moments later he was thankful that he had been so thoughtful; his heart had almost stopped as Estel had retreated backwards into that tree,

//

“Surely you taught him to fight better than that Elladan!” Legolas had interjected.

Elladan was not amused, in fact he appeared angry at Estel’s forgetfulness. “I did, I cannot believe he was so unobservant!”

Legolas would not stand for any denigration of Aragorn’s skills, knowing well that the human was a quick study of technique. “I have noticed that Aragorn is very quick at picking up what he is taught, I believe this a failure on the part of the teacher, not the pupil!”

“Would you like to hear the rest of the tale? Or are you quite content to rest here, knowing nothing further?”

Legolas shut up.

//

Releasing his arrow, Legolas had the pleasure of seeing his sixth kill collapsing to the floor, while Aragorn stood, breathing heavily, staring down at the corpse in disbelief. Amused at the human’s shock Legolas could not resist teasing him.

“I grew tired of waiting Estel, mayhap in future you could finish your battles more efficiently; I believe our dinner is getting cold,” the elf jested.

Shaking his head at his lapse, Aragorn raised his head to look ruefully at Legolas, a look, which quickly turned to one of alarm. Interpreting the look, Legolas dived to one side feeling a blinding pain in his leg as he did so.

Clutching at his wound in an attempt to lessen the bleeding and the pain, Legolas remained crouched in this position, unaware of the orc’s activities. His senses, temporarily dulled by the shock, were reawakened as he heard an anguished cry, and then a thud. Tensing in fear that Aragorn was bested, he was relieved to hear the overly heavy breathing of the fatigued human. Taking several deep breaths himself, to slow the pain, his voice of reassurance was convincing, at least to him.

“I’m alright Estel ‘tis but a scratch. Where did he come from?” he wondered.

He groaned, this time not in pain, but in mortification as Aragorn turned to face him, arrow in hand; an arrow he recognised as one of his own. He was forced to accept the human’s reproof, knowing that he had failed him.

Aragorn’s wry smile belied the concern in his eyes. “Perhaps next time you will exercise a little more accuracy and a little less haste in your fights. I’d much rather have a cold meal than have you dead.”

Thought after that was very hard, the pain of his wound, though slight compared to previous wounds he had received, troubled him far more than he wished to let Aragorn know. The human was, unfortunately, quite perceptive, and as his mouth tightened and tension lines appeared upon his forehead, Legolas knew that he had failed in his attempt.

He remembered little else after that; Aragorn was gone for what seemed to be days, searching for an herb to ease his pain. On his return, the frown lines had deepened, and Legolas was convinced that the human’s hair was turning grey with worry before his very eyes. The herb that Aragorn had found, was not one that Legolas recognised, trusting the human’s abilities though, he submitted himself – unwillingly – to his care.

Events blurred even more, he sensed the pain easing until he was almost unaware that such a thing ever existed. He seemed to feel more energy running through his veins, more life. He was unable to resist running amongst the trees.

Not unaware of Aragorn’s concern, he tried to restrain himself, but was unable to stop himself from imagining. Here is where he began to lose track of time and events. Fantastic flight and adventure were what he remembered, and he was unable to integrate them with his current depression and exhaustion, for he had felt truly alive, for what felt like the first time, in his long life.

//

“…So it was an herb that caused such a reaction in me? What name did you call it?” Legolas questioned. “I have not heard of such a thing before. Truly, I could feel no pain at all. I do not believe I even knew what pain was!”

“It was Rucin Legolas, but I do not think that using it was such a good idea, at least father certainly does not think so!”

“Well I can certainly vouch for its effectiveness, although next time I think I could do without attempting to fly!” Legolas ended this sentence on a yawn, unable to deal with his feelings of weakness and this conversation at the same time. He had had only half a night’s sleep; the latter half being spent tossing and turning trying to recapture his feelings of exhilaration. Feeling guilty at drawing the twin’s attention away from their family, and at requiring tending once again through his own fault, Legolas pretended fatigue in order to force them to leave.

Once the twins had said their goodbyes and left however, Legolas felt the depression, which had temporarily lifted at their antics, begin to overwhelm him again. He felt unable to move; everything seemed to pain him with its weakness or stiffness. His head was swimming worse than it had all night, and he began to regret declining Elladan’s offer of a painkiller. Lying there, his misery overwhelming him, he was unable to stop himself from blaming Aragorn for his current experiences.

‘If that human had not distracted me or drugged me I would not be feeling so awful now,’ he thought.

Horrified at his treacherous thoughts concerning his friend, Legolas began to truly be worried about his injuries, maybe the blow to his head had affected him more than both he and Elrond believed! Deciding to try and sleep off these thoughts, Legolas closed his eyes, subjecting himself to another bout of nauseated depression rather than sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chuckling to himself, Elladan marched quickly from his brother’s room – not running, nay never that! - checking behind him just in case there was some form of retribution coming his way. Reaching his own rooms safely, he dressed hurriedly and, deciding to err on the side of caution, delayed breakfast until after his meeting with his father. Knowing that Elrohir would be taking breakfast to Estel, Elladan would not risk being embroiled in a food fight and have to change again. Not that he would initiate such an immature battle, but his brother was certainly young enough to find it amusing.

In all too short a time he found himself standing outside the elaborately carved doors to his father’s chambers. He took a deep breath to prepare himself for…well he wasn’t really sure, but he knew that Elrond had been furious last night, and he really didn’t want that rage directed at him. He raised his hand and knocked sharply; hearing no answer he knocked again. After a third time he began to get concerned, it was not that early, and although Elrond was an habitual early riser he was usually still in his chambers at this hour. Risking his father’s anger Elladan opened the door and entered.

There was no outward sign of a struggle; the candles were lit, the furniture was in its proper place, there was no broken glass on the floor, yet Elladan remained uneasy. Sensing that something was wrong, he scanned the room more closely looking for the cause of his concern. Rolling his eyes in relief and reproof for failing to spot it earlier, he finally noticed what was wrong. Elrond had not used this room this night. The candles were burnt right down; as he watched one guttered out. The fire was only a heap of glowing embers, it had obviously been left untended. But the deciding factor was the state of the bed, it too had been untouched, unslept in. Laughing at himself for his failure to notice this right away, Elladan was amused to realise that he was the only one in this family who appeared to have had the sense to sleep properly last night. Closing the door behind him, he left to search his father’s study, and then the dining room, all the most likely places that Elrond would have been headed last night.

Surprising himself somewhat with his luck, Elladan found his father bent over a book at his desk in the study, hair trickling forward masking his face. Candle and fire here were also burning low. As he watched, Elrond remained motionless and turned no pages; yes truly had he found where his father slept last night. For a very fleeting second Elladan was tempted to seek another jug of water, but fortunately his common sense returned and he called his father awake, preferring not to aggravate any remaining temper he may be in.

“Adar? You do realise that you have spent all night here? Is aught wrong?” he asked.

Elrond awoke with a scowl on his face, plainly his anger of the night before had not dissipated with rest. Raising his head to gaze at the fiend that had awakened him, the scowl became a wince at the stiffness in his neck. Placing a hand there, gently massaging away at the pain Elrond lowered his head slightly, wiping away the vestiges of sleep with his free hand. As the pain began to ease he again raised his head, slowly this time, and gaped in confusion at Elladan.

“Do tell what happened to your eye,” he asked. “I trust it wasn’t another dare from your brother?”

Ducking his head in embarrassment and relief that Elrond was being reasonable, Elladan made the mistake of relating the previous night’s incident with Aragorn’s fist. “It was accidental Ada,” he said. “I was too slow too move and Estel was far to exhausted to stop his movement.”

Knowing the instant that he mentioned Aragorn by name he had made a mistake, Elladan tried to appeal to his father’s concern for the human. “He was completely exhausted last night, after his trek carrying Legolas, and was in condition to do anything but collapse.”

Elrond’s scowl deepened, he had no wish to hear mention of that name this early today, if ever. He had far too much work to do because of that boy. “Do not mention that name to me this morning or indeed for the rest of the day,” he frowned. “I am in no mood to excuse his actions, and his fatigue is deserved as far as I’m concerned.”

Elladan gaped at his father; he had hoped that the comments of the night previous were due to the shock at Legolas’ bloodied form. It had been a troubling sight, fortunately far worse than his injuries were in actuality. “Father, you cannot mean that!” he exclaimed. “It was the smallest of mistakes. Elrohir and I both agree that we would have done the same.”

“Then you both are far greater fools than I could ever have imagined it was possible to be,” Elrond answered. “You reject the word of your father, who has lived considerably more years than yourself, and furthermore you proceed to tell me that the actions I am condemning were justified.”

Elrond’s head felt stuffed with fatigue, he had been reading until very late this morning and had in truth managed less than two hours sleep before being awakened to this; he was in no mood to let this argument continue. “There are very few times that I do not recognise in you some small exhibition of correctness,” he continued. “But in this instance I can truly say that everything you do and say is in error. I realise that I have not provided you with certain information that would most definitely alter your opinion, and that you feel the need to defend your brother. However, I cannot allow you to continue on with this attitude. I am gravely disappointed that neither you nor Elrohir seem able to accept my word with the certain knowledge that it is right; that I am right. I will hear nothing more on this matter, understood?” he demanded.

Elladan’s eyes had kept growing wider throughout this conversation; if it could, in reality, be called a conversation since it seemed he was to be allowed little part of it, and anything that he did say would be summarily rejected. He was brought out of his distraction by his father’s demand for an answer.

“I said is that understood?” was the sternly repeated question.

Knowing that to continue at this point would end either with his father storming from the room, or having him removed, Elladan nodded his obedience. Noting his father’s eyes still upon him, he spoke this aloud. “Yes father, I will speak no more of this for the immediate future.”

Reddened, fatigued eyes stared back at him, until his word was acknowledged with a curt nod. “Good. Does that eye trouble you? Are you in need of a poultice?”

Shaking his head inwardly at Elrond’s abrupt dismissal of the matter, of Estel, Elladan declined any aid. “My eye already swells less, and it does not pain me unless it is prodded.”

“Then may I suggest that you stay away from Elrohir, I do not think he will be able to resist from touching it.” Elrond’s attempt at humour was pitiful really, but since he was obviously making an effort to control his anger, Elladan forced a smile at it.

“It is not myself who is in pain this morning but Legolas,” Elladan remembered. “He attempts to conceal it, and does not wish to trouble us, but it is clear he is not well.”

Elrond sat up straighter at this, his eyes sharpening with worry. The drawn look upon his face grew more pronounced as he took in his eldest son’s observations. “How so?” he asked. “What exactly is it that makes you so concerned with him?”

Elladan grimaced to himself at his wording. He had not meant to provoke such a reaction in his father, only to distract him from his worries, and get Legolas something for the pain he was undoubtedly concealing.

“I am not overly concerned father,” he answered. “It was a poor choice of words. Legolas seemed a little down, he did not join in the laughter or teasing of what was a truly amusing sight.” Realising as he spoke that it would not be wise to admit to such immature antics with his father in this kind of a mood, Elladan made an effort to conceal his actions. “He was amused for certain, yet it seemed to take a great effort for him to display it. He smiled but I think with no real feeling. I believe his head is troubling him far more than he wished to bother us with. He is sleeping peacefully now.”

Elrond did not seem to be relieved by his words, if anything Elladan’s description had increased his worry. “You said he was depressed,” he asked. “He looked depressed? Are you sure this was something he would have been amused at? Ah!” Raising a hand to prevent Elladan’s reluctant description of events he begged for a yes or no answer only. “I have little interest in what foolishness you and Elrohir have been perpetrating, I only wish for a simple yay or nay.”

“Yes father, it was deeply humorous,” Elladan answered, relieved. “Elrohir made such a sight. I did not say Legolas was depressed, just a little down. I do not think he slept well, he certainly seemed tired.”

Worry easing just slightly at Elladan’s amended description, Elrond nodded. “He was not depressed just tired and hurting, you think?” he inquired.

“Yes father, he did appreciate the humour, but was just too listless to make any effort.” Elladan did not notice his father’s concern sharpen at his last description. “Is there anything you would like me to give him? Or would you prefer to examine him yourself?”

“If you could take him something light to eat for when he next awakens; I do not think he will feel up to eating much,” Elrond answered. “I will check up on him later. I have much research that needs doing.”

Elladan nodded in agreement. “He was not hungry earlier, but I will do as you ask.” Seeking to appease his father, and sooner allow him to rest Elladan offered his aid. “Will you be needing any help with your research, any books fetched?”

Elrond, looked searchingly at his eldest son, tempted at the offer. Muttering something beneath his breath that his son did not catch he shook his head. “Thank you no, Elladan. You should arrange for the food to be prepared, and have something yourself while you are in the kitchens.”

“Yes father.” Elladan grimaced to himself that Elrond could show such concern over him to pay attention to a very quietly rumbling stomach, but completely dismiss Estel’s needs. Still he had promised not to mention this any further to his father, so he obediently left.

As soon as Elladan was beyond earshot Elrond lowered his head into his hands, groaning in despair and exhaustion. “Would that I could entrust you with this,” he pleaded. “But I will not lay this concern upon you unless it becomes absolutely necessary. I would not have you learn of my failings.” Muttering to himself he supported his head on one hand, while carefully studying his journals. “Depressed, listless, it’s happening all over again. Oh Valar what shall I do? Estel! You idiot. Why did it have to be Rucin? Why!”

Elrohir entered Estel’s room carefully balancing an enormous tray of food in one hand, while the other turned the door handle. Reaching the table without any mishap he lowered the tray down, thankfully, without spilling anything. Casting an eye over the food he was disappointed that Elladan had not appeared in the kitchens, there was plenty of waste from the night before that would have been just perfect as a projectile. Taking a hunk of bread for himself, he turned to the bed to offer Aragorn some breakfast. Sighing, he was unsurprised to see the bed empty, linens rumpled and twisted, pillow thrown across the room in a fit of rage. Inwardly he had known that Estel would not find rest last night, but he had hoped that torment would have been spared from his brother. His troubled eyes roamed the room, noting from the scattered bedclothes that he seemed to have spent much of the night pacing, not sleeping, and he sighed again knowing just how bad the night terrors must have been to have forced the exhausted human from his much needed rest.

Feeling the bedclothes with one hand, Elrohir determined that they had not been used for at least an hour; knowing Estel it would have been much longer. He had heard the man checking on Legolas last night, but had hoped that the worst of the dreams would be over after that. Filling a plate with food, he opened the door to the balcony and stepped outside. His heart briefly clenched, as he perceived Aragorn leaning over the rail, gazing down as though to jump, but before he could fling down the plate and grab him, Aragorn looked up at him. Elrohir was struck silent at the pain that dulled the grey orbs staring at him. Gone was the enthusiasm, the sparkle that attracted so many to Estel.

Colourless eyes, the whites streaked with red from too many tears, were half-closed in physical and emotional fatigue. Deep shadows framed them, the smears standing out harshly against his pale, drawn face. Elrohir could bear it no longer and, putting the plate down on the bench, stepped hurriedly forward, wrapping his arms around his brother, and drawing him close. Elrohir could feel Estel shivering in the chill air of the morning, despite the blanket wrapped around him. He pulled him closer still, one hand at the nape of his neck, and the other on the back of his head, drawing it onto his shoulder. As Estel continued to tremble, the hand at his neck lowered, and began to rub soothing circles on his back, calming him.

Long minutes passed as the two stood there, taking comfort in the embrace. Deaf to the growing noises of the household, ignorant of the sun’s light rising up towards them, they stood. Eventually Estel pulled away, unwilling and undeserving of any comfort. Elrohir did not let him pull away far, leaving a comforting hand upon his shoulder, guiding him to sit down upon the bench. Aragorn curled his legs up beneath him and continued to gaze out into the grounds, ignoring both Elrohir, and the plate of food he placed in front of him. As he stared out at nothing, memories returned to torment him.

//

Aragorn flung himself to the ground, ignoring the stones that attempted to impale him, focussing his attention solely on the falling figure. Legolas lifted up his eyes, displaying only mirth; no hint of fear or even recognition, no hint that this action could result in his death. As Aragorn watched, Legolas fell ever lower, until he sank beyond sight, into the waters below.

“NOOOOOOO!” he cried. “LEGOLAS!”

Aragorn was on the point of diving after his friend, but realised that if he injured himself in the fall he would be unable to help Legolas. Throwing down his pack he glanced rapidly around him, searching for the easiest way down, and flung himself along it with little regard to his own safety. The dry soil provided no stable purchase for his weight and, rather than running down the steep slope, he spent much of his time trying to keep his footing whilst maintaining his speed. The knowledge that even elves needed oxygen to survive enabled him to give extra speed to his movements, despite his fatigue, and he abandoned all thoughts of safety, relying upon his natural instinct for balance to preserve him. Eventually, after some hair-raising moments teetering on the brink of falling, he found himself, panting, at the cliff bottom.

There was no trace of the elf, no sign that anyone had fallen in and disturbed the serenity. The waters were smooth and calm, although light ripples caused by the breeze produced a distorted image of the overhanging trees and sky above, preventing Aragorn from seeing beneath the surface. A quick glance at the lake’s edges revealed no tracks, no broken branches or fallen leaves, no marks in the mud to indicate that another creature had passed this way. No sign of any life. Realising that Legolas had not managed to find his way out of the water, Aragorn prepared himself to search the lake for his friend’s body. Removing his cloak and boots, Aragorn dived into the water, eyes open against the pressure, desperately searching for any traces of colour that might lead him to the elf.

For over an hour he continued in his futile search beneath the waters, his need for oxygen frequently forcing him to abandon it, and resurface. His eyes became half closed; partly due to the coolness of the water, but mostly because of the irritation caused by the layers of silt that had risen from Legolas’ uncontrolled dive. He continually tried to brush aside the silt with his hand, in order to see through it, but this was proving ineffectual. Despite the low level of visibility, Aragorn was able to determine that Legolas had not met his fate here. Following the path of the silt to its origin, he had observed a very recent elf-shaped dent in the residue on the lake bottom; it was clear that Legolas had landed here. The depth of the water was unfortunately too shallow to have done more than slow the elf’s momentum; it could not stop him impacting the ground. But Legolas was not to be found here, nor anywhere below the surface that Aragorn could see. Resurfacing for the last time, shivering in despair and the cool breeze that permeated the surface, Aragorn staggered out of the lake, donned his discarded clothes, and continued with the search.

//

Aragorn jumped, startled, as Elrohir shook him. He turned reflexively to face his brother, wide eyes still glazed in shock and memory.

The youngest twin placed his hand on the side of Aragorn’s face, preventing him from turning away. Looking him deep in the eyes, he willed him to see the truth in his. “Estel, it was not your fault. You did not force the orcs to attack, nor did you know that the Rucin would have such an adverse effect upon elves.”

Aragorn stared blankly back at Elrohir, unable to completely relinquish the grip the images had upon him.

Elrohir frowned at the lack of response, and tried again. “Legolas was in pain, you needed to give him something for it else he would likely not be here now. Estel, both Elladan and myself would have done exactly the same as you; you are not in the wrong here!”

The wearied eyes blinked at this, a quiet, hoarse voice issued from below. “You would?”

Relieved that Aragorn was listening, and had finally spoken, Elrohir continued. “Ai, we would. There is nothing we would have done differently.” Elrohir nodded vigorously in agreement with his statement. “If either of us saw the other in pain and knew of something that would ease it, we would not hesitate to use it. We have taught you well to act as we would.” Elrohir sighed thankfully as some of the pain in Aragorn’s eyes was eased. “Father was just worried about Legolas last night; he did not mean his words to you. He probably did not even realise what he was saying would hurt so much.”

At the mention of his foster-father, Aragorn’s tension was reawakened. His raspy voice, brittle with despair, was haunted at the memory of his father’s accusations. “He has been concerned for Legolas’ health before and has not reacted in such a manner, I cannot believe that this was the cause of his words to me. No, it is me he is angry at, and my actions; ergo I must be at fault somewhere.” Aragorn tried to duck away from Elrohir’s grip, but was not allowed.

Unwilling to let Estel turn away from the truth, his brother rested his other hand on Estel’s face, gently cradling it. Wiping away the tearstains from the night before with his thumbs, he tried for a third time to convince Aragorn that it was Elrond at fault not him. “You cannot believe that you are the cause of Legolas’ mishap. One word in a conversation does not put you at fault. Chances are that he would have injured himself further, in a far more tragic way, had you not mentioned flying.”

Although Aragorn remained looking away, somewhat of the heaviness in his features and posture was relaxing. Noting that his words were beginning to sink in, Elrohir sighed in relief. “Come inside Estel, you are still shivering, and the sun is hardly quiet today. You were soaked yesterday, and it can hardly have helped staying out here for most of the night. Come, I need your help to plan my revenge upon Elladan.”

Expecting at least a half-hearted inquiry, from Aragon, about Elladan’s antics, Elrohir was dismayed to see Aragorn’s shivers increase, and the clarity in his eyes begin to fade. Elrohir’s distraction had been working until Aragorn was reminded of his frantic search consuming most of yesterday. He could not soon forget the long hours spent diving and resurfacing in the lake, hunting along the shores ignoring his fatigue, guilt forcing him onwards to uncover Legolas’ fate.

//

Aragorn had reached the conclusion now that the elf could not have survived both the fall and the river in his drugged and probably unconscious state. His observation of the lake had detected a small current that was perhaps strong enough to pull Legolas’ body away from the impact site. Aragorn resigned himself to a long walk circling the lake’s edge, following the current. He began walking.

Despite all reason telling him that Legolas had perished in the fall, Estel was unable to prevent himself from closely examining the ground in the hope that Legolas had somehow survived the fall, and dragged himself out. Hope was too much a part of his character for him to surrender easily to despair. For several hours he shivered in the stiff breeze that disturbed the water, as he staggered on exhaustedly, searching desperately for any sign that Legolas still lived. Submerged in his guilt, mentally rehearsing how to tell Elrond, and worse Thranduil, how Legolas had died because of his faults, Aragorn’s faltering steps took him to a small stream. The entrance was almost obscured by the overhanging trees and, gently brushing aside the leaves, he lurched to a halt as he espied a figure facedown at the shore, still half submerged in the water.

He had finally found his friend, still and lifeless.

For more than a passing amount of time Aragorn had remained rooted to the spot, unable to approach and confirm that Legolas had perished in the fall. Eventually he had braved up enough courage and waded out into the water to retrieve the body. His hand was stayed just before it made contact.

Aragorn gazed down at his friend, tears building, as he stared at the mud-coated form, so still before him. Dropping to his knees beside Legolas, heedless of the cold water that soaked him, Aragorn gently lifted the elf into his arms. Brushing away the mud from his eyes and hair he held him close, tears falling in earnest now. The chill from the water had seeped into him; numb hands clutched the elf’s body to his chest, afraid to let him go. As he was beginning to lose all feeling, Aragorn felt an unexpected warmth against his icy skin. Puzzled he lifted his hand and saw blood on it, Legolas’ blood, mingled with silt and water. Remorsefully, Aragorn examined Legolas for injury, discovering that his head wound, obviously received by impacting on the lake floor, still bled.

STILL BLED?

But that would mean…

Legolas lived! As Aragorn began to reason through the despair that gripped him, he realised that the body he held so tightly to him, was rising and falling regularly, he was breathing!

Frantically checking for a pulse to confirm the unbelievable, Estel could feel the warmth of the elf’s breath where his head lay supported on Aragorn’s chest.

‘How could he have missed this?’ he wondered.

Rising to his feet he gathered the trembling form in his arms, and, shuddering with relief, began the long trek home to safety.

//

He had not felt warm since first seeing Legolas fall; indeed Aragorn was not even aware that he shivered, still. Consumed with memory, he was unable to quiet his mind enough to gain sufficient rest to cope with the images he re-experienced. He desperately hoped that he could sleep, that when he awakened everything would be less stark, less painful, but in order to sleep he need to forget. It was a vicious circle, which he could not break, and it was severely weighing him down with guilt and exhaustion.

Aragorn curled himself in more tightly for warmth and protection. Exhaustion permeated every muscle in his body, and he was unable to prevent his slide down the bench. Resting his overly weighty head upon Elrohir’s broad shoulder, he tensed slightly as he felt his brother’s arm wrap over his shoulder, pulling him in. His mind believed him undeserving of comfort, but his body welcomed it.

The transition from wakefulness to rest did not come easy for him; he was unable to prevent flashes of memory from attacking him. Every time, as he was close to drifting off, the images would cause him to flinch awake, forcing him further from sleep. His father’s accusing voice echoed in his mind. Just as he was losing all hope, a soothing hand began gently easing away his tension, comforting him, allowing him sink much nearer unconsciousness. His desperate need for sleep was still interlaced with horrifying memories, but these were chased away by his brother’s comforting presence. Supported and temporarily feeling secure, Aragorn slept.

“Does he sleep?” Elladan asked, stepping forward onto the balcony outside Estel’s room, blanket in hand.

“Ssh. He has only now given in to his need for rest, do not dare wake him!” Elrohir whispered forcefully at his brother, raising his finger to his lips as the elder twin stepped forward and gently laid the blanket over the sleeping figure, smoothing it down.

“Poor boy,” soothed Elladan. “It is as we feared then, he had a troubled night?” He strode to the balcony’s edge and perched upon the railing, facing the bench. “I am glad at least one of us had success this morning. Congratulations on convincing Estel that he is not at fault, I am quite impressed.”

Elrohir looked down, grimacing ruefully at this. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a success, I do not think anyone but Legolas or Adar will be able to convince Estel that the fault was not his. At least he is resting now, although I fear it will be nothing but brief.”

Elrohir stilled his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder, and stole a glance at his brother. A frown swept across his face as he took in the anger and frustration that marred his twin’s. “Your discussion with Adar did not go as well then.” It was of less a question and more of a statement. A sudden thought brought a look of horror upon his face, and he rushed to reassure himself. “Legolas is not worse than we expected is he? Father does not fear for him?”

Elladan swiftly lifted his head from his fixed concentration of the balcony floor, and managed to relax his features into something resembling comfort. “Nay, do not fear that, brother, Legolas is as well as anyone can expect. I fear I worried father about him earlier. I was distracted by other thoughts when I described Legolas’ condition to him, but after my error was amended he did not express, to me, any cause for concern for Legolas.”

“It is unlike you to be distracted by anything when the matter concerns something as important as the health of a friend.” A knowing look flashed in Elrohir’s eyes, and his irate tone demanded an immediate answer. “What did father say to you that so disturbed you? What has he said about Estel now?”

Elladan’s face darkened at the memory of his father’s words. “He appeared to have little concern for anything other than Legolas, he certainly had no cares for Estel’s well-being.” Pausing, he breathed deeply, trying to restore some semblance of calm and continue with his narration. Rubbing his forehead with his hand Elladan sighed. “You are right as usual brother, ’Twas father’s absolute condemnation of Estel that caused me to speak without thought about Legolas. I should have realised that father would at least be interested in him.” Elladan shook his head in disgust.

“Had he no concern for Estel at all? Did he not wonder about his feelings or health this morning?” Elrohir was bewildered by the lack of interest his father seemed to be showing. “Did he not even ask if he slept well? It is very unlike him to take no interest in our brother, I cannot believe that he would just ignore him while he is in this state.”

“It is because of him that Estel is in this state!” Elladan cried.

“Well, I certainly agree with that.” Elrohir responded. “All that was needed last night was an apology for his words to Estel, and this one here would not have been in nearly as bad a state as he is. It is beyond me to tell you how much of a difference it would make if Adar came and apologised right now, instead of ignoring him. I do not believe I have ever seen Estel so distraught, except perhaps when he saw the death of Arathorn, and his family, though he was really too young to understand what was happening.” Elrohir ran his hand soothingly along Aragorn’s hair, which cascaded onto his shoulder.

His brother rose from his perch, pacing along the balcony. After a quick, concerned glance at Estel, checking he still slept, he gazed out at the river. “Father did far more than just ignore him, Elrohir, he reiterated his opinions of last night. I was unable to convince him that Estel did no wrong. When I mentioned that we would have acted similarly he accused us of having less sense than he ever believed possible. ” Elrohir gaped at his twin in disbelief.

“He said he was disappointed in us,” swinging round, arms folded across his chest, Elladan’s voice shook in anger at remembrance of his father’s words. “Something twists his mind, and I am beginning to hold credence in your theory about the ring possessing him. I cannot conceive of any other possibility for his behaviour!”

“Elladan! I only spoke that thought because I was exhausted; it is the most implausible thing I have heard. He has held the ring for nearly 3000 years without any ill-effects. I am sure that if there were to be any we would have seen signs of it before now.” Elrohir was almost amused at how desperate Elladan must be to revert to one of his suggestions.

Elladan bowed down, admonished. “Yes, you are correct; that was ridiculous. It is only that his behaviour seems so out of character, that I search for the reason for it.” Anger returned to his expression at the memory. “He forbade me to speak of the events, can you believe that?” Not allowing his twin to respond, his voice rose. “He has forbidden me to even mention Estel’s name in his presence today!”

Elrohir frowned at him, “He cannot have meant that, perhaps you misunderstood.” His eyes gleamed as he had a suggestion. “I know. He is worried about Legolas, and does not wish to be reminded of it. He does not wish us to know of his concerns, so he refuses us permission to talk about the situation,” his enthusiasm faded as he considered this. “No, I would not wish this to be the case, for then Legolas would be more grievously injured than either of us suspects, and that would kill Estel. He would never forgive himself.”

Elladan shook his head, in disagreement, crossing his arms, one hand cupping his chin as he pondered his twin’s idea. “I do not think that is the cause of his behaviour; something eats at him but he is not willing to share it with me. He did not sleep in his room last night, you know? If I am not greatly mistaken he spent much of his time poring over some old books, ones I did not recognise.”

Elrohir stretched stiffly, careful not to disturb Aragorn, the previous night’s discomfort making itself known. “From the looks of this family it was only you who experienced an easy rest this past night. It must just be fatigue and concern that has clouded father’s mind to Estel, if we keep the two separate this day, mayhap they will resolve their differences this evening.”

“Have you lost your mind as well?” Elladan’s anguished voice was almost a groan of frustration. “Father has been weary before, and worried, but he has never acted thus. There is something more deeply wrong here than we can discover, and father shows no willingness to reveal it.” His voice lowered then “I fear it, brother; something that can cause such a drastic change of opinion to one so loved must be a powerful foe indeed.”

The two sat silently for a while, evaluating Elrond’s words. “He gave you no reasons for his behaviour at all, not even an hint?” Elrohir continued at his twin’s headshake. “Did he even acknowledge that he may be wrong, that Estel may not be at fault?”

Elladan’s voice raised in reply, his moment of calm vanished as his pacing commenced again. “He closed off the second I mentioned Estel’s name. I did not just walk in there and demand he apologise to Estel, though the thought did occur to me. His name was mentioned accidentally, as part of another discussion, and yet the second he heard it that was it, all reason abandoned him. I was no longer involved in the conversation.” Elladan swung away then, arms wrapped around himself, pacing ferociously from one end of the balcony to the other, no hesitation. Stopping in front of his brothers, he swung to face them again, almost yelling in his distress.

“He ranted!” he paused after this, chest heaving in anguished fear. “Ranted Elrohir, have you ever known him to do that?” Taking a deep breath he wrung his fists in Elrohir’s shirt and shook him, tears in his eyes. “He said Estel deserved to feel this way.”

“Be quiet Elladan, do you wish to wake this one after all the trouble I have taken to allow him to rest?” Elrohir whispered fiercely at his twin, wrapping his brother’s fist in his own hand, beseeching him to calm down. “I do not wish to wake Estel to this conversation, particularly when we can discern no reason for our father’s anger towards him. It would not do to let him know, in this state, that father still blames him. Come, sit and eat, let him sleep.”

As Elladan seated himself opposite his twin and the pair of them picked half-heartedly at breakfast, neither of them noticed the tear gently gliding down Aragorn’s cheek. He had heard every word they had said.

Aragorn lay still, enclosed by Elrohir’s arm, feigning sleep. He was mulling over the conversation he had heard. His father had not forgiven him this morning, as he had secretly hoped; worse, much worse, he still blamed him for Legolas’ condition. The only father he had ever known had said he had deserved to suffer like this. That was not the behaviour of the father he knew and loved. Elrond would never act like this unless something was terribly wrong with Legolas, yet the twins had said this was not the case. It made no sense.

Taking comfort in Elrohir’s earlier words to him, Estel had managed to snatch a few brief moments of rest, which had helped ease him immensely. Woken by the sound of raised, angry voices his still sleep-fuddled mind at first thought the twins were yelling at him. Alas no, he had awakened to hear his worse fears justified; Elrond was blaming him still. No longer could he console himself with the belief that those words had been a result of the stresses and fears of the night previous; harsh words, but ultimately meaningless. No, Elladan’s news had crushed the smallest of hopes left to him.

Those words that had been painful last night, had, after such a sleepless night left him so openly vulnerable, been excruciating. Aragorn was no fool, he had enough wits about him to realise that he frequently assumed responsibility for events over which he had no control; it was part of his nature. It mattered not how many times he was told he was not at fault, until all injuries were healed and his self-imposed penance over, Estel would carry his guilt, weighted down by it. But this situation was far worse than previous times, this time he was not hearing voices trying to convince him of his innocence. This time he was being accused, even as he was accusing himself. This time there was not even the slightest doubt of his culpability. Elrond blamed him, and he was never wrong.

Aragorn lay there, stunned into immobility. His world was literally falling to pieces. He could not believe that his father would continue to blame him for no reason, yet that is what seemed to be happening. He held little belief in Elladan’s theory about the ring controlling his father; it was utterly ridiculous after all this time that it would only now begin to have an effect. Surely it was. Elrohir’s theory about Legolas was horrifying him. Should the elf be seriously ill, it would be completely his fault. Despite the reassurance of his brothers he was unable to completely discount it. Of the two options presented to him, he was unable to determine which was the worst. One way Legolas was dying or at least very near death, and it would be all his fault; the other way, he was being put through all this for no reason other than the whim of a ring. If the second option was true, then his father suffered agonies trying to control the ring’s effects, while all he was doing do was moping about. Either way he had failed his friend and father, and endangered them with his folly. Involuntarily his anguish caused him to twitch in distress.

“Estel?” His eyelids flickered at the sound of Elladan’s whisper.

“I think he’s dreaming,” the younger twin responded, somewhat louder.

‘Oh, if only,’ thought Aragorn. ‘This is definitely a nightmare.’

“Be quiet Elrohir you will wake him.” Elladan again, attempting to silence his brother.

‘I would that were possible. There is nothing I would not give to wake up from this,’ Aragorn struggled to keep his face clear of the depression which assailed him.

“I think he already is awake, and is trying to disguise it. Estel are you awake?” asked Elrohir.

Aragorn kept silent, unwilling to betray his knowledge of their conversation. ‘It will not do to show them that I have overheard, it will only cause them to worry more, and I have already caused them far more concern over me than I deserve,’ he thought.

An annoying rocking, motion forced him to open his eyes. Managing to produce a sleepy glare at Elrohir he growled, voice hoarse from emotion. “Had your voices not already awakened me then your shaking of me certainly would have. I thought you wanted me to rest?”

Both twins glanced away, embarrassed, hearing exhaustion in his rough voice. Elrohir rested his hand on Aragorn’s forehead, checking for fever. “You nearly jerked yourself onto the floor, I feared that you were having bad dreams again.”

Estel pushed away at his brother’s hand, in irritation. “I am not feverish, and I was not dreaming, it was just a muscle twitching. It is perfectly normal and happens quite frequently.”

‘They will believe that. All elves hold mortals to be weaker than them. A muscle spasm is a very mortal thing,’ he sighed.

Elladan, who from his perch on the railing had been silently observing the two, rose up. Sweeping Estel’s feet onto the floor to make room, he seated himself on the other side of the human. Reaching out with one hand and turning his youngest brother to face him, he looked intently into the grey eyes, now rubbed almost colourless by the events. Estel tried to evade his stare, knowing that his brother was likely to perceive the truth, despite his previous statement. With a quiet sigh he did the only thing he could to hide the truth, and buried his head in his brother’s chest, feeling the strong arms wrap around him, the soft elvish material cool against his skin. Despite himself, he enjoyed the comfort of being held, of feeling safe, and loved. Knowing he was undeserving he tried to pull away but was held tighter by Elladan. A firm hand on his back, holding him down prevented him from moving backwards.

“You heard everything we just said didn’t you?” Elrohir spoke rhetorically. When Aragorn was unable to form a response, the twins had their answer.

Elladan rested his right cheek on the crown of Aragorn’s head, whispering, “Oh Estel, I am sorry, I did not wish for you to overhear me rant about Adar. There was no need for you to hear of what he mistakenly believes to be true. I should have been more thoughtful, it’s my fault.” As Elladan spoke, Elrohir was agreeing, the hand upon his back stroking calming circles.

Twisting in his brothers’ grips, so he could look them in the eyes, he gaped open-mouthed at Elladan. “What are you apologising for, you could not have known that I would waken then. The fault is not yours, I am fully aware that it is mine, you do not have to pretend with me.”

“Estel, did you not listen to what we were saying while you practised your deception? We do not agree that you are responsible for any of this. Father is wrong to blame you,” Elladan exclaimed.

Aragorn despaired. “When have you ever known Lord Elrond to be wrong?”

All were silent at this, they had never experienced him to be in the wrong, and yet he must be, else the situation was too dire to imagine. Their introspection stopped abruptly, as Estel shivered in spite of the powerful sun above. Elrohir’s hand was removed, and replaced with the coarse woven blanket, draped around his shoulders and tucked in.

“I am not an infant of two who needs to be coddled by either of you.” His words were echoed by the thought that he did not deserve such attention.

“If we do not look after you now, after a night spent out here, then you will get sick. I do not think you would like to be put on bed rest as Legolas is?” At Aragorn’s headshake he continued. “Besides, we love you, and we don’t like to see you hurting.”

Aragorn sighed deeply at this statement, and his beseeching eyes cut a hole right through the twins’ hearts. “Please stop. Father is never wrong; if he blames me then I am at fault and am not deserving of your sympathy.”

Rushing to silence these thoughts, the twins spoke over each other. “Estel he is wrong!”

“Do not blame yourself, I thought I had settled this earlier!”

Estel gazed up at his brothers, wrapped closely in their embrace. “If I am not wrong then the alternative is far worse. I would not like to contemplate the thought that Legolas is dying, especially not by my hand.”

Elladan hugged him close, willing Estel to believe him. “Legolas is not dying, father said so last night, and he reiterated it this morning.”

“Among other things he should not have,” Elrohir muttered quietly to himself.

“Elrohir, we are all well aware of father’s comments, now is not the time to bring them up,” Elladan rebuked.

“Sorry,” Elrohir whispered sheepishly. Obviously he hadn’t been as quiet as he had thought.

“We have both checked on Legolas this morning, and I promise you he is in relatively good health,” Elladan said. “He had a somewhat more than mild headache, though he did his best not to bother us with it. He has asked for quiet, and something to read, which I will take him when I bring him some food.”

Aragorn raised his head from Elladan’s shoulder at these words, and the shock in his face was plain for all to see. “I have abandoned him! What must he think of me? First I injure him, drug him and injure him further, and now I am neglecting him. ‘Tis a wonder he declares himself my friend at all.” He turned a pleading look upon his brothers then, demanding the truth about Legolas’ condition.

“Is he truly quite well this morning? His injuries do not trouble him, I hope? Has he worried about me? That elf always accepts responsibility for events that are out of his control. Has f…” Aragorn gulped down his distress, finding somewhere within him the strength to pose the question. “Has father examined him? Does he have any special concerns or considerations? Is Legolas awake?”

The glances of admiration at his strength went unnoticed by Aragorn in his fears, which only grew as the twins failed to respond.

“Elladan? Elrohir? Can I see him?” The hoarse desperation in Aragorn’s voice drew the twin’s attention back to him. Perceiving the distress in his features they hurried to reassure him that all was well.

Elladan was exasperated. “Did we not just tell you that Legolas seemed not too bad?”

His sentiment was echoed by his twin. “Do you not listen to us brother? Have we not just answered that?”

Elladan’s gaze softened as he saw how weary the young one looked. “Come, let us go inside, prepare Legolas a meal, and you can take it to him and see for yourself.”

Standing, he held out a hand to Aragorn who was pulled, somewhat unwillingly, to his feet. Correctly interpreting the reason, Elrohir rose and collected what was left of the plate of food he had brought with him.

“I shall return this to the kitchens and bring Legolas’ meal, while you get dressed and try and make yourself presentable.” Pausing at the door to the balcony he turned back. “Eru knows you’ll need all the time we can find!” Elrohir fled after that.

The slightest hints of a smile tugged at the lined weariness that dominated Estel’s features, as Elladan dragged him into his room. As Elrohir was leaving his brother’s chambers, entering the corridor, he heard the two conversing behind him.

“Elladan?”

“Yes, Estel?”

“What happened to your eye?”

He carried on walking, chortling to himself.

Aragorn entered Legolas’ room alone, his brothers remaining outside the door to allow him some privacy. He was carefully balancing a tray containing some kind of stew for Legolas, and another large selection of food that he could only assume was for him; Elrohir had presumably remembered that he had not eaten earlier. Thankfully he had not needed to venture far into the house, Elrohir had fetched the meal and Legolas’ room was but a few doors away from his own. With his brothers scouting ahead, there was no danger of him meeting with his father accidentally.

The thought of food repulsed him. His stomach was knotted with his worries, and the sight and even the smell rising from the plate was enough to nauseate him. Gladly setting the tray down, he crept over to the bed careful not to make any loud noise and so disturb the sleeping figure. Looking down at Legolas, his eyes were first drawn to the bandage that was wrapped over the top of his head, tucking his ears to the side of his head. Aragorn was thankful that the wound was hidden from his sight, if he could see the blood then he knew he would be unable to prevent himself from imagining just how much worse this situation could have been because of him; a broken and bloody body, twisted at the foot of a cliff, no lake to catch him. He shuddered. Drawing his eyes away from the pristine wrapping, he lowered his gaze to that of the face of the sleeping elf.

Aragorn was shocked to discover such a change in Legolas’ features from the last time he had seen him sleeping, just a few hours ago. Then he had appeared peacefully content in his dreaming, untroubled by pain or remembrance; that image was now nothing but a distant memory. The soft smile, and aura of peace that had graced Legolas’ features was now replaced with a haunted tension. The overly pale face was creased in pain; whether physical or mental it appeared terrible. He almost seemed to have lost the ageless appearance of the elves, and resembled a mortal man with approximately sixty years of life behind him. As Aragorn watched, Legolas appeared to wince as he shifted uncomfortably in his sleep. The twins were mistaken; this was not a healthy elf.

Frowning, lips thinned with worry, Estel grew more concerned that Elrond thought Legolas was going to die, and this was why he had acted so out of character. Unable to bear the expression of pain any more Aragorn reached out and gently smoothed away the creases, seeking to comfort Legolas; letting him know that someone was there, watching over him, that he was safe. Hopefully this would ease him, and allow him to enter a healing rest. He stepped back with a muttered oath as Legolas turned his head into the motion, waking up. Cursing, he silently berated himself. He really hadn’t intended to wake Legolas up, any sleep was better than no sleep; his experiences of the night before had left him in no doubt of this.

“Estel?” At the sound of the sleep-rough voice, he stepped forward again, frowning. There was a tone in Legolas’ voice that disturbed him but, as yet, he was unable to pin it down.

“I am sorry Legolas, it was not my intention to waken you. You were restless and I sought to ease you. My apologies.” Guilt was plain to hear in Aragorn’s voice.

Legolas squinted up at Aragorn, trying very hard not to move his head, or open his eyes any further than was necessary to glimpse his friend. “It is as I told your brothers, I knew you would not be able to keep quiet if you came in here. Ai!”

Aragorn’s head lowered in despair, nothing he did was right; all he did was injure his friends, hurt his family, it would be better if he left. With Aragorn to think was to act, and he immediately turned to leave. Legolas saw the motion and reached out to grab Estel’s hand as he withdrew it.

“It is good that you woke me, I am doing far too much sleeping. Come, sit down.” Legolas patted the bed beside him, swallowing hard to keep the discomfort he felt as the bed rocked, from his friend. Noticing that Aragorn was reticent to be seated, glancing almost longingly to the door, Legolas studied the human’s features and then spoke again.

“I said sit down, I promise I will not bite you!” He tugged on Aragorn’s hand, unbalancing him and forcing the ranger down onto the bed. Before he could turn away, Legolas reached out a hand to touch the deep bruising below his pale eyes.

“You look as though you had spent the night seated where Elrohir was. Actually I’m rather surprised that you weren’t. What has happened to you?” he asked.

Aragorn tried to look away, but Legolas still had a hand to his face, and he would not force the elf in this condition. “I wished to stay!” he cried. “I was forcibly removed by my brothers else I would have. When I tried to return Elrohir was here and I knew he would just evict me again, probably waking you in the process. I would not have that happen when you are so much in need of rest.”

“No, that would be far too embarrassing a situation for you.” Legolas’ gaze, even through half-closed eyes and dilated pupils was still penetratingly acute. “What is it that has caused you such distress? It is obvious that you have not slept well. If your insomnia was on my behalf then you have my apology, for I am well, and have been resting while you suffered.” Legolas dropped his hand to the bed, unable to keep it raised any further without the trembling of his muscles betraying his weakness; something he would not do with the human in this state.

“It was not your fault, my nightmares are of my own making.” Once he had started to unburden himself, all of Aragorn’s guilt began pouring out of him. “You have done nothing which requires an apology, although I wish the same could be said of myself. I am sorry, it was all my fault. I should have looked after you better; you were the injured party. I…”

“Estel, stop!” Legolas interrupted, hand raised to his head, rubbing at the pain. “I am sorry, would you please speak slowly, lower your voice a little, and explain more.” He regretted his words at the look of guilt that flashed across Aragorn’s visage. “I meant nothing by that. I have received a very brief account of the events from your brothers, and I would have all the information at hand before you begin convincing me you are at fault for situations I have only the vaguest memory of, or the vaguest description for. Your brothers are not the most helpful of people.”

Aragorn was unconvinced by Legolas’ words, but was unwilling to argue with the fatigued elf. ‘Surely this is more than just fatigue? Especially since he claims to have been sleeping all this time,’ he thought worriedly. Much as he wished to conceal his guilt from his friend, Aragorn also relished the chance to unburden himself, and receive Legolas’ forgiveness, though he did not deserve it.

Legolas, frustrated by the human’s scrutiny, was concerned that he may misinterpret the state of his health and take on further guilt. He begged him to continue. “Please go on Estel, I wish to know exactly what happened, I remember very little at all.”

Aragorn began again, as he was bid. “Do you remember sitting down to eat?” At Legolas’ affirmative nod he continued. “ So you remember the orcs that attacked us? Where I got you injured?”

“I remember nothing of the sort!” Legolas cried. Aragorn’s eyes widened in horror at this sign of memory loss in his friend. “You did not get me injured, the orc did that.” The horror in Aragorn’s eyes eased, mild anger flashing at being provoked to such fear.

“But you would not have been distracted had you not had to save me,” He muttered to himself.

“Oh mellon nin, why do you always do this?” Legolas spoke, in exasperation. “As you pointed out at the time the error was mine; I should have made sure of my kills. I was hungry and, though I am loath to admit it, I was showing off. If I had acted at all sensibly I would have made certain my arrows had struck fatally, not just momentarily downed the orcs. You and I both know that.”

Aragorn ducked his head in embarrassed agreement.

“Estel?” Legolas asked, unconvinced that the human really believed that. “It was not your fault, do you understand?”

The human’s faint whisper was barely loud enough to reach the hearing of Legolas. “Yes, I understand.”

“Finally!” he exclaimed. “So what happened after that? You weren’t hurt were you?” Sudden alarm sprang into Legolas’ voice, and he heaved a deep sigh of relief as Aragorn nodded. Even so, his eyes searched other the figure before him looking for injuries that his friend would try to conceal from him.

“No, I was not hurt, that pleasure was left for you.” Aragorn raised his head, and caught Legolas’ eyes in a penetrating look. “How do you feel this morning? Are you in pain? You do not look as well as I would have expected given the nature of your injury.”

Legolas tried to disguise his discomfort further, unsuccessfully he suspected. “I am as well as one could expect who chooses to dive off a cliff.” Again he regretted his ill-chosen words as Aragorn yet again turned his face from Legolas’.

“You cannot be blaming yourself for that surely!” Legolas cried in disbelief. “If I had not been contemplating flying, I would not have been tempted to jump. And it is hardly your fault that I was attempting to show off again.”

Legolas sank backwards after this monologue; the energy expended on his speech was too draining for him to remain supporting even what little weight he had been previously. The movement was not lost on Aragorn, who leant closer towards the reclining figure.

“It is my fault. I was the one who mentioned flight and gave you the idea, but do not try to change the subject.” He thrust his face close up to Legolas’ then, emphasizing his last three words. ”Are You Well?”

Legolas pushed away at Aragorn’s hand, which had risen to his forehead checking his temperature. “Do not mother me,” he muttered irritably. “I have a mild headache, and I ache from where I hit the water. It is this and fatigue that is all. And it is you who are changing the subject, not me. Seek you to turn me from your ridiculous statement.” At Aragorn’s puzzled look he clarified. “I know not of what it is you claim to have said to start me believing I could fly. Continue from there please.” When Aragorn did not remove his gaze from Legolas’ eyes and do as he asked, Legolas pinched his arm.

“Ow! What was that for?” Aragorn rubbed his arm more in surprise than pain.

“You were not listening to me, I needed to get your attention somehow. This seemed appropriate.” Legolas managed a grin then, poor compared to some, but the sight of it eased Aragorn’s fears tremendously, though not his guilt.

“You may not remember what I said now, but that does not make what happened any less my fault. If I had not wished that you could fly home rather than walk on that leg, then you would not be here now.” The pain in Aragorn’s eyes was enough to soften Legolas’ exasperation with the human, but it did not prevent it entirely.

“Sîdh! You surely cannot believe that just that one mention of flying would be enough to twist my mind. I have often wondered what it would feel like to fly, name me an elf who has not? I could tell you of the time when your brothers decided that they could fly. Oh it was most amusing.” The look of guilt on Aragorn’s face did not even waver at this so Legolas sighed and sobered. “I was looking at the birds Estel, I clearly remember that. They were chasing each other across the surface of the lake, a multitude of colours glinting in the sunlight. They made me want to sing, to fly. It Was Not You.”

Aragorn’s gaze did not waver from Legolas’ half-lidded stare, until eventually he perceived the truth in the statement and relaxed his features to ruefulness. “Then I have your forgiveness for giving you this herb?” Shuddering, he was unable to pronounce its name.

“There is nothing to forgive, you could not have known that there would be any ill-effects; you would not have used it if you had been aware of them. Or at least you would have leashed me to you so I could do nothing foolish.” Legolas’ voice wavered at the end of this and Aragorn was quick to notice it, glad to change the subject. Most of his guilt had eased at Legolas’ words, but he was still concerned for the elf’s health, and for Elrond’s words. Anxious not to show this to the elf he cast around for something else to talk about.

With a look of horror at his forgetfulness he suddenly rose from the bed and brought the plate over. Legolas eyed it with trepidation. He had managed to keep the contents of his stomach firmly where they belonged up till now, though it had been a battle, but the sight and smell of the food threatened to overcome him.

“Surely you cannot expect me to eat all of that, there is enough there to feed you, me and your brothers.” He turned his head ever so slightly away from the plate, but the motion caused the room to swim, so he stopped turning.

Aragorn did not miss the movement, but attributed it to the concussion. “No, I do not expect you to eat it all, I fear most of it is for me, yours is the stew.” As he lifted the bowl from the tray he picked up the spoon in his hand, and prepared to feed Legolas.

“Do not think that you will be spoon feeding me, I am far to old for that,” Legolas tried to back away but found himself pressed more tightly against the pillows by the movement. He glared back at Aragorn. “I am not too weak before you even try to suggest that. If the stew were not cold I would gladly take up that spoon right now.”

“Cold? I am sorry, I should have given you this earlier, I will get some fresh from the kitchens.” The affected eagerness in his voice belied his true feelings about venturing further into the house than he had so far today. As he stood to leave he was held back by Legolas’ hand.

“Do not leave. Please, there is no need, for I am very weary and would likely be asleep before you return,” Legolas said, pleased to have found a convincing way of avoiding the meal. “Sit and eat yourself though, for if the amount of food is anything to go by you have not eaten since we returned.”

Aragorn glanced to the door, knowing the twins were waiting behind it on guard for their father. “It would not be any trouble, I can send Elrohir, and keep you awake until he gets back.

Legolas yawned. “No, I am tired, I should like a glass of water before I rest though.”

‘I think I can manage that, and if I do not take something he will only worry further,’ the prince thought. After drinking, he lay down insisting that Aragorn retire to the soft chair by the fireplace for he looked weary and would likely sleep there. As he lay back to rest he sighed softly, in pain. ‘At least that is out of the way; hopefully I shan’t have to speak to him for another day. Fool of a human to poison me. I should never have trusted him.’

Aragorn, seated himself in the chair, and picked at the plate of food. His hunger returned to him after a few bites, and he demolished half of the food before sinking into a peaceful sleep, finally.

~*~*~*~*~

Outside Legolas’ rooms two voices could be heard conversing.

“What is happening? It’s too quiet in there, I cannot hear voices anymore,” Elladan sounded concerned.

“Do you think Legolas has killed him, ‘Dan?” Elrohir joked.

Elladan laughed in exasperated relief at his brother’s joke. “No, It is my belief that they both sleep, finally.”

“We could just go in and check, return the dishes to the kitchen?” Elrohir’s voice was full of pride for his suggestion.

Elladan sounded equally impressed. “Good idea; that shall be our story if they are awake.”

He pushed open the door, and peeked his head around, face lighting up with a smile as he spotted both Aragorn and Legolas sleeping. He entered the room abruptly as his twin shoved him from behind. Scowling at Elrohir he crept to where Aragorn slept and gathered up the tray, smiling fondly at his brother, who had been greatly eased of his troubles by the elf.

“Perhaps we should have let him sleep here after all last night, maybe he would have gotten more rest, and had this out a lot earlier?” He whispered quietly.

When he got no response he turned to Elrohir who had stepped closer to the bedroom and was gazing down at Legolas with a worried frown upon his face.

“Ro? What’s wrong?”

As his brother lifted his stare to him, he put the tray down and practically ran over to the bed. “What is wrong? Is Legolas…” he was unable to say dead.

Elrohir firmly shook his head at his twin’s statement, and raised a finger to his lips hushing him and indicating their sleeping brother. “Do not disturb him, he has been worried enough for one day. Have more care.” Turning back to Legolas he placed a hand on his brow, frowning. “He does not have a temperature, but he does not appear well.”

Elladan agreed, “He looks much worse than he did this morning, and his food has not been touched. I am worried.” His twin looked back at him, equal concern glinting in his dark grey eyes.

Elladan paused in contemplation, and then nodded decisively. “Go and fetch Adar, he needs to know of this, is it high time he checked on his patient.”

“What about Estel?” Elrohir nodded at Aragorn.

“We must hope that he does not wake, I cannot conceive of any way to get him from this room without worrying him.” Elladan frowned as he spoke; this situation was not to his liking.

“And Adar?” Elrohir voice shook a little with anger at his father’s behaviour.

Elladan sighed at the reminder. “Just do not anger him, then perhaps he will not further injure Estel.”

Elrohir graced him with a look of disbelief before accepting his brother’s decision. The twins nodded in agreement and Elrohir turned to leave when he was stopped at the door by a messenger coming in.

“My lords,” the she-elf bowed her head to recover from the unexpected collision. “Glorfindel has returned from the wilds; I would inform the Lord Elrond, but he is resting in his study. He is injured, would one of you please tend him?”

Elladan frowned, it had been his intention to remain with Estel and protect him should their father do anything untoward. Alas that was not to be. Glorfindel needed help, and so he must go. All three left the room together, the door swinging silently shut.

The fire crackled in the hearth, temporarily drowning the light breathing of the two sleeping figures remaining behind.

Elrohir strode rapidly along the corridor towards his father’s study, mind seething with anger at the thought of being in the presence of one who had hurt his little brother so much. His ire lent wings to his feet, as did his fears for Legolas; the prince had obviously been hiding his true state of health from them this morning. While he was angry about this, Elrohir’s primary emotion was that of guilt. Guilt that he had not noticed Legolas’ suffering; guilt and worry that it may have become worse through their neglect of him. Pausing outside the study, he took several deep breaths, fists clenched, as he strove to force down his anger. The bright sunlight entering through the patterned window, above, belied the depression and angst that had seemingly pervaded their house since the return of the errant wanderers last night. Eventually his anger was manageable, and he stepped closer, preparing to knock on the door. He was stopped by a sudden sound from within, and halted, listening.

~*~*~*~*~

Elrond paced over to gaze out of the window at the bright sunshine that cascaded through the leafy branches, lightening the grounds. As he stood there watching, he could hear the loud voices of merry children, skipping and playing; families picnicking together outside. Rivendell reverberated with a multitude of singing, happy families; it depressed him.

Raising one of his folded arms, he rested his elbow on the other, hand rubbing wearily at his rough, reddened eyes, trying to wipe away the gritty feel and accompanying headache. Failing, he re-crossed his arms in front of him and leaned against the window frame, resting his head back against the wall; eyes raised skyward as if in prayer. He breathed deeply, held it and then released it, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest, or the fear that had settled into his stomach. His hand reflexively clutched at the book clenched in his right hand, as he fought to keep the memories at bay.

Unclasping his hands, holding the book pressed against his chest he resumed his pacing. Marching over to the desk, he gazed down at the multitude of papers scattered over it in no particular order. Muttering, he seated himself, oblivious to the presence of Elrohir outside the door.

“Ah Celebrian, would that you were here now, that I could have someone to confide in, to share this pain with,” he whispered.

Smoothing the papers to one side, he picked up a gracefully drawn sketch, that always sat on his desk, and gazed at it, tears falling from his eyes. After long minutes, lost at first in more pleasant memories, he blinked his tears away. Their passing had eased much of the soreness in his eyes, and he resumed picking through the accumulated notes.

~*~*~*~*~

Elrohir, listening just outside his father’s door, was unashamed to eavesdrop on him. Their father had not thought to keep them informed on Legolas’ condition and he felt it was his duty to discover what was wrong, and so help his brothers and friend. Realising that the thick wooden door was dense enough to muffle the sound into obscurity at his current distance, he shamelessly crept forward and leant his ear against it. Abruptly the distorted sounds became clearer, and he was able to pick up on his father’s disjointed mutterings. As he listened, he heard the turning of a page, and then a sigh.

“It induces at first euphoria and hallucinations. While initially these are fulfilling, the progression of time seems to dull the herb’s effects, and the victim begins to yearn for what they have lost. The hallucinations became nightmarish renditions of events, torturing the mind.”

Elrond seemed to be reading a passage describing some symptoms.

“I cannot comprehend this, the euphoria should cause the mind to imagine the fulfilment of dreams, not relive darkest memories; there is no explanation for this change.” His father’s voice had changed to frustration, mirroring that of the author of the extract.

Elrohir leaned closer, trying to hear what followed. Unfortunately his father’s pacing, and the rustle of papers, drowned out his words. Eventually, the scrape of the chair against the tiled floor indicated that his father seated himself again. His broken voice began reciting another section of passage, causing Elrohir’s eyes to widen with horror at the distress in Elrond’s voice. There was only one time he had ever heard its equal, and he cared not to think on that time. Ever.

“The change was quite remarkable. The depression lifted astonishingly well but, alas, it appears to be only a temporary situation. The elation faded quite rapidly, and the depression returned, if anything worse than before. The administration of a third dose caused another temporary period of euphoria, but the depression suffered afterwards was markedly worse. The nightmarish dreams, tormented the victim with remembrance of the more pleasant ones, and this was combined with damaging physical effects. The victim experiences terrible pain, loss of muscular control, eventually declining into a lack of mental coherency…”

Elrohir started in horror, at the awful fate described within these passages.

“Once completed, I will hide these notes; none other than myself shall know of their location. The information contained within is too dangerous should dark forces get hold of them, and infinitely too precious too me, despite the heartache described within. Few know of the events detailed here, it is limited to three, and only two are now capable of speaking about them. If it is within my power, none, especially my sons, shall ever learn of these events. Rucin is a…”

Elrond stopped speaking abruptly as the door swung inwards, hit the wall, and then swung back, knocking Elrohir on the head. It had been no longer able to support the young elf’s weight, where he had pressed ever harder against it, seeking to uncover more of the conversation. He stumbled inwards, sinking to the floor as his support was unexpectedly withdrawn.

Elrond jumped, startled as his son burst abruptly through the door. “Elrohir! What in Eru’s name do you think you are doing?” He was furious at his son’s temerity, and more than a little scared at how much he may have overheard. As Elrohir did not answer, he continued. “Well? I am waiting for an explanation. What have you to say for yourself?”

Elrohir was more than a little dazed, and had only just begun to collect himself up off the floor, thus he was unable to form any answer. Elrond slammed the book down onto the desk, heedless to whether it was damaged. Lurching to his feet, muscles stiffened with anger and fatigue, he strode determinedly over to where Elrohir was rising. Grabbing a fistful of his son’s shirt, he hauled him to his feet and thrust him back against the wall. Leaning close to his son, holding him in place with one arm, he spoke in an ice-cold tone that would brook no arguments. “I will only repeat myself one more time before you regret it. Why…were…you…eavesdropping?”

Elrohir did not answer, just looked back at his father. Elrond stood there, breathing heavily, for several minutes until his anger left him at the look of fear and, oh horror, disgust in his son’s eyes. Turning from him, he raised one shaking hand to his head, muttering almost to himself. “Oh, Elrohir, how much did you overhear?”

Elrohir stood there, staring back at his father, confusion warring with anger in his mien. Anger won. “How dare you attack me like that?” Stepping forward after the retreating figure of his father, he clasped a hand to his shoulder and swung him around to face him. “How dare you take the moral high ground with me? You are incommunicative, rude to both Estel and my twin, and now me. You accuse all three of us of idiocy, and now I find that you are concealing information from us. I will not put up with this kind of behaviour any longer. You make me ashamed to claim blood with you.”

Elrond, far from responding in anger, looked relieved, obviously Elrohir had not overheard too much. Lifting his son’s hand from his shoulder he clasped it between both of his. “I have concealed no information from you, regarding Legolas. I have not even examined him today, so how can you accuse me of that?”

Stepping closer to his son he raised a hand to the rising, bruise-accompanied bump situated on the side of Elrohir’s head. “As to idiocy, when my two eldest are sporting large marks of blows to the brain which should have been avoided, well I think you may have just proven my point.”

Elrohir defensively raised a hand to ward off what he thought was an incoming blow, and lowered it at the look of immense sadness that crossed his father’s face, who then backed away. “How can you make jokes at a time like this? Legolas is sick, and getting worse, and you pretend everything is normal.”

The look of mild amusement that had flitted for a brief instant across Elrond’s visage vanished. “How sick? As sick as…” he stopped, unwilling to reveal anymore.

Elrohir’s eyes narrowed. “You have experienced this illness before? Another elf has become ill from Rucin?”

Elrond did not answer this, but the glance at the notes revealed his answer.

“You were reciting symptoms…for Rucin? Legolas is really sickening then. I should not have listened at the door, I should have fetched you immediately as I intended to do. Grabbing his father by the arm he half-guided, half-dragged him towards the door. “Come, gather what herbs you need, and we will treat Legolas. Why you had to delay this long before treating him if you knew what ailed him, I do not know. There is no excuse for a healer who allows his patients to suffer needless pain; you have always taught us that was the first rule of medicine.”

“Elrohir…” His father began, but the son did not give him a chance to continue.

“Do not delay any further Ada. Come!” Elrond was woefully tugged along in his son’s wake.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“This may hurt.”

Glorfindel responded only by raising one eyebrow on his bloodstained face. “You are implying then that this does not already hurt?”

Elladan frowned at him, temper frayed from the earlier events today, and in no mood to mince words with the warrior. “In truth it looks most painful, which is why I am cleaning the dirt from it, and applying a balm to relieve the pain. I thought only to warn you that I am about to do this.” He then wiped a pre-medicated cloth across the largest of the scrapes along Glorfindel left side.

“Ai!” The elf involuntarily released a sharp cry of pain, and Elladan hastily pulled his hand away. He shook his head, “I am sorry, that was harder than I intended. My anger got the best of me.”

“Kindly control it please, I am in no mood to be used as a figurative punching bag.” Glorfindel muttered this out through clenched teeth, eyes compressed in a grimace of pain.

As the healing balm began to lessen the agony in his side, Glorfindel breathed easier, and thought back on Elladan’s words. “You are not usually so inconsiderate of your patient Elladan, what has you so riled up that you are taking it out on me? I do not see that your hair or clothes are dyed, so if it is one of your brothers’ tricks it is more subtle than usual.”

Elladan kept his head down, busying himself with his work. He unrolled a lengthy bundle of bandages and proceeded to wrap it firmly around the chest of the wounded elf, bracing together his broken ribs.

“Elladan, what has happened?” The tone in Glorfindel voice had been perfected over many centuries of training recruits, and Elladan responded automatically, snapping to attention. Glorfindel suppressed a smile at this reaction, while Elladan looked ashamed, and tried to pretend that he had not responded with the fear-induced response he had learned as a novice soldier.

The pain that Glorfindel saw in the young elf’s eyes wiped all thoughts of amusement from his mind. Reaching forward he placed a grazed hand over the younger elf’s, preventing him from fiddling with the bandages, and focussing his attention upon him. “Who is injured?”

When Elladan gaped up at him a wry smile graced Glorfindel’s face. “Many centuries have I seen that same look appear on your father’s features, more often of late, and if he were not otherwise occupied he would be tending me, not you. So it must be something very important to keep him away. ‘Tis obvious you fear greatly for someone close to you, so I ask again who is injured?”

Elladan seated himself on the edge of the table by where Glorfindel reclined on a sofa. “It is Legolas; Estel carried him home last night. He has suffered only a small head injury, and took a minor sword blade to the leg, yet he does not seem to recover.”

Glorfindel looked as puzzled as the eldest twin felt. “How came he by this injury; was there some form of poison on the blade that smote him? Does it fester?”

“No. There are no signs of any cause for his distress, yet he is clearly in pain, even while unconscious; though the blow to his head was not damaging enough to induce these symptoms. He sleeps, yet does not rest; and he seems depressed.”

A brief glimpse of pained memory washed across Glorfindel’s brow, but he pushed that away. “Does Elrond have no suspicions towards the cause of our young prince’s incapacitation?”

Elladan finished bandaging Glorfindel, and fetched him a clean tunic, to protect the badges. When he turned to face Glorfindel, the cause of his anger was plain to see. “Do not speak to me of my father, I am not pleased with him.”

“Is that where you acquired that remarkable bruise?” Glorfindel admired.

“No! Ada would never hit me, how can you even suggest such as thing?” At the elder elf’s questioning look Elladan continued, unable to hold his ire in any longer. “It is not about me, but Estel. Adar sat there, knowing full well my brother was blaming himself for Legolas being hurt, and he outright accused him of responsibility for Legolas’ injuries. He did not examine him, though he looked in enough of a state to have been badly hurt.” Elladan’s eyes gleamed with his anger and confusion over his father’s actions. “Estel has been badly hurt, by father’s words and his own needless assumption of responsibility for events he has no control over. Have you ever known father to act like this?”

“I do not see how your father can blame Estel for a sword wound unless it was he who smote the prince.” Glorfindel looked concerned at this, Aragorn had acquired a reputation for this.

“Nay, not that, he has not done something as amateurish since he was twelve. Why can no one let that go? He is a remarkable swordsman for his age.” Elladan rubbed his leg at memory of that incident.

“Then Legolas stuck himself through with a sword?” Glorfindel was entirely lost at this juncture; Elladan was in too much of an emotional state to explain events precisely.

“No, there were some orcs, it all gets very confusing.” Elladan rubbed his face in fatigue. “It is because father blames him for using a herb on Legolas. Apparently it induced some kind of euphoria that caused him to injure himself.”

Elladan looked closer then at Glorfindel, who had suddenly paled. “Do your injuries still pain you? The balm I gave you should have begun working by now; I must have missed something.”

“Peace Elladan, I am not pained, but troubled by your words. You say Aragorn used a herb, do you know the name of it?” Glorfindel clutched his arm to his chest, riding through a wave of pain.

“I cannot see why that would matter?” Elladan spoke, eying the elder elf worriedly.

“Please Elladan, it is of great importance.” Glorfindel watched Elrond’s eldest son as he began gathering the materials, and bundling them back into their box.

“It was Rucin,” Elladan said. He spun around at a sound behind him and exclaimed in horror, “Glorfindel what do you think you are doing?” He ran over to the elder elf trying to press him back down onto the sofa, afraid the sudden movement would aggravate his injuries.

“You must take me to Legolas at once, I assume that is where your father is?” Glorfindel grunted out, through a jaw clenched against the pain in his chest.

“He should be by now, Elrohir went to fetch him.” Elladan sighed and changed his grip from one of resistance to one of support. He knew from experience that once Glorfindel had determined upon a course of action he would not be able to sway him from it.

Glorfindel ducked his head, even as he was aided to his feet by the young elf. He muttered to himself, paying no heed to the fact that his crutch had sharp, pointed ears. “It must have hit him hard, but that is only to be expected. Alas that he should find himself in this situation.”

They had reached the corridor now and Elladan turned an inquiring look at him. “You have seen this before then, you and father? What happened, what is happing to Legolas now?”

Glorfindel looked gravely down at the younger elf, before shaking his head at his foolishness for speaking his thoughts aloud. “I cannot say. Your father has not chosen to tell you, and it is not my secret to reveal.”

They took several steps further down the hall, nearing Legolas’ door. Glorfindel decided that he could at least prepare Elladan for some of what was coming. “Elladan, you must ready yourself for rough times.” He said. The grave face that looked back at him reflected the drawn, worried look upon his own. “Legolas will be in great pain, for you see, Rucin is a…”

They were interrupted by the voices of their father and brother, behind them.

“And mind what you say while you are in the room, Ada. Estel is still fragile, and if you say anything to harm him, you will be leaving the room very rapidly indeed. Am I understood?”

Turning, the two saw a bemused and greatly fatigued Elrond being dragged along by a furious Elrohir. At sight of Glorfindel the two stopped their wrangling, and approached with more dignity. They drew nearer eying Glorfindel for wounds, seeing the pain he tried to mask in the slump of his shoulders and his drawn features.

“Are you all right?” Surprisingly this was not either of the newly arrived pair asking about Glorfindel, but him about Elrond. The exhausted eyes that raised themselves to his meet his cut a hole through him. He stepped forward quickly and embraced his long-time friend, disguising the wince of pain as his ribs were crushed.

“My dear friend,” Elrond managed to choke out, “have you been back long? Oh I have had such need of you.” The arms tightened around his shoulders, and Elrond allowed himself to relax momentarily into them.

The twins looked at each other in confusion, and shrugged. Neither of them knew what was so troubling their father, nor how Glorfindel knew of it and not they. Finally the embrace broke.

“Come, let us enter and see to our young prince.”

Estel stirred, half-awakened by the sound of a collision in the room, beside him. Roused, but not yet alert, he lay there drowsing listening to the sound of his brothers’ muttering voices, but not paying attention to the words they spoke. Comforted by their presence he turned towards them, still in the throes of sleep. At the motion he let out a sigh as his fatigued muscles sank into a more comfortable position. As the voices began fading further away to nothing, he sighed again, and sank deeper back into his sleep. A very short time later, he was disturbed again, this time by voices outside the door. More alert now, and a little refreshed by his sleep, he contemplated moving to check on Legolas.

Much of his guilt had been relieved by Legolas’ words, but it was now beginning to return, intermingled with fear. His more awake mind remembered Legolas’ appearance, and the pain he had attempted to disguise. The symptoms Legolas had exhibited did not fit with what he had observed concussion patients experiencing. Aragorn feared that Elrond had known there would be complications from the drug, and that was why he had spoken so harshly to him the night previous. Blinking himself away from these thoughts as the door opened, he shrank back into the chair abandoning all thoughts of reaching Legolas. Concealing himself in the shadows of the darkened room, he perceived who these new visitors were.

Four elves entered the room, Elrond in the lead. Estel frowned as his father stumbled towards the bed, he looked exhausted; hunched shoulders and a stiff neck told of a restless night, bent over papers. Had his father been up all night worrying about Legolas? Researching Rucin’s effects on elves to make sure that nothing further was coming? Estel’s heart sank, and guilt rose as he caught a glimpse of the pallor accented by roughened sore eyes, half-closed. This, and the way he ducked his head from the small rays of light that managed to enter the room, told of an awful headache. Worse though was the naked fear on his father’s face, as he looked towards Legolas. Estel despaired, knowing he was the cause of both his father’s and Legolas’ distress. Closing his eyes, Estel tried to recover himself.

Eyes shut, he missed the look that Elrond took towards him. Shock rose in Elrond’s features as he saw the exhaustion and guilt lining the young human’s face, ageing him dramatically. An immense wave of guilt swept over him as he realised that much of his son’s distress was caused by his thoughtless words the night before. Resolving to clear this matter up with the boy at the earliest moment, Elrond eyed him still; knowing that the news he brought would only add to the guilt and pain, not lessen it, as he truly desired to do. He turned away.

Estel re-opened his eyes then, in time to see a limping Glorfindel following his father. The warrior elf was battered and bruised, his whole demeanour expressing pain. Glorfindel was hunched over to one side, relieving the pressure on his injuries. Estel could instantly diagnose broken ribs along with some nasty scrapes and what were probably huge purple marks hidden beneath the tunic. Wondering to himself what had happened, and just when Glorfindel had returned, Estel’s gaze turned to the final two visitors.

The twins lagged behind their elders, stealing swift looks of concern at them as the two staggered their way over to Legolas’ bed. Their concern was intermingled with bemused glances to the other, hoping for insight into the uncharacteristic behaviour. Glorfindel had ever offered silent support to their father, but Elrond had never been so open in his need; seeing him at a loss, and so dependant on the blond was extremely worrying.

Estel looked on, eyes hidden beneath the fringe of his shoulder-length hair, body motionless, suppressing a smile at the matching bruises on their faces. Even as he watched, Elladan lifted a hand to his brother’s face examining the extent of his, and scowling in his father’s direction. Elrohir winced and batted away at his brother with his free hand, turning to the corner to check on Aragorn. Elladan followed his twin’s motion, and also glanced at the corner where Estel sat, checking to see whether he was awake and had noticed his father’s presence. Sighing with relief that the young one still slept, Elrohir followed after his father, hurrying to see to Legolas. Elladan moved forward to support Glorfindel who was faltering.

Estel watched on as Elrond strode directly over to the bed, frowning at the untouched breakfast. Wincing in relief that the blinds were drawn down preventing most of the light from entering the room, Elrond brought a hand to his head rubbing at the ache behind his eyes. All his attention directed at the figure in the bed, he sat down unknowingly exactly where Estel had been seated less than an hour earlier. Looking down at the pale face beside him, he sighed. From where Aragorn sat, he was unable to get a clear look at Legolas without moving too much and attracting unwanted attention. The pale blur he could make out was almost indistinguishable from the whiteness of the pillow it lay on, hair disarrayed. Forced to rely on his father’s expression to determine Legolas’ condition, Estel studied him carefully.

Elrond closed his eyes, shuddering as he strove to force back unwanted memories. Legolas’ condition was so similar to his previous experiences, that one face became interchangeable with the other. Legolas was taut with strain, sweat beading on his forehead. Blood trickled down one side of his mouth, where he had bitten through his lip; even in sleep he was not at rest. Muscles twitched as he tossed uncomfortably in the bed, unable to get comfortable. From his nearby vantage, Elrond could hear Legolas muttering to himself; by-products of the dreams he was experiencing. Blinking, he strove to separate the memory from the reality, and concentrate on the figure lying before him, not the one from the past. One deep breath later, and his duties as a healer overpowered his momentary preoccupation.

Leaning forward Elrond placed one hand on the young elf’s forehead, feeling for a temperature, frowning as he found one. As he wiped away at the blood that was slowly meandering its way down Legolas’ chin, despair laced through his features. The weariness in his brow seemed to increase as, with every passing moment, the sight of Legolas threatened to drag him back into the painful memories and shadows he had long strived to suppress. Watching him, Estel’s face mirrored his, losing all colour at Elrond’s expression. Elrond displayed an immense grief in his eyes, well hidden unless you were searching for it. It was pain from a wound too hurtful to heal, one that had just been scraped open, by him. Estel began having trouble drawing breath, pressured down by the weight of his guilt. Elrond’s introspection was interrupted by Elrohir, who had reached the bed.

“Ada, here are your herbs. What do you need prepared in order to heal him?” Elrohir asked, practically running forward in his eagerness to have Legolas well so that everything could return to normal. He placed the box on the bed, to one side of his father, and stood there looking at him, waiting for instruction.

Estel winced at the eagerness in his brother’s eyes, knowing that he was the cause of all that was wrong in the family today. Mentally shaking his head, Estel could not believe that Elrohir had failed to read his father’s eyes correctly. Elrond held no hope for Legolas, so where was the younger twin getting his? Estel sat there, lost in thought, as Elrond sat there, staring at the box, making no move to help the prince. Elrohir continued, exasperated. “Ada, do not delay! He is in pain, why do you not end his suffering?”

Elrond lifted his gaze to his son’s but was unable to hold it, and shifted to look across the bed at Glorfindel. Elladan, still occupying the role of medic to the warrior, had ensured that Glorfindel was comfortably seated, on the opposite side of the bed, where he had a view of both Legolas and Elrond, without needing to move far. Clear eyes gazed back into his, mirroring the pain and despair that sparkled in his own. Images flashed before both sets of eyes, drawing tears with them as the memories threatened to drag them under. Each recognised the symptoms that Legolas was displaying, and each knew that what was to come would be that much the worse for anticipation.

Beside Elrond, Elrohir shuffled impatiently clearing his throat in an attempt to redirect his father’s attention towards the more pressing concern of their friend. Recognising that this moment could not be delayed any longer, Glorfindel leaned forward, wincing as the motion aggravated his injuries, and placed a supportive hand on top of Elrond’s free one, where it lay supporting his weight, on the bed. Elrond sat there looking down at the entwined hands, both to gather his thoughts and gain strength from the encouraging squeeze Glorfindel blessed him with. Drawing courage from his friends’ support, he lifted his gaze again to his son’s mixture of exasperation and enthusiasm. Loath to disillusion him, Elrond knew however that it would be less painful if he informed him now of what was coming. Holding in a large breath, he released it slowly, and began. “I do not know how to heal him Elrohir.”

Elrohir looked perplexed by this, he did not understand. “What do you mean you do not know how to heal him? I heard you say you had experienced this before.” Elrond winced at the puzzlement in his features, mixed with the absolute conviction that his father would be able to heal this.

Elladan’s eyes widened in shock at his brother’s words, this was the explanation for Elrond’s behaviour. He feared Rucin, feared being re-infected with it. He had been where Legolas was now! “Father, you were affected by Rucin? How, who gave it to you? What is it like, did you fly?” Looking at his father’s perplexed expression he hurried on, “More importantly, why do you say that you cannot heal him, when it is obvious that you have recovered, why do you not use the same treatments on him that were used on you?”

Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose, headache blossoming into a full-grown migraine. Without ceasing his massaging of his forehead he responded to Elladan’s inquiries. “I…” he was interrupted before he could go any further.

“Stop Ada, it is obvious that the memory of this brings you pain, Glorfindel I hesitate to ask this of you, since it is obvious you are pained by it also, but would you take up the story? If Ada was in such a state as Legolas is in now, it is unsurprising that he cannot remember what was used to heal him. Please, it is obvious you have some experience of this, obvious that you were there. Tell us how Ada was healed so that we might do the same for Legolas.” Elladan had interrupted too early, and Elrond’s headache bloomed again as he tried to find the words to let his son know just how far wrong he was.

“You are mistaken Elladan,” Glorfindel said. It was he who continued where Elrond faltered. “Your father was not infected with the Rucin, though he may have wished it was he who was.

Estel saw Elladan turn a bewildered, fearful face to his father, begging for a clear answer. “I do not understand. Elrohir, you said that Ada had experienced this before. What did you mean? “

Elrohir turned to look at his brother, all enthusiasm gone as the fear that Elrond may not be able to help Legolas appeared on his face. If he had misunderstood, if his father had not been infected, then it was all too possible that there was no cure, and that Legolas would die. That they had not heard of any elf being infected with this, offered only two practical explanations. One, was that the infected elf was ashamed of his weakness and refused to mention it. Elrohir hoped it was this. The other explanation was that he was dead.

Desperate to find a less painful solution than that Elrohir tried to get Elrond to confirm that he had been infected. “I overheard him reading a journal extract, describing symptoms. When I asked him he admitted, through the expression on his face, that they were descriptions of Rucin’s effects; that he had had experience with this. That is true is it not Ada?”

Estel, looked at his father, and saw the grief in his eyes. He felt his heart clench with fear; Legolas was going to die, and in pain, and it was all his fault.

“As Glorfindel said, I have not experienced the effects firsthand, though I did observe them in another, over a nine month period. I can somewhat ease the pain Legolas will experience, but there is little else I can do. I cannot repair the cause of his illness.” Elrond finally found the strength to speak up.

“Surely you must be able to counteract the drug in his system? Neutralise it in some way” At his father’s futile headshake, the other twin chimed in with suggestions, dredging around for another solution.

“Can you not bleed the drug out of his system, or dilute the potency with something to lessen its effects?” Elrohir simply refused to believe that his father was infallible, that he could not cure their friend.

Elrond rubbed away at his headache, barely able to think past it. Squeezing his eyes shut, to prevent what light there was from aggravating it, did little to ease it. He could feel an immense throbbing, beating in time with his heartbeat, it felt almost as if his brain was contracting and swelling. Estel leaned forward in concern.

Again it was left to Glorfindel to provide the answers. “There is no drug in his system Elrohir, and therein lies the problem.”

“I do not understand; if there is no drug then how is there a problem?” Elrohir was completely lost now.

Elrond spoke up then. “It is the absence of the Rucin,” he suppressed a small shudder at the mention of that name, “that causes the problem. Legolas’ body is now dependant upon its very presence to function.” As the blank looks continued in his direction he sighed. “Legolas is addicted to the Rucin. Without it his body will eventually cease to function, and shut down; even now that process begins.”

As the listening twins digested that news, they heard a sudden gasp for breath, and swung around to observe a white-faced Estel, fists clenched and mouth open, gasping in shock. Elrond’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh Estel, would that you had stayed sleeping a few moments longer. I would not have broken this news to you like this.” He took a step towards his youngest but was halted by the look in his eye.

Elladan stepped forward his worry expressing itself through anger. “That is twice today you have fooled me into thinking that you were sleeping, while in fact you were callously eavesdropping. I will not make that same mistake again! How much did you overhear?”

Estel rose awkwardly to his feet, arms wrapped tightly around himself. Completely ignoring Elladan, it was unlikely that he even realised his brother had said anything. His entire concentration was focussed Legolas. Taking a deep breath he approached the bed where all four elves now stared at him with a mixture of anger, fear and compassion.

“Is it true Ada? Is Legolas addicted to the Rucin?” At Elrond’s reluctant nod he continued on, stepping closer as he did so. “And he will die without it?” Again Elrond nodded. “Then let me search for some more, we can give it to him before he enters withdrawal and he will be fine.”

Elrond shook his head, sadly, in disagreement. He was reluctant to destroy all of Estel’s hope, yet knew that it was far better met here, than later. “Do you forget already the last time that he took some? It causes mental instability Estel; prolonged exposure will only increase the damage while lessening its benefits. If we continue to dose him with this his depression and withdrawal will become more severe as his body grows accustomed to its presence. There are not just physical effects, but psychological ones as well.”

Elladan reached forward gently pressed a hand to Aragorn’s shoulder as the human bent his head downwards, blinking away tears at the thought that his error would cause his friend’s death. Truly his father had been right to upbraid him for idiocy, it was a wonder to him that he had not been immediately evicted from the house. Surely they would wish to banish the murderer of Legolas, if only to in some ways mollify Thranduil. It was treason to kill a member of the royal family, far worse than banishment ought to be his fate, he should be executed. He snapped out of his thoughts as Legolas stirred, face creased in pain, body arching as his muscles tensed involuntarily.

Leaning over the reclining figure Estel placed a soothing hand on the elf’s brow, wincing as he felt the beginnings of a fever; obviously the Rucin was causing the elf’s body to upset its self-regulation. Looking into the face of his friend, he barely recognised his features, obscured as they were by the hardened lines of pain. His skin was taught and lacklustre, losing much of its beauty. Elrond also stepped nearer, and began unwrapping the bandage covering Legolas’ leg wound. Estel went to help but was pushed away as Elrohir stepped forward to do the same. Feeling uncomfortable and unwanted, Estel hurried to treat the head wound, before Elladan could reach it, not that he had any intention of so doing; he was preoccupied with keeping a close watch on Glorfindel.

Unwinding the bandage, and lifted the wadding that protected the injury, Estel was unprepared for the sight of his friend’s blood. Wincing, he added yet another injury onto his long list of responsibilities. Wiping the wound clean, he was able to see that it was fairly well healed; what was worrying though, was that it had not healed nearly as much as it should have by now. Obviously the lack of Rucin was interfering with the body’s attempts to heal itself. From the muttered exclamation further down the bed, and the gasp of shock from Elrohir, it was apparent that the wound down there suffered the same fate. The elf was in no danger from these injuries, but he was not well, that was plain to see.

Having finished re-bandaging the wound, Estel turned to try and get a glimpse of the sword wound, but Elrond had finished, and had bade Elrohir to raise Legolas’ leg slightly, in order to rewrap it. Legolas awoke, startled, as his leg was brutally abused. With an inarticulate cry of pain and fear, he kicked out at his torturer. Disorientated, he attempted to rise to his feet, unaware of where he was, and that he was safe. Finding himself too weak to support his weight, he sank back down, and after several minutes where none dared approach him; he opened his eyes with recognition in them.

“What are you staring at?” He gasped out, glaring at Estel, who stepped back somewhat startled by the look of aggression in Legolas’ eyes.

“N...nothing,” Estel stammered, surprised by Legolas’ vehemence. “I was only checking your injuries. I am sorry”

Elrond interrupted before the pain in Legolas’ eyes could find an outlet in Estel. “It was my fault Legolas, I should have woken you first, and made you drink something for the pain.”

“I am in no pain, my Lord.” Legolas was blatantly lying, his teeth clenched against the undoubted agony he was in as every muscle seemed to have a will of its own.

“Let me give you something anyway, for my own peace of mind” Elrond knew that he would have little peace of mind ever again, but he tried not to let that show in his face. Elrohir produced a ready mixture that would dull the pain, but keep Legolas alert.

“I will not drink any of that, how do I know what is in it?” Fever bright eyes eyed the cup warily, shrinking back from it.

“Legolas it will not harm you, it will help you,” Elladan put forth his opinion.

“I cannot know that, for all I know you could be trying to poison me further than I already have been,” Legolas glared at the human.

Estel winced, realising that the elf still held him to blame for his condition. Attempting to correct his wrong, and at least afford Legolas some relief from strain, he tried a compromise. “I will drink some, and prove to you that you have nothing to fear from it. Will you drink it then?”

“If you think that I would drink out of the cup once you have put your nasty human lips there then you are insane!” Estel flinched at the vehemence in Legolas’ voice.

Elrond stepped forward to shield his youngest from the unwarranted anger. “It is not poison, and will do nothing but let you lie comfortably. If you would still like proof then I will taste it. It would not have the same effect upon elves as it does humans, so even were Estel to sample it, you would have no reassurance.”

“I do not want it, I just want you to leave, all of you. Leave me in peace.” Legolas knocked at the hand of Elrohir who had advanced with the cup.

“Legolas, we care for you, we do not like to see you hurt, please drink this.” Even the stern voice of Glorfindel could do nothing to sway the elf.

“Get out!” Legolas tried to sit up and get out of bed, as no one seemed willing to leave him alone, so he must go. Estel stepped forward to hold him down, but Legolas hit out at him. “How dare you touch me, it is your fault I am like this, get out, and stay out! I do not wish to see you again.”

Aragorn paled. Unwilling to believe that Legolas really did hate him he tried one more time to appease the elf. “But you said it was not my fault, you forgave me. What is making you say these things?” Even as he spoke, Aragorn was trying to settle Legolas down. When his struggles grew even more agitated, Elladan and Elrohir joined in to hold him down.

“Let go of me, you are all in league with him. Let me be!” he cried.

Elrohir withdrew his hand, crying in pain as the prince bit deeply into him. Blood burst across the covers, and he recoiled away from the bed, clutching it to his chest. Elladan immediately let go of Legolas and went to examine him. Taking advantage of the fact that Estel was the only one holding him down, Legolas thrust him away from the bed, onto the floor. Fear-induced adrenaline enabled him to rise to his feet, and he poised himself ready to kick the human before him. “Filthy human, take your dirty stares far away from me, I’ll show you not to poison me!” he screamed.

Elrond and Glorfindel stepped forward to hold back the prince, but he paid them no heed in his desperate attempt to reach Aragorn, and pushed them aside. Glorfindel fell, gasping in pain as his wounds were aggravated by one of Legolas’ wild swings. Elrond grasped Legolas around the waist, holding him back with a firm grip. Legolas still struggled. “Let me go, let me get rid of the human. He’ll poison you all!”

Elrond could see that there would be no dealing with the delirious prince while Estel was in the room, and bade him leave the room. “Estel, your presence is aggravating him, go.”

Aragorn stared up at his father, hurt leeching out of his eyes, vision blurred with tears at Legolas’ words.

“Estel go.” Elrond repeated.

Aragorn could not move, he stood there stunned, mind selectively replaying the conversation. ‘Get out and stay out!’ he trembled as he remembered the ferocity with which Legolas had spoken. He had meant for Aragorn to feel like this; he hated him. ‘Go,’ now even his father felt that his presence was a nuisance. Just as last night he thought that Aragorn was useless. This was his fault.

“Estel leave, now. You are making this worse.” Elrond spoke firmly, desperate to spare the human any more pain.

Aragorn turned abruptly, and left the room.

When the human was gone, Legolas ceased his struggles, and was lowered back into bed by Elrond. Elladan and Elrohir stared after their brother, keen to follow him, yet delayed by the need to find out what ailed Legolas. Glorfindel had managed to regain his seat, and was sitting there, albeit hunched over, pale, and breathing heavily through the pain. The four remained motionless, attempting to work through the shock and analyse what had just occurred.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Estel fled from the room, his father’s and Legolas’ words echoing through his head. Clasping his hands over his ears, he attempted to block them out, but alas they where not external, but repeated internally, it was his own mind that betrayed him. Running to his room, he searched desperately for his pack before realising that he had left it in Legolas’ room on his return last night. Grabbing the blanket off his bed, he hastily shoved a handful of garments into it, before picking up his sword, and strapping it on. Looking around to see if there was anything else he wanted to take, he gently picked up the leather-bound sketchbook he often used. Opening it, he caught a glimpse of he drawings he had made, of his father and brothers, of his home; flashes of moments that meant family to him.

Choking down a sob, he caressed it one last time and flung it on the fire to burn. At the back of his mind had always been the niggling fear that Elrond had just been tolerating him, until was old enough to protect himself, that his brothers were there only to teach him to defend himself, before they would throw him out. But that had only been a slight fear, one he had always lived with, and which had shown no evidence of truth until now. Until Elrond had rightfully blamed him for Legolas’ death, until he had asked him to leave. Estel was an orphan now, in all sense of the word.

Taking one last look around the room, he turned and ran down the corridor, using the back stairs, as far away from Legolas’ chambers as he could get. Briefly stopping in the kitchens, he stole some bread and fruit that was left out in case anyone was hungry. Reaching the doors, that always stood open to welcome guests, he paused. Taking one final deep breath, he left the warmth of the building behind him, and stepped out, leaving his home behind him. Reaching the stables he saddled up his horse, after pondering for a time whether he should take it or not. He had been a gift from his father, but all acknowledged him as his. Deciding that he could always have him returned, and that his primary aim right now was to just get away as fast and as far as he could. He mounted the horse, and rode away in the direction of the waning sun.

After an hour’s hard riding, he looked back, seeing the golden reflection from the river, and the roofs of his former home. As he watched the sun passed behind a thick accumulation of clouds, and the light faded. His home was no longer visible and his world had been plunged into darkness.

“What just happened?” Elladan asked confused, staring down at the semi-conscious figure of Legolas.

“I don’t know ‘Dan, but I do not think it was good.” Elrohir hissed in pain as his father spread open the fingers on his hand for a closer look at the bite.

“Ada, why did Legolas react so to Estel? When I observed them earlier they appeared to have reaffirmed their friendship, and everything seemed fine between them. What can have happened to so swiftly alter that?” Elladan asked, bemused by the swift changes that had just occurred.

Elrond’s voice was slightly muffled as his head was bent over, examining Elrohir’s wound. “It is the Rucin Elladan, it is affecting his mind, causing him to say things that he does not mean.”

“Well of course he did not mean them father, that was obvious. Legolas would never say anything to hurt Estel.” Elrohir tried to jerk his hand away from the exploring fingers of his father, but he was held firm by his brother. Suppressing a glare at his twin he continued. “What is more important is why he is saying these things.”

“The Rucin causes a physical addiction in elves; Legolas’ body is unable to cope without the drug’s presence.” Elrond replied, preoccupied.

“Yes,” Elrohir continued, frustrated. “We have all seen how his wounds do not heal, how he is constantly fatigued, but this does not explain Legolas’ attitude towards us and towards Estel.”

Elrond sighed, releasing Elrohir’s hand after a thorough cleaning and bandaging. “Rucin causes a chemical imbalance in the mind, Legolas is no longer able to recognise friend from foe, and he will become increasingly distrusting and paranoid.” Both twins chimed in then, demanding immediate answers.

“Is this imbalance permanent? To what extent will it continue?”

“We have seen him harm using words, is he likely to become violent?” Elrohir glanced down at his hand, and thought ‘more violent than he has already become?’

Elrond busied himself with collecting all his materials, head bowed, reluctant to answer any more questions.

“Elrond, I think it is time for them to know the truth,” Glorfindel said. He had recovered from Legolas’ attack, though he was still paler than usual. Elrond looked at him, his eyes speaking of a pain beyond the ability of words to describe. “It is time mellon nin,” Glorfindel repeated.

Elrond raised his head and gazed at Glorfindel, who leaned forward and clasped a hand around Elrond’s biceps. “You cannot shield them from this any longer. Much as we would wish for this never to have happened, it has and they must face up to the fact that they will lose Legolas, as ever they lost…”

“Lau! You go too far Glorfindel!” Elrond cried. “Would you reveal that which you have sworn to keep secret?” Elrond’s voice trembled with ire or fear, the twins were unsure which.

“Ada, surely you cannot keep this from us now. We know about the Rucin, what else is there that you are hiding from us?” Elrohir asked, dredging around for ideas. “Is it contagious?”

“How in Illuvitar’s name can addiction be contagious ‘Ro? Have you lost your mind?” Everyone winced collectively at Elladan’s thoughtless remark.

“I was only wondering if it was possible that this could be transmitted from one elf to the next by physical contact, or fluid exchange. Please allow that I have an excellent reason for asking.” Elrohir waved his bandaged hand in his brother’s face, which paled rapidly.

“Ada, it is not contagious is it? Oh Elbereth no!” Elladan was near begging for an answer.

“It is not contagious Elladan,” Elrond shook his head. “You need not fear that. Your brother’s injury is minor; if he rests it for a few days, and keeps the bandage dry, then it will heal with no complications.”

“Then why can we not know whatever it is we don’t know?” Elladan cried, exasperated

“What are you keeping from us?” Elrohir echoed.

“I do not understand why!” Both twins chimed in with questions, growing angrier as their father withheld what could be important information from them.

“I said no!” Elrond’s voice cracked as he slammed his fist down on the table, fingers clenched tightly together. “I will not do this to you. Do not ask it of me.”

“Adar” Elladan began.

“Lau!” Elrond’s voice, vibrating with anger, coincided with the cascading of thunder outside. A large bolt of light flamed through the sky, causing a second rumble as it hit the ground, almost muted by the still reverberating echoes. Appearing from nowhere dark angry clouds congregated in the skies, settled above Rivendell, pelting down their load directly above their home. Frowning the twins stepped over to the window, looking out at this unexpected weather.

Elladan grimaced as he eyed the families hastily packing up their picnics, mothers shielding the young from the pellets, fathers ushering them inwards. Screams and cries of the children, whose afternoon had been ruined, echoed up, almost buried underneath the lashing of the rain and the growl of drums in the valley. Angry voices of the parents could be heard, they had not expected this storm either, and appeared to be blaming their lord for not warning them. Elladan ducked his head, upset at the anger projected their way, while Elrohir clutched his injured arm closer to his chest, and shivered in sympathy for the families straggling in. Eventually there was nobody left outside, though several rugs and baskets had been abandoned, in their haste to leave the gardens, and were now collecting rainwater. All was silent again save for the violence of the storm saturating the ground, and the gusts of the wind as it threatened to topple all but the sturdiest of trees. Shivering again, Elrohir turned to face the family who remained dry inside.

“I would hate to be caught out in that, the storm is merciless. The clouds positively seethe with turmoil.” Elladan murmured, glad that all were safe within these walls; from the looks of the wind, anyone travelling out there would scarcely be able to stand, let alone move towards shelter. Fortunately there had only been the one lightening strike, and the subsequent emptying of the sky had managed to extinguish those flames before they could take root in the forests. “’Tis fortunate you returned when you did Glorfindel, you would certainly have had a torrid time of it.” Elladan spun around at his twin’s cry.

“Glorfindel!” Running forward Elrohir managed to support the elf as he wavered. “You need to rest, return to your seat this instant!” Elrohir’s objection was quelled by the merest glance that the blonde elf could summon.

Elladan joined in the argument, stepping forward to the elf’s other side. “Whatever you require either myself or Elrohir can fetch, but you would do well to remain seated, unless you prefer the comfort of the floor.” Elladan’s concerns were brushed away even as his brother’s were, as Glorfindel strode forward, heeding nothing but the stunned figure before him, standing fingering something on his finger.

“Elrond.” Glorfindel’s voice was laced with compassion, as the lord of Imladris stood there, opening and clenching his fist, eyes drawn in horror to the ring adorning his finger. “Elrond!” Glorfindel repeated, somewhat louder, facing the elf then. After a pause the desolate eyes rose to meet his, and the twin’s gasped at the despair in their father’s. “This storm was no coincidence. The burden is too great; your emotions are spilling out of control, and affecting the ring. You must share your fears with those closest to you, ere you destroy us.”

“I cannot,” Elrond gasped painfully, as he sought to control both his anger and the storm outside, “it is too much.”

“Which is precisely why you need to open up. This storm your anger has created is no mere shower, it is potentially life threatening for any who travel in it, especially with those lightning bolts you were tossing around. You need to regain some control, or you may yet sunder your home.” Glorfindel edged forward in concern.

“And will it be any less sundered were I to reveal what I would keep hidden?” Despair and strain warred in the timbre of his voice.

“Bonds can be rebuilt in time, lives cannot be remade. You must see this.” Glorfindel’s voice was calm as he sought to ease his friend through wisdom.

Elrond bowed his head in shame at Glorfindel’s words, was he truly causing this much distress because he was ashamed? Or because he feared the consequences of his actions? His hand shook as he fought to control his anger and the grief, which caused the skies to weep unceasingly; he could not think past his distress. Head bowed he scrubbed at his eyes, willing the weather to subside, and failing. “I must have time and peace in which to halt this,” Elrond indicated the weather with a flick of his head, unwilling to lift it to look at his sons.

“Can you not just…wave it away? You created it in a short enough time!” Elrohir was angered by his father’s unwillingness to share his pain, despite his obvious need; he felt slighted and undervalued.

Surprisingly it was Glorfindel who answered, Elrond being in no condition or temper to do so. “It is easy to create something like this; in anger the nearest elements are usurped from their natural state and forced into this condition, it takes much longer to unravel the mess that it caused.” At the twin’s puzzled looks he continued. “All you perceive is that the rain must cease, but the clouds themselves are still loaded with their burden, and must empty. The rain must disperse somewhere, and in quantities such as these it is highly likely that there will be floods unless care is taken. No, Elrond needs time to control the storm and himself, in due course he will reveal to you what is wrong.”

“Why will you not tell us? You were there, if it is this painful for father then surely you will be easing his burden to tell us?” Elladan, no less infuriated than his brother, strove to gain the answers from Glorfindel.

“News such as this cannot come from another; this must be told to you by your father, or else all may lie in ruin.” On this cryptic note Glorfindel dismissed the twin’s further questions with a stubborn shake of the head and turned once again to his friend. “Use this reprieve wisely mellon nin, you must control this storm ere it raises the very roof of Imladris.” Turning to leave, Glorfindel leaned on Elladan for support as he was guided out of the room by the twins.

Elrond stared after them, grief and fear desolating his eyes. “I fear that will be the result whatever I do henceforth,” he muttered almost to himself.

Seating himself next to the bed he gazed down at the now unconscious figure of Legolas, unwittingly the cause of all this distress, and sighed. Folding his arms on the edge of the bed he rested his throbbing head down upon them, and closed his eyes against the pain. Even as he reached out with the ring to separate the elements and restore calm once more to Rivendell, a part of his mind kept mulling over Glorfindel’s words to him.

Elrond shuddered at the thought of giving voice to his deepest regrets, especially to those who most admired him, yet he perceived the truth at the heart of his close friend’s words; it was far better to hurt with the truth than with lies or concealments. Elrond had not missed Elrohir’s pain at his actions earlier, and he was equally sure that Elladan felt the same, though he concealed it better. Sighing, he acknowledged that events had gone too far for this to remain a secret any longer, and prepared himself to inform his sons, together, when next they gathered.

Decision made, his head sank lower onto his arms as weight was lifted from his shoulders; not all of it, nor even much, but what little was removed was enough to allow him some rest. As his mind disengaged from his body, Elrond sank into the dreamless oblivion of the exhausted. The ring, instructed by him, continued repairing the damaged weather system.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Glorfindel limped away from Legolas’ chambers, dragging the twins with him by virtue of their being his crutches. Elrohir impatiently tried to return into the room, but was halted by Glorfindel deciding he needed to rest a little more of his weight upon him.

“We cannot just leave him like that,” Elrohir cried. “Ada is struggling to bear this weight and we can relieve him somewhat. Why does he not allow us this? We are mature now, we can handle this.”

“Elrohir, neither your father nor myself doubt that you are old enough to greatly aid us; in fact we rely upon your support, and your brother’s, however in this instance part of your father’s distress is caused by your demands upon him. He has had little time to contemplate upon these events, and needs to evaluate them to control his emotions; pushing him to make any kind of decision whether to tell you, at this time, is only endangering everyone present. If you allow him a reprieve, he will have decided his course of action, and the situation will be much clearer and easier upon him.” Glorfindel broke off then as a cough wracked his body.

As he clutched his arm tighter around his injured ribs Elladan ducked underneath his shoulder, placing a supportive arm around his mentor’s waist, and began leading the injured elf to his rooms. “You are in no condition to be berating our foolishness, when you can barely stand. Come, I will escort you to your chambers where you will partake of rest.”

“Elfling, you will take me to my office where I will get caught up on the reports I have missed while journeying and then I will have your father’s work sent over to me, for he does not need any more distraction during this time.” Glorfindel used his sternest voice upon Elrond’s eldest who was not swayed in any way.

“That will not be happening today Glorfindel, you are barely able to keep on your feet, and sitting up for prolonged periods of time will not allow your ribs to heal. You must remain as motionless as possible in order to be eased quickly,” Elladan scolded the warrior. “If necessary I will have you restrained on your bed, and kept motionless; there is no-one in this house who would question the word of a healer, especially when upon sight of you.”

“Elladan,” Glorfindel repeated, unamused.

“Do not make me force you, I will carry you to you rooms myself if you do not co-operate; and a fine sight that would make for all the eager young elflings who look up to you so. Do you want to lose all the respect you have earned?” Elladan stared forcefully into the warrior’s eyes.

Glorfindel mumbled to himself about elves and their airs, while he limped unwillingly along guided by Elladan. Elrohir remained behind, staring at the closed door, frowning.

“’Ro, father does not need our presence at this time, you would be best served elsewhere.” At Elrohir’s questioning look he frowned. “Estel? Or have you already forgotten what Legolas has said to him. I believe he could do with some company about now? I will meet you there after I have tended Glorfindel”.

Elrohir nodded, and strode towards his brother’s chambers, as his twin helped the ailing elf along, despite his complaints. “I am not an invalid you know, I am perfectly capable of getting to my quarters on my own. You should go to Estel, from what I saw of him he has had a trying time thus far, and Legolas’ words will only have made it worse.”

“Until you are hale you will do as I suggest and rest, you may have your revenge upon me at a later time, but until then…” Elladan’s voice tailed off, he had long ago discovered that threats were more effective when left to the victim’s imagination.

Glorfindel glared at him, but it was effectively muted by his injuries and fatigue. Scowling at him, Glorfindel limped along at Elladan’s behest muttering, “Of all the irritating habits your father possesses why would this be one of the ones you had to inherit?”

His scowl deepened at Elladan’s cheerful reply, “Who can say? But it is to your good fortune that I did.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Elrohir walked rapidly along corridor, passed the crowds of dripping elves who had hurried in as the storm broke. The sight of the tearful elflings being consoled by their equally distraught parents gave him scant comfort; it reminded him of how much his father refused to share his problem, and was taking it out on others. He had not truly finished his discussion with his Ada earlier concerning Estel, his ire had been somewhat stilled when Legolas’ fate had been revealed. Even now he held sympathy for his father’s obvious pain, but the rage at secrets being kept from him only added to his previous anger. Hurrying passed the families who eyed him a little angrily for not having warned them of what to expect, he approached the staircase that led to the upper floors.

His swift march halted as he passed the ajar doors of his father’s study; reaching forward to close them he halted, thinking. As hard as he tried to walk past the door, his will was not strong enough to override his curiosity. Elrohir had remembered that the articles that his father had been researching earlier still lay within. He had pulled his father out of the room in such a hurry that Elrond had not had time to conceal the documents; therefore all the answers he sought were lying inside the room awaiting him. A swift glance at the stairs reminded him that Estel was alone, sorely in need of some company and kind words, but the traitorous voice in his head convinced him that his comfort would be more effective if he could provide the reasons for Legolas’ behaviour and Elrond’s anger. Despite taking another step forward he was unable to pass the door and, decision made, he entered.

Glancing furtively around in case anyone was watching him, he entered his father’s study without any of the elven families paying him any notice. Closing the door gently to behind him, he snuck over to the desk, unable to shake the feeling that any moment now he would be discovered. Making as little noise as possible he quickly scanned the sheets in front of him, looking for the passage he had overheard earlier. Finally identifying it, he moved to sit closer to the fire, the sunlight having been obscured by the seething masses located directly above Imladris. Resting his elbows on his knees, he held the paper before the flames, the better to see it. Skimming through it he alighted on the final sentence he had overheard his father say, and continued from there.

“ If it is within my power, none, especially my sons, shall ever learn of these events. Rucin is addictive, painfully so. Its effects are debilitating physically and mentally; an elf deprived of Rucin is unrecognisable. All grace and elegance are lost to the uncontrollable trembling and spasms of limbs; the victim is unable to distinguish between friend or enemy, concerned only with acquiring another dose. It is with a heavy heart that I have prescribed more Rucin, for while it may eventually destroy the elf mentally, prolonging the addiction vastly increases my chance of finding a cure. I have found that I need not medicate every day, nor even every week. If the victim is willing to endure the depression and the pain I can go nearly two weeks without dosing them. “

Elrohir frowned as the handwriting became increasingly shaky here, leaning even closer into the firelight he could see the writing appeared to be smudged, as if some liquid had been carelessly spilled upon it.

“The sight of the suffering is the most hurtful thing I have ever experienced. Watching the victim lying there experiencing agonies, while knowing that I am at fault, is unbearable. And yet I must bear it, I must be strong for [SPLODGE] and my sons; were it not for the unwavering support of Glorfindel I would have found myself submerged long past, yet even his steadfastness cannot abate the agony I feel. I gave the Rucin to her, it because of me she suffers. Had I not been so impatient things may yet have recovered on their own, but alas I was too eager to experiment with this newfound herb, and too ignorant of its effects.“

Elrohir gasped in horror, Elrond had given the drug to the previous victim? His father had caused the death of another. Little surprise then, that this was something he would not wish his sons to know, and yet Elrohir was not disgusted by his father’s actions; horrified yes, but he felt a deep vein of sympathy flowing through him. He had spoken to Estel, had seen his guilt at unknowingly infecting Legolas with the Rucin; he knew that his father would have felt the same emotions, the same pain. He chided himself, angry that neither he nor Elladan had noticed the distress that their father was feeling, and had abandoned him to this despair alone; how could they have been so preoccupied to miss this? Elrohir was thankful that Glorfindel, at least, had been there to aid his Ada, and placed a mental reminder to show his appreciation when next he saw him.

As his thoughts returned to Estel’s distress, he remembered the expression on his brother’s face, and stood with a hurry. Now that his curiosity had been sated he was keen to return to his brother who had been deeply hurt, he feared, by Legolas’ unexpected words. Placing the paper back upon his father’s desk he turned to leave…and paused.

Slowly turning around, his eyes were widened in shock. Surely he had not just glimpsed that name; it could not be? Hastily seating himself at the desk, he scoured the pages before him until his eyes alighted upon the name that had caught his attention moments before. His hands clenched tightly together in a mixture of rage and overwhelming grief; crushing the paper before him. He bent his head onto his fists, gasping for breath as he fought the shock. It could not be. His father could not have done this. Not to her.

“Let it not be true,” he pleaded. He read on.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

“NOOOOOO!”

The halls of Rivendell echoed with this cry.

***

A/N: Additional:

I realise that many of you will see Elrond’s accidental use of the ring as OOC (especially after a discussion on Mellon chronicles where I asked this very question). I am not suggesting that every time he gets a little peeved with Aragorn returning home injured he will lash out with it in rage, only that his emotions are so extreme that he lost control of it for the first time ever. As he is only a half-elf, despite possessing all the blessings and graces given to the elven-kind, he still retains a small piece of humanity, which is weak; it is this human emotional overload that causes the storm.

While researching this yesterday I came across a quote from Tolkien, concerning the use of magic in Middle-Earth:

In a letter to a fan (Letter 131), he refers to ‘inherent inner power or talents’ and to the fact that the Rings of Power ‘enhanced the natural powers of a possessor’.

I take this to mean that the rings may also enhance natural weaknesses, of which Elrond’s emotional state certainly is one. If anyone wishes to read the rest of the essay it is located here:

http://gofree.indigo.ie/~warrenl/Tolkien/Magic/Magic.html

Elladan gently lowered Glorfindel into a seated position on the bed, before stepping back, opening his drawers, and removing a nightshirt. Laying it flat on the bed beside the wounded elf, he bent forward to undo the buttons on Glorfindel’s tunic.

“Ow!” he cried, nursing his slapped hand. “What was that for?”

“I am not an invalid, and I would thank you not to treat me as such,” Glorfindel gasped out between bouts of pain. The walk up to his rooms had taxed even his renowned strength, although he still sought to hide this from the harried twin. “I am perfectly capable of undressing myself, and putting myself to bed; indeed I have been doing it since before your birth.” So saying, he reached his arms up to the top button. Straining a little, he attempted to undo it, before lowering his arms, and his head.

“Are you willing to allow my help now?” Elladan asked, careful to keep all traces of humour or sarcasm from his voice, realising that it would only aggravate his mentor. “Well?” he continued as Glorfindel stared back at him, refusing to uncross his arms and allow the healer access. Elladan sighed. “Glorfindel, you will be uncomfortably warm if you retire dressed as you are, the coarseness of your clothing, and the heat will aggravate your injuries, and you will not pass a peaceful night. This can be remedied if you would only allow me to assist you.”

Glorfindel’s tense features relaxed slightly, but the tight-lipped look did not fade from his face, and Elladan perceived that the elder elf was truly in pain, and so cut short much of his arguments.

“Elladan, should I be required during the night, as appears likely, then I would be ready to move rather than need to find someone to assist me to dress. I am not fatigued,” Glorfindel continued on, despite Elladan’s snort of disbelief, “and I require only to lie down for perhaps an hour before I will be recovered. I thank you for your aid in bringing me here, but I wish to rest now, and you need to tend to your brothers.”

Glorfindel’s ploy was at least partly successful, in that it momentarily distracted Elladan’s attention away from him. The eldest twin’s thoughts turned towards the memory of the hunched shoulders of his little brother as he had fled from the room. The weight of Legolas’ words had submerged him with emotion, most likely guilt, and now the young human was dealing with the certain knowledge that Legolas would die by his hand; his presence was needed. Elladan’s attention was quickly drawn back to Glorfindel, however, as the elf’s grasp around his chest tightened, and a thin sheen of sweat beaded upon his forehead.

Elladan pressed him down, so that he was laying full length upon the bed; determined that the elf would find at least some rest this day. “Very well,” Elladan said, “if you find yourself too bashful to remove your shirt in company, than I will allow you to keep it, to save your pride from any further injury this day.” Elladan suppressed a small smirk at Glorfindel’s embarrassed retelling of how he had come to injure himself, which caused the elf lord to frown.

“You gave your word that the cause of my temporary disability would not be revealed even under duress, do you forget that already?” The elf gasped out, as he closed his eyes against the pain.

The smile was quickly wiped from Elladan’s face as he hastened to the small wash-table and poured a glass of water form the ready filled jug there; the maids had been quick to prepare the room when the scouts had first detected the limping figure, half dragging itself on foot into the grounds of Imladris. Returning to the bed, he lifted a gentle hand behind Glorfindel’s head, raising it, tilting the glass to allow the grateful elf a few sips of the cool liquid. Glorfindel sighed in relief as his pain was eased, and lay back, struggling to keep his head upright and his eyes open. His eyes snapped open and he stared at Elladan in suspicion. Plain water should not have had that effect upon him.

Leaning forward in suspicion he managed, through tremendous effort, to raise his hand steady on the glass and bring it closer to his face. Elladan, who thought his mentor wanted more water, began to tilt the glass again but was stopped by the elf who lowered it beneath his nose and took a knowing sniff. He gazed up angrily at his friend’s eldest son.

“Gilmorn? You gave me that? Elladan…” He mumbled out, voice growing softer with fatigue. His hand slipped down to rest beside him on the bed, and the glass would have spilled its contents were not Elladan expecting such a reaction; he caught it nimbly, before it fell. “There is not time for me,” he yawned, and then mustered a small glare at Elrond’s heir, “to rest, there is too,” he yawned again, “too much to do.” A final yawn, and the spark in his eyes died, as a light glaze took over, allowing the elf Lord to finally surrender to some much needed rest.

Elladan gazed down at his mentor, a terse look across his face as his grey eyes took in the pallor and frown of pain, which Glorfindel could not disguise even in his sleep. Placing the glass upon a table by the bed, within easy reach should the elf awaken earlier than expected, Elladan stepped to the foot of the bed, and with an amused smirk, gently unlaced Glorfindel’s boots, and eased them off his feet. Placing them underneath the bed, he reflected to himself that even if Glorfindel awakened early, he would be unlikely to locate his footwear so soon. Gathering up a blanket, he smoothed it over the relaxed figure, and stepped over to the window to draw the curtains.

Glancing out he saw several flashes in the sky, reflected in the windowpane. The rain was still pounding against the window, the force marginally lessened from earlier. Shivering to himself, he firmly drew the curtains closed on the scene, again thankful that all were within the house. Leaving the room, he quietly pulled the door to, and set off along the corridor to Estel’s room, mentally girding himself to deal with the stubbornness he would find there. He sighed, wondering idly to himself why it was that every person who spent time under the roof of Imladris seemed to acquire a disregard for their own state of health, and developed an irritating stubbornness, refusing any aid.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Neither the fierce thunder overhead, nor the startling slashes of lightening illuminating the path prevented Estel from his full paced fleeing of the storm in his heart. The turmoil that surrounded him reflected but the smallest fraction of the emotions overflowing within him. He paused one last time, gazing back at his former home, magnificent even beneath a roiling sky, before he dragged himself away from it, heading out into the wilderness. Estel gave the horse his head, uncaring which direction he was headed, he had but one thought; to ride onwards, never looking back.

The storm that had appeared as if from nowhere barely registered with him. He sat upright in the saddle, facing full-on the wind before him. Head uncovered, hood flung back, the wind dashed heavily sodden hair into his eyes; he paid it no heed in his manic departure. He did not feel the large hail pellets that connected bruisingly with his body, nor did he heed the rain that permeated its way through his clothing, and down the back of his exposed neck. His clothes, though elven made, were not designed to cope with the sheer quantities of water that was deluging down, and had long given up even the pretence of warmth. His drenched cloak grew still heavier as the rain soaked the weave. Even his clothing reflected his state of mind, the guilt and worry he felt lay heavily upon his youthful shoulders.

Distress, equal to that which had created the storm, was masked in his guilt-shrouded eyes illuminated by a sudden sheet of lightning carving its path through the bulging heavens. His finely carved features were blurred by both water and shadow; his visage was featureless, almost frozen in its immobility. There was no spark of life, of thought in Estel’s face; it was as if with the destruction of all that he acknowledged as home, that his own sense of self had been diminished.

His eyes, normally the spot of greatest life and intelligence, were dark pools reflecting the forks of lightning, making it seem as if anger was foremost in his mind. Indeed anger, even emotion was the furthest thing that Aragorn could summon just now. Colourless apart form the pinpricks of light, which belied his true state, Estel’s eyes resembled the storm overhead, much as his emotions reflected the turmoil. The huge black eyes stared deadly out at the woods around him, not a creature apart from himself stirred; all other beings had the sense to seek shelter from the winds. Urging his mount onwards, Estel paid no heed to the creaking of the trees as their roots struggled to maintain their grasp on the fragile soil. The rain was washing away the very ground beneath his feet, yet still Estel did not heed the treacherousness of the path.

Tinnu whickered in distress as yet another flash of lightning flared across the path, startling him. He ducked his head lower as the wind gusted numerous leaves and small branches at him. Rain streamed along the glistening coat, muscles rippling beneath the slick hair that prevented the worst of the rain from touching him. His rider had no such protection from the elements; and Tinnu could feel the minute tremors of his body, even though the man himself seemed unaware of them. Bright eyes shone vividly with life and worry as the horse strove ever onwards, fighting valiantly against the oncoming gale at his master’s behest. Despite an almost overwhelming desire to return homewards, where a warm stable, and plenty of food awaited him, Tinnu braved the rigours of the storm, determined to protect his master from it. Hooves beat heavily into the ground, sinking deeply into the mud, slipping before gaining purchase. The very sounds of his hoof beats drowned out by the thunder and the gale.

Tinnu was given his head almost the very instant Rivendell was out of human sight, as though Estel cared only to be away from that place and planned nothing further. Selecting his own path, Tinnu pounded along a route that was relatively sheltered from the storm, protected by a wall of trees. The black gazed longingly at the trees, wanted only to be away from the hazardous wind, and the objects that struck him with alarming frequency, yet he was aware that this would not be shelter enough for his master. To remain exposed to the storm in such a condition would be dangerous for the mortal. As the pair rode onwards, a flaming bolt, launched from above, impacted the ground at the edge of the tree wall, sending up a plume of smoke as fire welled up, but was quickly doused by the torrents of water still emptying from the sky. Tinnu shied, terrified by the lightning strike; the sound and sulphurous smell so outside his usual experience. Estel was awoken from his near stupor, coming perilously close to being toppled from his seat, as the horse rose onto it’s back legs, rearing as it tried to avoid the tree that came crashing down.

Managing to settle the horse somewhat, Estel became aware for the first time of the danger that he was in, riding beneath the densely wooded forest in such a storm. Gently squeezing his legs, he encourage a trembling Tinnu to step forward, at a much slower pace than the canter he had left Rivendell with. Riding past what remained of the cluster of trees, Estel was horrified to see a second one swaying with the wind, bending closer to the ground with each gust, roots half burned by the bolt. Hurrying Tinnu onwards, the two moved forward in unison until they reached a place of relative safety.

Crossing over the river at a convenient ford, deeper than usual yet still safe enough to cross, Estel directed Tinnu upstream knowing that it was safer by the water where the trees were less dense. Eventually they reached a clearing, and were protected from falling trees. Dismounting by the river, Estel led Tinnu over to where the water bubbled through, though in truth by this time it was raging past, overflowing due to the unexpected content it was asked to bear. Leaning his head down to drink thirstily at the water Tinnu, still unnerved by the storm, was calmed by the soothing hand of Estel and the murmuring of soft words in his ears. Though the words themselves were made incomprehensible by the noise of the storm, the tone itself was enough to ease the horse’s distress.

Estel held Tinnu’s reins loosely in one hand. Though the horse was elven-trained, and taught remain within calling distance, Estel did not trust that the natural instinct to bolt would not take precedence given the ferocity of the storm. Seating himself on a nearby rock he lowered his head onto his other hand; he was beginning to regret his headlong flight. Not only had he not stayed to check on his friend’s status, for no matter what Legolas thought, Estel was, and always would be, his friend, but he had most likely caused his father and brothers even more distress by remaining out in such weather. He experienced a brief moment of panic at the thought that the twins might ride out in this looking for him, but his common sense took over, knowing that Elrond would have forbidden such an action, even barring the stable to them if he deemed it necessary.

Sighing again, he reached up to the saddle horn and unfastened the water bottle that was tied behind there. Tilting his head backwards, he gulped down several mouthfuls of the cool liquid, grimacing as he felt his shirt stick to his skin. He clutched his cloak more tightly around his shoulders, regretting that in his haste he had not packed more suitable clothing, for he knew that the blanket wrapped bundle would be equally as wet as the tunic he wore now. Sighing again, Estel lay back on the rock, face lifted up to the sky, eyes closed against the pellets of rain that still cascaded down.

He flung his free arm over his eyes, as he felt exhaustion seeping into his bones, along with the chill of the rain. Almost on the point of drifting off, he was startled as another bolt impacted nearby. Flinging himself to his feet, he was in time to see another bolt flash across the sky, this time reflected in the water of the lake. Tinnu, drinking at the water’s edge, lifted his head with astonishing rapidity stepping backwards. Estel, who was tugged along by the rein held in his hand, stepped forward to again soothe the frightened horse, but Tinnu would have nothing of it. Rearing up in alarm, he dragged the rein out of Estel’s hand, and bolted away.

Estel ran forward, yelling at the horse to come back, to calm down, but he was unable to keep up. Standing there, buffeted by the wind, he caressed his bruised hand, staring back at the disappearing figure, hoping that the frightened horse would return to Rivendell, and safety. He headed back towards the river, and the meagre shelter it would provide him. Clutching his water bottle, the only equipment left with him now, he sank down in the lee of the rock, gazing out at the water. Slowly, surrounded by the fading sound of the storm, he sank into a restless, haunted sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Legolas gradually became aware of lying on a slope, the world rocking around him, and the sound of waves outside his door. ‘How did I come to be on a ship? I do not recall setting sail. What is happening?’ He wondered to himself.

Rousing further he opened fully his half-closed eyes and immediately the world settled down somewhat. Gingerly rolling his head over towards the slope, he found the bent head of Elrond creating a dip in the mattress. As the elf turned restlessly in his sleep, the bed was rocked by his movement, creating the sensation of waves. Startled by a sudden clap of thunder from outside, Legolas jumped slightly, though not nearly as far as the shock would have warranted. His body trembled with fatigue, and the small exertion that the movement had demanded, caused him to fall back against the pillows, panting harshly for breath. As his breathing slowed, he eyed the sleeping figure, relieved that Elrond had not awakened, and would not be forcing any vile potions down his throat again. He shuddered at the memory of that concoction he had been persuaded to drink, and even now the aftertaste was in the back of his throat.

Searching around for a glass of water with which to wash away the foul taste, he espied a jug situated on a nearby table, complete with plates and food. Dimly he recognised it as the breakfast that accursed human had tried to poison him with earlier, and rejected it as a source of sustenance. Glancing around the room again, he despaired of finding anything nourishing in such a prison, and with a mighty effort, pushed back the blankets and sat up. Wavering slightly, he leaned against the wall, pushing off with one hand. Careful to make the movements slow in order to keep his footing, and not wake the slumbering elf, he pushed himself to his feet. Immediately his knees buckled depositing him on the floor. Groaning quietly he debated trying to rise again, and then settled for the less painful method of crawling. His current proximity to the floor meant that when his arms gave way, as they inevitably would, his fall would be much shorter, and hurt less.

Crawling over towards the door, Legolas was unprepared for how much strength even this movement would take. Panting and sweating with exhaustion he made it over to the chair by the fireplace and, with a tremendous effort, he hauled himself up onto the seat and sank back into the soft cushion in fatigue. Shutting his eyes against the nausea and pain that appeared to set fires in every nerve ending, he lay motionless, the only movement that of his chest lifting and falling in jerky, sharp movements, as he fought against the pain.

Slowly opening his eyes he stretched out his legs, wincing as his muscles cramped. Staring out through the window, lying conveniently near his head, he watched as the sky wept. Grey streaks showing through the tracks of rain caught on the outside of the pane only depressed him further, and he was about to make the effort to move away when he caught sight of something that intrigued him. Pushing himself forward he leaned against the sill for balance, and stared out at the storm, shivering at the sudden drop in temperature as he moved away from the fire. Peering out at the falling drops, and the enclosed trees of the forest, Legolas was able to discern a shadowy figure mounted on a horse, riding hastily away from Imladris.

Horse and passenger were almost indistinguishable from the forest, distinct only through their motion; a moving shadow against the still ones that enclosed Imladris, coating it with tension. Nevertheless, Legolas was able to identify the figure; it was that accursed human. A feral snarl escaped from the elf’s lips as he glared out the window, hoping for another lightning strike to impact the ground, and fell the human. Sadly, nothing happened, and he stepped backwards feeling behind himself for the chair.

Legolas found himself falling backwards, to land unexpectedly on the floor in front of the chair. Lying down on his back, he twisted himself until he was facing the object, which caused his downfall. The insolent creature, which had dared to upset him, turned out to be none other than Estel’s backpack. With a growl of rage, Legolas opened it, and flung out its contents upon the floor, ready to toss each one upon the fire, and rid himself of anything that would remind him of that human’s treachery. Reaching his hand out to the first object he saw, Legolas lifted it, making ready to set it alight, then paused.

He found himself running his hand gently along the smooth carving of a bird in flight; wings arced out to either side, head thrust forward in an expression of eagerness and strength. Beneath his fingertips, Legolas could detect the slight roughness that Aragorn had used to denote the texture of the feathers. The bird reminded him so clearly of Estel, his friend, and Legolas sat there for several long minutes, enjoying the comfort of the memories it invoked. As he caressed the neck of the figure, trembling hands holding tightly to the carving, lest it fall, Legolas found his memories turning more introspective, to the moment when...Oh Valar no!

“Estel!” Legolas cried out in horror, the carving slipping from his hands, colliding with the floor and rolling underneath the chair. Legolas sank to his knees, scrabbling around blindly for it; eyes blurred with unshed tears of shock. “How could I have said such things?” Legolas muttered to himself, head bowed in shame. “How could I even think them?”

He shuddered at the pain he had awoken in his friend’s eyes, and the burden that he had thrown at the human, who was already needlessly weighted down by his own assumption of guilt. “You did nothing, only tried to help me, and this is how I repay you,” he sobbed out. Lowering his head onto his friend’s pack he breathed great gasps of air in, chest heaving. “He is out there in this storm, alone, because of me!” Legolas’ eyes widened in shock. “Unprovisioned.”

Sitting up, ignoring the pain, he frantically started stuffing the contents back into Estel’s carrier, intent on riding out after the human. In his haste, he tore open a sack, which spilled its contents on the ground. Mentally chastising himself for his carelessness, he hastily began to scoop the small sachets of herbs up, placing them back in the sack, tilting it at an angle so the contents would not disgorge themselves again. His hand paused, trembling, over a collection of leaves that were wrapped loosely in what looked to be a bandage; slowly his hand lowered, brushing gently against the waxy surface, rubbing the fronds together.

The leaf emitted a pleasant aroma with which he was all too familiar. Clenching his hand firmly around the Rucin he raised the handful close to his face, eyes closed in bliss as he inhaled. Almost instantaneously he found his headache alleviated, and much of the tremors he was experiencing began to fade. His weariness began to cast itself off, but not entirely. Scrabbling around on the floor Legolas felt his hand clasp Estel’s faded water bottle. Shaking it, he realised that it was still half-full, and he emptied it into a pot, which he set to boil on the fire. Leaning backwards, he kept one leaf in his hand, which he nibbled on. Eyes closed he inhaled again, relaxing.

As the scent and taste of the plant seemed to penetrate every pore of his body, Legolas found himself drifting away; mind eased as well as body, by the pleasure of the Rucin. He became detached from all worries and concerns, seduced by the euphoria induced by the Rucin. Experiencing only a mild twinge of distress at the thought of Estel alone out in the woods, in this weather, he contemplated gathering up some provisions, to head out in search of the ranger, but the crackle from the fire distracted him. Gazing at the fireplace he found himself experiencing inordinate amounts of pleasure from the warmth and light exuded by it. Sliding along the carpet, he found himself moving closer to the flame, basking in its warmth, feeling the heat spread out over his body, permeating into him.

Draping himself languorously on the rug, Legolas stretched out his body, sighing in relief as this caused him no pain. The heat massaged his muscles, and he felt himself being drawn into the blissful world of dreams. Eyes half closed he stared at the fire mesmerised by the flickering of the flames, which resembled the motion of a bird in flight. Captivated by the flame, he found himself drawn closer to it, reaching out towards the sensation of flight, which he remembered more clearly now from his earlier dreams. Heedless to the boiling of the pot over the fire, to the rattling of the window in the force of the storm, Legolas concentrated only on the red wings soaring in front of him.

Smiling to himself, he leaned up on one elbow, stretching his other hand forward, grasping at the elusive image. He smiled to himself as the wings darted between his fingertips, brushing them with their heat. Ignorant to the smell of burning flesh, to the pain, to anything but the sight of those dancing figures, Legolas sat there, hand thrust in the fire, smiling.

“Estel?” Elladan called, knocking lightly on the door to his brother’s room, “Estel are you in there?” When he received no answer he knocked again, harder. “Estel!” Still no answer. “ESTEL!” He yelled, receiving odd looks from the elves in the corridor. Frowning to himself, and uttering threats that he had no intention of carrying out with Estel in this much pain, he decided to change his methods.

“Estel, if you do not either open this door, or at the very least tell me I can come in, I am breaking it down regardless of what you may be doing!” Elladan could not believe that Estel had locked the door; he had never shut anyone out for this long before now. Trying the door again, he turned the handle and tugged hard. Alternately pushing and pulling on it, it budged not an inch; he sighed. Leaning against the door, he pressed one of his ears against the smooth wood, listening for any sign of his brother. He could hear nothing over the pounding of the wind and the lashing of the rain. Growling, he shook at the door again, until finally all patience deserted him.

Unclasping his brooch he knelt in front of the lock carefully inserting the point into the gap, feeling for the tumbler. Concentrating hard, ignoring the staring of the elves passing by, he manipulated the pin given him by his father. Unable to get the correct angle he stood up on his knees, leaning against the door as he redoubled his attempts to open the lock. Stubbornly it withstood his attempts, and Elladan bitterly cursed himself for never having mastered this skill as well as his brothers; finally, he felt the pins align, and the lock give. Not expecting it, Elladan fell forwards as the door swung open. Picking himself of the floor, he looked around.

“Estel?” he called, casting a swift look around the room, “are you in here?”

His eyes roamed over the scattered contents of the room; seeing the clothing and objects strewn over the floor, sheets and bed covers flapping loosely in the gale blowing through the open balcony doors. His eyes widened at the sight, Estel must have been truly distraught if he treated his possessions in this manner. Aragorn valued everything he owned, being careful to preserve it for as long as possible before replacing it. Dragging his mind away from the dispersed objects, he looked past them, searching for the human.

It never once occurred to Elladan that his brother might not be hiding in here, nursing his wounds. Estel would not leave whilst Legolas was so ill, especially not while he was dying. If Aragorn conformed to his usual behaviour, he would spend every remaining minute with his friend, joking talking or just sitting in silence. Elladan sighed, he knew Estel would not give up on any of his family or friends; he had proven that on many occasions before now. No matter the cost to him physically or emotionally, Estel would remain at his friends’ sides.

‘Besides,’ thought Elladan, ‘He has nowhere else to go, he has to be here somewhere.’

Stirring from his thoughts, he pushed himself to his feet, and glanced swiftly around. He grew disturbed, as he was unable to see Aragorn anywhere in the room. It was scarce large enough to hide anything and short of crawling underneath the bed, there was no place for him to flee.

Smiling to himself, Elladan recalled a young human boy hiding under the bed after a fight and himself having to crawl in there after him, to calm him down. Shaking the image away, he decided against falling to the floor once again to check. Kicking a boot under the bed, he watched it come out the other side. Aragorn was obviously not concealed there then. An extra-strong gust of wind swung the open doors to the balcony against the wall, startling Elladan, who spun around, placing a hand to his blade, only to recall that he never wore it within the safety of his father’s house.

Staring out at the wall of rain cascading towards him, he felt the twinge of anxiety blossoming. Hastening over to the doors, he peered out, shielding his eyes against the force of the water, scarce able to see to the edge of the balcony. Elladan sighed in relief; Estel was not standing out there again. He had doubted that even the human would be foolish enough to sit outside in this weather, but when he pictured Estel’s face at Legolas’ words he knew that his brother would not be thinking clearly, and he had felt the need to check. Closing the doors behind him, struggling against the force of the wind, he lowered the bar and pulled the curtains to, shutting out the tempest. If Estel had been in this room, he would almost certainly have closed those doors, for the torrent was practically flooding the room. His anxiety was becoming full-fledged worry.

Elladan was beginning to doubt that Aragorn had even been in this room, for there was no sign of the human’s presence, and the balcony doors were left wide-open from this morn. Elladan’s worry grew into near panic, as he eyed the state of the room. The scattered contents that covered nearly every surface could, conceivably, have been disturbed by the gale that had been gusting ceaselessly through this room, for they certainly were not in the usual state. Estel may not have been as orderly as the elves, but he was far distant from slovenly habits, and this mess was thoroughly uncharacteristic of him. What disturbed him though was the state of the drawers; even a strong wind was not intelligent enough to pull open a set of drawers, particularly as they opened into the wind.

Elladan’s feet moved of their own will, hastening him towards the object of his fears. As he rummaged through the drawers judging if anything was missing, he sighed in relief as little seemed to have been touched. Holding a hand over his heart, Elladan lowered his head in relief, for a minute he had feared that the human was in such a disturbed frame of mind that he had run off. With his head lowered in relief, Elladan caught sight of a wisp of smoke rising from the fireplace.

Tracking the smoke back to its source Elladan knelt down, mindless of the pool of water he found himself in, as he reached a hand into the doused flame. Grasping something within gentle fingers, he pulled out a charred, soot-stained book; originally bound in leather, now mostly burnt. Rubbing delicately along what remained of the cover, Elladan felt a sense of foreboding strike him deeply, he had seen this volume before, on many an occasion. Estel was never parted far from it, except when he ventured into the wild, preferring not to risk damage to it. He had once heard his youngest brother describe the contents as some of the most precious things he owned; they contained all his memories.

Opening up the book Elladan cringed as the cover fell apart in his hands; most of the pages within were not much better. As he turned from page to page he blinked back tears as the drawings, and the memories they contained, scattered to the ground as ash; eroded by both heat and flame. His hand settled upon one drawing that was nearly untouched, just a little licked with black at the edges. It was a sketch of the three of them, Estel, Elrohir and himself; obviously it had been worked by their father when the three of them had been playing around some time. His reminiscent smile faded, as he realised that Aragorn would not have destroyed these images unless he was seriously upset and angry, and with the human in that frame of mind, he could have done anything. Suddenly finding his brother became of the utmost importance to him, and he fled the room hunting.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Elrond was startled back to consciousness by the sound of something falling. His head felt stuffed with fatigue; despite his brief rest the storm in his mind still raged, albeit more calmly than before. Glorfindel had, apparently, been correct in his assessment that the Lord of Rivendell needed time away from worries, to rest. Elrond could feel the exhaustion hovering just beyond his awareness. His muscles, which had been taking a very sore treating just recently from his unusual sleeping positions, ached. Removing his hands from beneath his head, he twisted them behind to massage away at the tension in his neck and shoulders. Stretching, he laid his head back down, and found himself drifting off to sleep once more. As he sank into the mattress his semi-alert mind registered a problem.

Raising his head, he felt along the bed with his hand, registering no change in the tension of the blanket, no vibration at all. The regular rise and fall of Legolas’ breath was no longer there. He tasted bile in the back of his throat at the thought of the elf lying here cooling while he slept peacefully at his side. Rapidly blinking away tears, Elrond was horrified that Legolas had passed away alone, without anyone at his side to comfort him and bid him farewell. His breath hitched as he realised that it would fall to him to inform his sons that Legolas had left for the Halls of Mandos, while they had not been present. The thought of informing Estel that Legolas had passed beyond the realms of Arda, while he had been absent, was almost unthinkable to him.

Estel’s grief would be overwhelming, and undoubtedly his guilt would be astronomically high as well. The whole realm would be in mourning, for none among them had any foul thoughts of the fair elf. He groaned as another onerous duty occurred to him, and this one was far more troubling to him. Thranduil must be informed of the demise of the only heir to Mirkwood’s throne, and true to his character, he would require a full inquiry into the events leading up to his son’s death. Elrond rubbed at his eyes, worrying what further damage that situation would do to Estel. The tension between the two realms had grown over the years, as evil ever encroached on lands undefended by elven magics. The recent friendship that had sprung up between the elf and the human had gone a long way towards mending these differences, and the relationship between the two elven-lords was as close as could be. Unfortunately this current tragedy may have destroyed the very foundation upon which their friendship was built, and had certainly destroyed the two founding blocks.

Sighing Elrond reached out, pushing down with his hands, to raise himself from the bed. He could not delay his duties any longer, and must rise to deal with Legolas, and the consequences of his death. Lifting his head, he sensed a peculiar burning smell, and inwardly groaned. One of his sons must have been preparing some food, and had left it on the fire when they left; it had only now begun to burn. His weary mind stressed at his sons’ carelessness; the house could have burned down around them, and likely no one would notice.

Rising again, he paused. Something about the situation did not ring true for him; lying there, considering all aspects, it hit him. He had slept for a longer time than would have been required for any food to have been reduced to a cinder, and the smell would surely have wakened him earlier. Pondering on the case some more, he sank back down in relief, as he reached the conclusion that Legolas must have wakened early and grown hungry, falling back asleep before he completed his meal. Elrond could feel the tension lifting off him as he realised that this meant Legolas was alive, and in a somewhat better condition than he had expected. Rucin appeared to induce a general lack of self-awareness, including that of the need for food or sleep. The depression resulting in an abstinence from Rucin caused fatigue, and a lack of hunger; nausea was also present. Elrond had been anticipating the need to force-feed the prince, an unpleasant duty, which he was pleased might be avoided for some time yet. Realising that it would not do Legolas any good to be lying uncovered, on what was likely a cold floor, Elrond shook his head to wake himself up, and began to rise to his feet.

Pushing his upper body upwards, he lifted his head, stretching out the muscles in his neck. Glancing at the bed, he was relived to find that there was not a still, cold figure lying there. No matter what his logic had informed him, there was always a small place in his heart that feared the worst. Turning from the bed in a mixture of relief and concern, Elrond perceived a reclining figure in front of the fire, back to him. His heart lowered again; the withdrawal from the Rucin still tormented the elf. He had obviously begun to prepare some food, and had been forced to lie down and rest, or had passed out from the energy used. Taking a few steps towards the fireplace, he winced as his joints cracked at the motion; he had never felt so old before.

‘Perhaps I should have left Arda some time ago,’ he mused.

Rolling his shoulders to relieve some of the tension, he almost staggered over to the unconscious figure, moving as stiffly as he felt. As he approached his grey eyes dimmed with sorrow “Ah Legolas,” he whispered, bending down behind the prince placing a hand at the base of the elf’s neck, “what I would give that this had never happened to you.” Running his fingers along the smooth golden hair splayed out upon the intricately woven rug he lowered his hand, detecting an abnormally fast pulse. “I believe that there is nothing I would rather see at this moment, than every leaf of this accursed plant destroyed.”

Turning the elf’s face towards him, he found himself gazing into a pair of extremely glazed eyes, bloodshot from their proximity to the smoke from the fire. Senses alert, he perceived two things at once. The first was that Legolas’ hand was thrust firmly in the flames, and the second was that an insanely gleeful grin was plastered across the blond elf’s face.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Instantly, Elrond grasped hold of Legolas’ arm, pulling it from the flames. Patting out the fire, which still licked along his sleeve, Elrond’s keen nose detected a hidden smell buried beneath the stench of burning flesh. With a roar of rage, he upended the boiling Rucin into the fire, watching as the flames faltered under the deluge, nearly extinguishing, but struggled onwards. Elrond busied himself with tending to Legolas’ hand, accompanied by the cracking and hissing as the juices from the plant were boiled by the heat.

The instant Legolas heard the juices popping he snapped out of his lethargy. With a roar of anger and despair he launched himself, from Elrond’s grasp, at the fire, frantically trying to dig the Rucin out of the flames. Elrond caught him before he could touch the burning wood, and held him down as the blond elf struggled desperately against him.

“Let me go!” roared Legolas, using every trick and attack within his power to evade the elder elf’s grasp. He was not able to reach the fire though. Elrond was a firm, immoveable object when he chose to be, and he was making full use of all his strength right now. Legolas eventually ceded his defeat when he inadvertently placed too much pressure on his seared hand and collapsed in pain, clutching it to him.

As the pain faded he looked around, confused. “How…why?” Legolas looked puzzled, unable to recall when this injury had occurred. He looked at Elrond, bewildered as the Lord of Imladris leaned forward, moving carefully from stiffness and the new bruises that he had acquired, to gently grasp his arm above the burn.

“Hush Legolas,” he said, hunting round for something to treat the wound with, “stay here and do not move this arm until I get back with some water.”

Legolas pulled Elrond back down, a look of panic in his eyes.

“What is it?” Elrond asked. “I will be but a moment, there are sure to be jugs of water in an adjacent room, or at the worst I can send someone to fetch one. I shall be gone moments only.”

“Do not leave me here,” Legolas pleaded, looking fearfully at the Rucin. “Do not leave me alone with that…thing. I cannot control my actions; it tempts me.”

“Legolas,” Elrond sighed, “I must seek medicines for this wound; burns are serious injuries.”

Legolas turned panicked eyes upon the elven lord. “There are Estel’s medicaments somewhere here, use those. But please, do not leave me near the Rucin.” He gasped out the name, teeth clenched in rage. “It has a power over me that I do not care for.” He stared at his shrivelled, blackened hand, in disgust.

Elrond sighed. Spying Estel’s water bottle he brought it near, emptying what little water remained onto Legolas’ hand, to cool the burning. The elf hissed in agonised pain as it came in contact with his ruined flesh. Elrond caught the prince’s burned hand between his own trembling ones, gazing steadily into Legolas’ eyes, providing him with some focus through the pain. When Legolas’ muscles began to uncoil, indicating that the elf was mastering the pain, Elrond selected a small tube of salve from amongst the scattered assortment around him, and rubbed it gently into Legolas’ damaged skin.

Legolas winced, squeezing his eyes shut against the agony. Despite the flames being extinguished, he felt as though his hand was being consumed by fire. Eventually the soothing feel of the salve began to alleviate some of the pain, and he relaxed in relief. Elrond took the opportunity to splint the hand to prevent the muscles from staying permanently contracted. He lightly wrapped the wound in a specially coated bandage, to prevent the skin from sticking to it, and to allow room for the swelling that would undoubtedly take place. Searching around, he found a piece of cloth that would serve nicely as a sling to keep the arm elevated, and the swelling down as much as possible.

While he waited for Legolas to regain consciousness, Elrond began to collect up the dispersed herbs and medical equipment that had somehow become spread all over the place. Elrond suspected Legolas had been the culprit. Gathering up the herbs, he sealed them back into their delicate pouches, tracing the stitching of one, recalling the care and concentration that Estel had taken to make them. His wandering hand detected another small pile of leaves that he had previously missed, and he sighed; all the pouches had just been packed away inside their case.

Opening a trembling hand, he saw the soft green leaves, framed by a delicate purple/white flower, identifying it as Rucin. A pleasant aroma, of summer fruits and a deep earthiness, belied its deadly effects. Elrond was nearly overwhelmed by a powerful urge to fling them into the fire, and watch them burn. His fingers clenched tightly around the Rucin bundle, forcibly squeezing them together, crushing them. Holding his hand over the fire, he wavered, torn between the desire to wipe this accursed plant from the very face of Arda, whilst knowing that it would be vital in prolonging Legolas’ stay upon the earth.

Memories assailed him as he crouched, poised in front of the fire. The flames danced, reflecting on his pale skin, burning in his eyes, as a soft tear glided its way along the curves of his cheek. “Meleth nin,” he groaned, lowering his eyelids, and grasping a picture of her face once more in his memory.

Clasping the Rucin to his chest, he sobbed. Its very presence reminding of things he had long repressed.

Elrond jumped, startled out of his reverie as the leaves withering in the fire pit crackled and popped. He stared hard at them, as they shrivelled and shrank, curling up as the flames bit into them. Blinking away his tears, he watched them shrinking away to ash, utterly destroyed. Normally a preserver of life in all its forms, this was one plant that Elrond did not regret seeing perish.

Drawing his eyes away from the fire, he stared at the Rucin still held within his palm. He could see the care Estel had taken, when trimming the leaves from the stem, to keep the ends neat, causing less damage. The leaves were of different shapes and ages, and slightly different hues of colour indicating that they had been collected from more than one plant. For once Elrond regretted that Estel had such an excellent memory for his teachings. He would have preferred it if Estel had pulled the plants haphazardly from the ground, subsequently trampling them into oblivion, setting fire to the very ground they had touched.

Directly after the first incident with Rucin, Elrond had bade Glorfindel to rid Imladris of Rucin, and to burn it out for several leagues further, for he wished never to hear of this plant again. Fortunately it was not an abundant plant, and was in fact quite rare. Few had even heard of it before, and it was not considered native to Eriador, conditions here being intolerant to its flourishing.

Sighing, Elrond pushed the returning memories to the back of his mind, concentrating on wrapping up the Rucin in a rag he conveniently found on the floor. As much as he may wish it destroyed, he knew that Estel would not. If he knew his son, he would use every waking moment in search of a cure for Legolas, as he too had tried once. Although the Rucin was damaging in the long-term, it would at least allow Estel some time to search for a cure before the damage settled in; the effects were cumulative.

Elrond smiled a mixture of pride and sorrow as he reflected how similar he and Estel were. He knew that Estel’s stubbornness and abundance of hope would provide him with much anguish and guilt in his search for a cure. He had experienced these soul-staining emotions himself, and wished to spare his son the pain of them. As he thought of Estel, he sighed again, rising to his feet. It was long past time that he had a talk with the boy; he needed to explain to him exactly what would happen with Legolas’ condition, and above all he needed to apologise. Estel could not have known that the Rucin would provoke this effect in elves, for he himself had tried to hide this fact. Elrond swallowed, knowing that he would have to inform Estel of the previous victim, and his role in her death; it was only fair after his treatment of the human. He sighed.

“What is wrong?” came Legolas’ tired voice.

Spinning around, Elrond noticed that Legolas’ eyes were on the Rucin. Hurriedly pocketing the bundle he turned to the reclining elf. Extending his hand to assist him to his feet, Elrond determined that he would need to keep a close watch on him now, and decided to take him with him to see Estel.

“Come,” he said, gently raising the injured elf, steadying him as he trembled, “I must seek Estel, and you will come with me.” The final part of his sentence was said in a firm voice, which not even Legolas wished to defy.

As he was turned towards the door, a bright flash of lightning, sparked Legolas’ memory of a mounted figure, moving against the shadows of the storm, and he turned to Lord Elrond with a gasp. “Aragorn has gone! I saw him, he has ridden out into this storm.”

Elrond frowned, concern and anger duelling for dominance. He knew the human had been distraught earlier, but surely not enough to flee his home, and in such weather. Elrond shuddered at the thought of Estel wandering the woods in this storm. Glancing back at Estel’s pack, Elrond’s worry grew still further as he realised his son was unprovisioned and alone. With a quick glance at Legolas, and the guilt on his face, Elrond saw that the elf shared his worry and his blame. Knowing that the Rucin could have influenced Legolas’ memory, he decided that he needed to ascertain for himself whether Estel had truly left. Elrond sighed, and led the way to the human’s chambers.

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~

Elladan hastened along the corridor, large strides carrying him along at pace, as he diligently searched all the places where his brother usually retired to think and compose himself. Every few steps he would call out Estel’s name, his voice rising in pitch as his worry and anger increased. When he had entered every room along the corridor, he paused to rethink his approach. Were he to search every room alone, it would take several hours; he needed to alert his twin. He briefly considered appealing for his father’s help, but was reluctant to lay any more worries upon his burdened shoulders at the present time. Estel had most likely retreated to a place of solitude where he would wallow away in his grief, which, though worrying, was not cause enough to add to his Ada’s distresses. He found himself passing Glorfindel’s door, and he peeked inside to check on the elf, subconsciously desiring his counsel and assistance in this matter. Fortunately for the blond elf, the drugs he had consumed were still effective, holding him beneath the threshold of consciousness. Elladan sighed, as much as it would have pained Glorfindel to assist him, Elladan felt in need of guidance, as he had never before done so.

Never before had he seen his father express such anger, such helpless fear. Elrond had always been the calm, wise leader, knowing what needed doing and what was the best and most efficient way of doing it. His decisions and his word were trusted. Although Elladan, as Elrond’s eldest son, had inherited responsibilities and was an experienced captain in Imladris guard, he had always had his father as a final consultant should he be needed. It was unnerving to find that he was placed in the position of leader of the house of Elrond, albeit temporarily, without any preparation or encouragement. Gently closing the door behind him, he leaned back against the wall, resting his head backwards.

Shutting his eyes and rubbing them with one hand, he attempted to massage away the growing headache. Needless to say the worry over Estel was only adding to this, and the thought of the human’s pain was enough to thrust him out of his self-pity. Pushing himself away from the wall he squared his shoulders, took in a deep breath and held it. Hoping to still the flutters deep in the pit of his stomach. Pushing his concerns to the back of his mind, Elladan strode forward.

Approaching the nearest elf, he asked, “Have you seen my brother?” At the elf’s negative headshake, he continued on down the corridor, asking everyone he met, safe in the knowledge that at least some of them would remember he had been looking for Estel, and if they saw him they would alert him to his whereabouts.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Erestor, have you seen my brother?” Elladan asked, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“I have not seen master Elrohir this day, Elladan, it is most unusual for you two to be separated. Perhaps he is where you left him.” Erestor’s peculiar brand of humour did nothing to cool down Elladan’s ill temper.

“I did not mean my twin, I am talking of Estel. Father and he have had an altercation, which has only been compounded by Legolas’ condition. I fear that he may have holed up somewhere, and is only making his situation worse.” Elladan rubbed at his headache.

“Perhaps he is with Elrohir?” Erestor suggested calmly, inwardly alarmed at the state of the heir to Imladris and what that boded for Legolas’ health. “Have you looked for him?”

Elladan mentally kicked himself for not realising that himself. Of course Estel would be with Elrohir, had he not sent his twin to find him earlier? It was likely that Elrohir had taken Estel somewhere less miserable than his room…it was hardly the place for comfort with Estel’s memories of last night still fresh in his head. Nodding his head to Erestor, he contemplated asking for assistance with finding his brother, but remembering the scathing remarks of just before, he nodded his thanks and continued along the hallway, asking again if anyone had seen his brothers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Elrohir?” Elladan called out, bursting in through his father’s study’s door, “Estel? Are you in here?” He stopped running, as he saw his twin seated in front of the fireplace, his back to the door. “Elrohir! At last! I have been searching this house for you and Estel, how is he.” Stopping to catch his breath he looked around the room, searching for where the human may be seated. “Elrohir?” He asked, a hint of suspicion entering his voice, “where is Estel? Have you not seen him?” Stepping forward as he got no response, his eyes narrowed in fear. “Elrohir, have you seen our brother?”

He leaned forward and placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, shaking him lightly to drag him out of his contemplation. He grew worried as this failed to elicit a response, and he stepped lightly passed him, swinging around to face him. He knelt down on the floor, shocked at the expression on his twins face. Feeling the fire warm upon his back, he edged forward placing one hand on his brother’s chest, and the other cupping his chin. He was shocked to feel the wetness of tears in his hand, and he captured his brother’s eyes, heart sinking at the grief he saw there.

“Ro?” He whispered, afraid to speak any louder, though he knew not why, “what has happened? Is it Estel?” Elladan felt his brother’s throat muscles working as he swallowed hard, suppressing another sob. From where he sat he could see the minute shivers that wracked his brother’s body, and the knuckles that were whitened from being clenched so hard. “Ro?” He sat on the arm of the chair, drawing his twin close to him, one hand running soothing strokes through his hair. “What has happened?” As Elrohir just stared blankly down at the paper in his hand, he once more lifted his brother’s face up to his, wincing as his eyes took in the unnatural pallor. “Ro please!”

Elrohir’s eyes dropped back to the paper in his hands. Slowly unclenching fingers locked with tension, he handed the paper over to his brother, leaning his head against the backrest, and staring up at him. Elladan was transfixed as the paper trembled its way towards him, a sense of foreboding darkening his heart. He reached out an identical hand, trembling as much as his brother’s was, and unfolded the tattered missive.

Keeping one hand on his brother’s shoulder he quickly scanned the letters, wincing at the suffering evident in both victim and scribe. Scrolling down he inhaled sharply, eyes re-reading the final sentence over and over. Lowering his shaking hand, he stared blankly at the paper before turning his gaze back to his brother’s tormented eyes.

“Ro?” He whispered, brokenly. “Is it true?” He saw the truth in his twin’s dark eyes, but was unwilling to accept it. “Was it her Ada poisoned?”

Elrohir nodded. “Ai, it was,” he sobbed. “Ada poisoned Ammë!”

Legolas staggered along the corridor, stumbling and resting his hand against the wall. He leaned against it, fighting to catch his breath, very concerned over how weak he was. It had only been a few days since he had been his usual sturdy self, but now he had lost almost all motor-control, and he found himself struggling to perform the simplest of movements. Confusingly, and very worryingly, the corridor seemed to be closing in on him.

Blinking rapidly, everything seemed to return to its proper position, as he caught a glimpse of Elrond turning the corner ahead of him. Elrond was extremely worried about his youngest, and it showed in his gait. Concern for his son outweighing that for his patient, he had stormed ahead, unaware of Legolas’ fading strength. Sighing, Legolas pushed himself away from the wall, and headed after him.

Finally rounding the corner, Legolas saw the elven-lord waiting at the head of the stairs for him. A muttered oath reached his ears and then Elrond was beside him, taking some of his weight.

“Do not fight me, young prince,” Elrond said sternly, as Legolas fought the supporting arm he had placed around his shoulders. “It is not a sign of weakness to ask for help when it is required.”

When Elrond’s gaze lifted up to watch the steps as he climbed, Legolas aimed a glare at the back of his head.

“If you keep up that expression, young elf, your face will freeze and you will spend the rest of eternity wearing it.” Elrond’s voice contained a hint of amusement at Legolas’ shocked expression.

“How? Who?” Legolas spluttered. The elven-lord had not turned to look at him, there were no mirrors, nothing to give his expression away. How had Elrond known what he was doing?

Sensing Legolas’ perplexity, Elrond turned to the prince and the smile upon his face only infuriated the younger elf more.

“I have had three sons, Legolas,” he replied. “When you are a father it is a trick that you will learn to master.”

His smile slipped as talk of his sons reminded him that he needed to inform Estel and the twins about what had happened to Celebrian, what was now happening to Legolas, and why he had behaved in the appalling manner he had. He eyed Legolas worriedly, searching all the while for signs that the Rucin was taking a hold of him again, before retaking his arm. He aided the invalided elf up the stone stairs, and the two made their way to Aragorn’s chambers. Eventually reaching the door, Elrond entered bringing Legolas with him.

“Elbereth,” he swore. Looking around at the mess Aragorn had made, he swore again. “What has the fool done now?”

His lips pursed as he surveyed the room, noticing instantly that several items of clothing were missing. Stepping back into the corridor, he quickly stopped a passing elf and beseeched him to run down to the stables and ask Rúndil not to let anyone take a horse and leave. As he re-entered the room he flinched involuntarily when a gust of wind drove the raindrops harder against the window panes, reminding him that the storm was still out there. He guided Legolas to a seat on the bed, and found himself inexorably drawn to the window. His march over there, to stare out into the storm and will it to fade, was interrupted as he picked up the remains of a leather-bound book.

Unable to cope with a second bout of manhandling, the burnt pages crumpled under Elrond’s touch. A tear dripped from his eyes at the sight, pooling in the ashes cupped in his palm. Clenching his fist closed over the soot he raised his hand to his chest, heedless of the stains that he was leaving on his robes.

“Oh Estel,” he whispered. “There is no need to run. I understand ion nin. Truly I do.”

He sat on the window seat, gazing out through the streaked pane. The storm was dying down now, but the occasional gust was still striking with some force. Elrond was directing the storm away, sending it back up to the mountains where it could deposit its load with little fear of harm to persons, houses or livestock. He fervently hoped that Estel was not outside, as Legolas feared.

LEGOLAS!

His eyes widened as he realised that he had not heard any sound from him recently, and he spun in his seat. Elrond noted immediately that the blond elf was not anywhere in Aragorn’s chambers. Rising to his feet, he trod hasty steps to the door and paused to peer in both directions for the missing elf. Noticing no sign of him, nor of his passing, Elrond followed the direction his heart beckoned him in, and hurried to the stables.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Aragorn groaned as the early morning light caressed his eyes with its breath. His head ached, his mouth was dry, and every muscle seemed to have stiffened overnight, probably due to the cold. It took him several minutes before he unfolded himself out of the niche in which he had sheltered, and stood up to look around.

The rain had slackened off to little more than a drizzle, which he barely felt, though the clouds still hung low in the sky. Drawing his still-soaked coat tighter across his chest, he stared at the almost hidden sun that had woken him. The morning mirrored his mood; the breeze was cold, the ground damp, and the sky oppressing. Kneeling before the lake’s edge, Aragorn winced at his reflection. His eyes were rimmed red, and shadowed beneath. The slightest trace of stubble spotted on his chin, and his hair was still wet and mussed.

‘No wonder Legolas could not recognise me,’ Aragorn thought, ‘Even I can hardly tell that this is me.’ Shaking his head to disperse the image, he destroyed the reflection by dipping his hands into the water.

Aragorn winced at the cold, feeling it numbing his chilled hands; almost making his bones ache with its intensity. Leaning forwards, he splashed the water onto his face, hoping to wipe away the ravages of the night before. He blinked fiercely as the chill stung his eyes, thankful that it had, if nothing else, refreshed and woken him.

The air seemed heavy and still. No birds called out in cheer, even the wind seemed stilled after its efforts the night before. The land seemed to be taking time to recover from its wounds. There were great scours along the soil where trees and other large objects had been dragged along. Several of the tallest and sturdiest trees had been uprooted, their limbs exposed to the air, and Aragorn knew that the elves would be mourning this storm, and its destructive nature, for a long time to come. Feeling his stomach tighten in hunger, Aragorn scooped a handful of water to his lips and swallowed. The iced water chilled his stomach, stifling his hunger, though his throat choked on its coldness. Drinking his fill, Aragorn dipped the lip of his water bottle under the water, taking care to thrust it deep so that any contaminants would be unlikely to enter his drink. Stopping up the flask he made to rise and paused.

Next to his own knee marks, where he had been crouched seconds before, Aragorn detected the faint traces of another’s passing. The prints had been heavy and spoke of haste. It was solely due to the depth they had left that any mark had remained after the violence the storm had thrown upon the ground. Reaching out as though his touch could alert him to the person or thing, which had left its imprint, Aragorn traced the edges, recognising them as his own. He swallowed hard, realising that he was at the same lake that Legolas had fallen into days earlier.

Aimlessly, he followed the tracks, noting the skid patches where he had halted his run thinking he had spotted something in the water, seeing the prints illuminating the point where he had collapsed down in fatigue and despair before resolutely forcing himself on his feet again. Almost washed away by the rain, Aragorn could still see his fear and his worry in the unsteady and directionless pointings of his feet. Heart aching, he came to a halt beside the deep indentation, now rain-filled, that he had left where he had fallen to his knees at the sight of Legolas lying unconscious in the water.

He wrapped his arms around himself, as a cold shiver of dread ran down his spine, and turned his back upon the water, blinking away the fear that was blurring his vision. A part of him felt like it had died when he had seen the prince drifting in the current, blood covering the side of his head. The image was overpowering him now; he could feel his heart beating faster, and his lungs burning from the chase. His eyes still stung from the search underwater, and his muscles trembled in fatigue. Blinking again he forced himself out of this memory.

Aragorn was already regretting leaving Imladris, particularly with Legolas in the state he was. He knew that the elf would be regretting his words, as soon as he recovered. No doubt he was even now trying to ride out after him, and would injure himself further. He needed to go back. Turning away from the lake, he stopped.

Was that?

Yes, there was something lying at the base of a tree, half-buried in mud. Aragorn strode forwards, coming to rest a little further along the narrow stream where the current had dragged Legolas. Kneeling before a bowed tree, the human reached his arms around the trunk, wincing as they came in contact with the chilled water. Feeling blindly, for the bark obscured his view, Aragorn patted the surface of the water, snagged his fingers in gnarled roots, and nearly pulled himself in trying to extricate them, before his hands clasped around smooth wood. After several minutes of tussling with the trapped object, Aragorn managed to remove it unscathed, and he held it up to the little light there was. It was Legolas’ bow.

Tracing his hands along the intricately carved surface, Aragorn could feel the months of work, which had gone into creating the perfectly tuned instrument, thrumming beneath his fingers. Even after days spent submerged, Aragorn was sure that the bow would be as accurate as ever. The weapon suited Legolas perfectly; it was well balanced, taut with readiness to fire, and obviously able to survive great dangers.

Aragorn loosened the string on the bow, not wanted it to become warped from drying too tightly. Slinging it over his shoulder, he knew that he had to return to Rivendell at once. The first thing Legolas had asked about was his bow, and Aragorn, slightly-childishly, hoped that when it was returned everything would return to normal; that the elf would get well again. Taking a last drink from the river, he stood and started to follow the trail home.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Elrond’s rapid steps had not taken him past the prince, and he approached the stables hoping that the elf was here, and that he hadn’t taken a fall and hurt himself further. The Valar only knew what trouble Legolas could get into on a good day, and he was certainly not at full strength now. Upon entering the stables, he was relieved to hear the raised voice of Rúndil pleading with the stubborn tones of another.

“No!” Rúndil replied flatly, to the request for a horse. Elrond could almost picture him standing there, arms folded across his chest, staring down the fool who wanted to take one of his beloved charges out in this weather, let alone against the orders of his lord. Even Glorfindel had been known to quail when facing Rúndil’s dark-haired wrath.

“I am a Prince of Mirkwood!” Legolas retorted, emphasizing his title. “Now I demand that you step aside and let me saddle my horse.”

Rising to the demanding tone in the younger elf’s voice, Rúndil responded scathingly. “You may be a prince in your own realm young master, but we are not within Mirkwood’s eaves now.” Seeing Legolas’ mutinous face, he continued. “Are you going to declare war upon Imladris for not allowing you to kill yourself? You are hardly fit to ride, and this storm is too strong for man or elf to ride in.”

Legolas’ eyes gleamed in despair; he had to get out there and find Estel. Desperate, he answered Rúndil’s bluff. “You are keeping me a prisoner here, that is an act of treason against a friendly realm. It is you who have declared war.”

Deciding that now would be a very good time to interrupt before the pair started mobilising armies, Elrond cleared his throat and stepped through the door.

Rúndil’s face was exactly as Elrond had pictured. A deep, angry crease marred the smooth skin of his forehead, made deeper by the shadows his hair cast upon it. His lips were tightly pressed together, and fury and determination blazed from his blue eyes. His arms were firmly folded around his chest and Elrond could see his hands clenched together as though fighting against the urge to physically knock some sense into the prince.

Turning to Legolas, Elrond almost took a step back at the rage that shone back at him. The prince’s arms were also folded, though Elrond suspected that it was to hide the telltale tremors in his fingertips. His hair was flung back over his shoulders, and his was head raised in determination, but Elrond could detect the way he was surreptitiously leaning against a stall, allowing it to take his weight. The elven-lord simply stared at the elf until he bowed his head and stared at the straw-covered ground, in embarrassment.

“How far did you think you were going to get, Legolas? Night is nearly upon us,” Elrond said, kindly. He could see how much the blond felt he needed to be out there. “You cannot even saddle the horse, one-handed as you are.”

“I do not need saddle or bridle.” Legolas retorted. “I am perfectly capable of keeping my balance. I am no human, I do not need such instruments.” He sunk harder against the stall as he said this, and Elrond smiled mirthlessly.

“Legolas, please,” he said, taking the elf by the shoulder. “You will not catch up with Estel, you will only injure yourself further, and get lost. You cannot remove that arm from its splint, or get those bandages dirty or wet, else you risk losing all use of that hand.”

“But I must!” Legolas cried, pulling away from the elven-lord. “It is my fault that he is out there. I must get him back.” His energy faded again, and he sagged back against the wall. Dull blue eyes lifted to meet Elrond’s, silently pleading with him to let him go. “Please,” he whispered. “I must apologise, I must,” he gasped, “must make amends.”

Elrond slipped an arm back over the prince’s shoulders, and pulled him into a swift embrace. “You are not the only one who has caused him to flee, Legolas,” he sighed. “I too have said,” he winced at the memory, rubbing his forehead in pain, “horrible things to him. Things I never believed for an instant.”

When Legolas lifted inquiring eyes to meet his, he explained. “I was drowning in memories. I…I wanted him to suffer, as I had. As you are. And he now is.”

Legolas stared coldly at the elven-lord. “You do not have the excuse of being drugged to balance your words. Why are you not so eager to ride out and make amends?”

Elrond broke away from the prince, and spun to face him. “Do you think I wanted him to flee into the storm?” he hissed. “Do you think I do not care that he is in danger, because of me?” Raising his arms out wide he continued, voice raised. “This very storm is raised because of me, and my son is out in it, all because of me.” His anger trailed off and the only expression on his face was of great weariness. “I am the cause of this, Legolas, not you.”

Slipping an arm over the prince’s wearied shoulders, he led them back into the house, through the connecting door. “Come, we shall find my sons, and when the storm dies down I will send them looking for Estel. You can best serve him by resting, staying here and conserving your strength.”

Legolas looked ready to protest, but thought better of it. If the elven-lord believed that he was co-operating, then maybe he wouldn’t be keeping such a close eye upon him.

The two left the stables heedless of Rúndil’s perplexed stare behind them, as the stable-master wondered just what had been occurring in this household recently.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The twins stared into the crackling fire; the paper, lying on Elladan’s knee, was crumpled in his hand. Elrohir leaned his head against his brother’s chest, feeling the weight of Elladan’s head resting on his own. The two sat there in silence for several minutes, feeling the beat of shared pain in every breath they inhaled. They sat like that until Elrohir’s hair was quite wet with this brother’s tears, and there was an equally damp patch on Elladan’s shirt.

“I miss Ammë,” Elrohir sniffed, tightening his grip on his twin’s shirt. He felt an arm tighten around his shoulder, hand gently squeezing him.

“I do too.” Elladan breathed into his brother’s hair, “I wish she was here now.”

Silence settled upon the pair again, as they strove to force back the pain that threatened to overwhelm them. They held each other tightly until they had perfected at least a small mask over it. When they could look at each other without crying at how much the other resembled her, they separated.

“How did we miss this?” Elladan whispered, indicating the paper. “These are not exactly easily hidden symptoms. Wild mood swings, deep depression. Paranoia. They are hard to miss.”

“We did not miss them Elladan,” Elrohir remembered. “Ammë was like this after the orcs…” He stopped, swallowing hard.

Elladan’s fingers dug deep into his shoulder as he too shared the memory.

//

Elladan and Elrohir rode hard. They had been travelling with a guard of five, riding to Lothlórien with their mother, to spend some time with their grandparents. Arwen was already there, she had been staying with Galadriel, who was particularly fond of her. The group had been intending to stay for at least a month, before returning with her back to Rivendell. However something had gone terribly wrong.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ducking yet another orcish blade that swung at his head, Elladan returned it with the fire of his own, anger lending strength to his swing. Sheering clean through the creature’s head, he swivelled in his saddle, and stabbed at another’s hands as it fought to tear him from his seat. Impaling that one through the eye, he threw his head aside to avoid an incoming arrow, and caught sight of his twin and his Ammë.

Elrohir had placed his steed in front of Celebrian’s, facing off against the orcs that strove to reach her. Two guards defended her on either side, while she was backed against the mountainside, her back protected. She stood high in her saddle, raining arrows over the head of her twin and her guard, and Elladan smiled as he saw one of her bolts take down the beast beside him. Momentarily out of danger, he kneed his horse over to where the largest number of orcs were attacking, entering into the fray.

Catching a glimpse of Elladan felling another beast, Elrohir redirected his attention to the numerous ones that placed his mother in peril. Sensing that the circle of elves was defending someone important, the orcs were beginning to press this group harder, and it was becoming more difficult to ward them away. Out of the corner of his eye, Elrohir saw one of the elven guards falling under a wave of orcs that were banding together in the attack. Hearing a choked gurgle, which cut off abruptly into silence, Elrohir flinched and deliberately turned his gaze aside. With renewed vigour and determination, he set to his task of hewing at the encroaching beasts, determined not to let any pass through him alive.

//

Elrohir flinched at the memory, and his brother held him tighter, whispering into his ear. There were no comforting words, nothing that could take away the pain of what the two felt, but each other’s presence was a comfort.

//

Celebrian fired shaft after shaft into the mass of bodies, careful to avoid any of her brethren, but the numbers of orcs did not seem to be diminishing. She was vaguely aware of the elf to her left falling under the deluge, and she found herself being pressed against the rock wall, forced to relinquish her bow for a sword, as the orcs drew too near. Elrohir and her other guard moved themselves even closer to her, valiantly warding off the foes, but the numbers grew heavier and the odds tighter, and Celebrian found her swordplay being pressed into use. Dimly trying to remember the movements that she had learned as a child, she struck at the orcs, but could not breech their defence. As the other member of her guard fell, she felt a blade burning along her side. Clinging tightly to her horse, fighting to keep her balance, she was dragged off by rough hands, and hoisted away from the remnants of her escort. The last thing she saw was Elrohir’s despairing face screwing up in pain as he took a blow to the shoulder.

//

Elrohir flexed his shoulder; it felt stiff with the memory of the blow he had taken there.

//

Elladan and the remaining three guards had swiftly forced back the group of orcs that laid siege to them. Their feat was not without cost though. One of the guards had been clouted on the head by the hilt of an orcish weapon, and was leaning heavily against another, supported by him. The third was bleeding shallowly from a wound that ran from behind his ear around the back of his neck meeting the opposite shoulder in the curve between head and torso. The wound itself was not deep, but there was always a risk of infection. Elladan was unharmed, though fatigued by the fight, and leaned against the rock face, head tilted back and eyes closed for a second. The memory of his mother’s scream forced him back onto his feet, and he turned in the direction where she had last fought.

The scene there was devastation. Carcasses littered the floor, both elven and orcish. Weapons lay scattered, as they had fallen from lifeless hands, gleaming dully in the hazed sunlight as Elladan stepped indiscriminately over them, headed towards where the pile grew denser. He started running as he saw one of his mother’s guards half-buried underneath a decapitated orc. Almost tripping over the scattered remains from the battle, he skidded on a slick patch of blood and slipped onto his back, landing beside his twin. Pure misery seeped from those grey eyes, guarded with pain and shock. Resisting the urge to shake Elrohir out of his stupor, Elladan found himself almost knocked backwards when the younger twin flew into him, burying his head against his chest, fighting the sobs and pain that threatened to overwhelm him.

“They took her Dan,” he said, “they took her.” He shuddered once as Elladan’s hands roamed his wound, “She looked right at me, and, and she was afraid.”

//

Elrohir leaned against his brother, unconsciously mirroring the position he had assumed in the past. His shoulder still throbbed with remembered pain, and his heart beat rapidly as the memories assailed him. A similar pace beat from Elladan’s chest as the elder twin stared into the flame, his thoughts his own.

They both jerked upright, startled out of their memories, as the door latch caught and the wood slowly swung inwards.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After several hours of walking, Aragorn came to a halt beside the river. He had kept close to the water, knowing that he was ill supplied, and that it was the best source of food and drink. He had braved the early morning chill and leant over dangling his hands underneath a rock. Just as he had expected there were trout swimming around, and he had lulled one of those ashore with his fingers. After scaling and gutting it, he had roasted it over a small fire. The wood was mostly too wet to burn, and the meal had taken a long time to prepare. After quenching his thirst and sating his hunger Aragon sat for a while, pondering the route he should take.

The human was in a hurry to return to Imladris. He had been feeling an ever-growing sense of urgency since he had found the bow. Legolas was ill, and Elrond did not know of a cure.

‘Well,’ thought Aragorn, ‘it is not his friend in there dying, and I will not give him up without a fight. I will never give up on him.’

That decision made, Aragorn decided that he would lose too much time if he walked all the way to the ford before crossing the river. Although the banks were slightly swollen from the storm, the current was slow and the water wasn’t too deep. He had crossed here before and experienced no difficulty. Aragorn didn’t look forward to yet another soaking though, he had only just dried himself off by that fire. Sighing, and resigning himself to getting wet once more because of that elf, he stepped up to the water’s edge.

‘I hope that elf appreciates what I am doing for him,’ Aragorn thought. ‘With my luck I shall come down with bronchitis or some other ridiculous illness, while he bounces back almost immediately from his, and fusses.’

With a sigh, Aragorn reflected that at this moment in time he would give anything to see his friend well again, even putting up with his endless worrying. Sighing again, Aragorn suppressed a shiver of anticipation, and took his first step into the river.

“Elladan! Elrohir! Thank the Valar I have found you,” Elrond cried entering his study. Overwhelmed by worry and frustration he failed to notice the glares that were being directed at him, nor did he even pause to wonder why the twins were in his study without his permission. “Something terrible has happened.”

“We know Adar,” Elrohir said, accusingly. “We know everything.”

For a moment Elrond looked confused, if the twins knew that Aragorn had fled the house then why had they not attempted to chase after him. ‘Perhaps they are growing up at last,’ he thought, before dismissing that idea as the utter nonsense it was.

“Then you understand why I must forbid you to ride out,” Elrond stated, opening his mouth to carry on then shutting it as he caught sight of the glares that attacked him. Seating Legolas down on the chair at his desk, he turned away from him and looked over at the twins who still sat huddled together by the fire.

“Elrohir?” he asked, wondering about the assorted papers and the angry looks that rose on his beloved sons’ faces. “Elladan what has happened here?”

It was Elrohir who answered him, his breath still hitching from the flashbacks. “How could you have done this? How could you have let this happen?”

Elrond looked pained, his hand tightening around the edge of the desk, leaving an imprint when he regained enough self-control to step forward. Head bowed, he drew his arms around himself, and shut his eyes searching for the correct words to say.

“It was not my intention for this to happen. I,” he paused rubbing at the ache in his head which was intensifying rapidly, “I never meant to hurt anyone, it wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.” He stopped and took a deep breath, fighting to calm down the rising panic. He had already lost one son today, was he going to lose his other two over this as well? “Please,” he begged, “I do not want to lose any of you, you are as dear to me as my wife.”

“Really!” Elrohir cried out “Then how could you poison her like that?”

The room fell into silence then as the twins stared up at their father, deep hurt and deeper betrayal glaring out of their identical grey eyes. Legolas’ eyes lifted to Elrond’s face, and were the blond elf in better shape he would have risen from his chair to place a supporting arm around the white elven-lord.

Trembling like one of the bowers blown around in the storm the night before, Elrond sat back down upon the desk, feeling behind him with shaking hands unsure whether he could trust his senses now. Still reeling from the shock, his eyes never left his sons’ faces, though a dark veil hid his emotions from their eyes.

“Why would you do that to her Adar?” Elladan asked. Elrond winced at the formality in that coldly stated Adar. “Why would you give her that…stuff?” His voice lowered and the hurt was momentarily replaced by confused pain. “And why would you keep it from us?”

Elrond jerked forwards reflexively, every fibre in his body screaming at him to offer comfort to his sons, but at his movement they eyed him suspiciously, drawing closer to one another and further away from him. Elrond’s eyes filmed momentarily, and he was forced to look away to the window. When he answered them, his voice shook with unshed tears.

“I never wanted you to know,” he whispered out in the direction of the window. The heavy clouds were dispersing a little now, and it was even possible to see the faintest hint of sunlight behind the thinning grey. The lightening skies did little to alleviate the oppressive atmosphere within the room.

Turning back to face his sons, a hint of silver gleamed on the top of one cheek. “I did not want you to find out this way,” he sighed. “I didn’t want you to ever find out.”

Succumbing to the fury that boiled inside him at his son’s accusations, he thrust aside everything that was on his desk onto the floor, crying out inarticulately. “How could you accuse me of that Elrohir? How could you think that I did this on purpose? Do you blame your brother for given the Rucin to Legolas?“ Seeing the shocked looks on his son’s faces he knew they did not. “Then why do you blame me?”

Sitting back down, Elrond lowered his head into his hands, wringing his fingers through his tousled hair. “She was in pain,” he whispered. “I thought I was losing her. The poison tore at her body, and the…the orcs tore at her mind. I was helpless.”

Elrond sat up straighter, and his eyes bored into the twin’s hearts. “I heard of this herb from the rangers, it dulls the pain and raises the spirits. It sounded exactly what I needed. I didn’t know it would be addictive. Eru knows I didn’t!” His plea to the twins was doing little to soften the hurt they still felt.

“Valar Elladan,” Elrond called. “You do not remember what it was like…”

“WHAT IT WAS LIKE, ADA?” Elladan cried, rising to his feet and staring back through fiercely clashing eyes. “Of course I remember what it was like!”

Elrohir shot up to stand beside his brother, eyes brimming with pain. “We can never forget Ada; you were not there, you did not see,” he swallowed hard, fighting for control over his voice. “You did not see what they did to her. Did not see her fight against them. Did not hear her scream!” He leaned into his brother for support, memories overwhelming him. “You did not let them take her Ada,” he whispered.

//

After sending the two injured guards on their way home Elladan knelt beside his brother, binding the wound with a torn strip of cloak.

“You should have returned with them,” he said, tying the cloth firmly around Elrohir’s arm, hoping to stop the bleeding. “I cannot tell if there was any poison on the blade, and Ada needs to take a look at it.”

Elrohir blinked himself out of the stupor he had been in ever since he had seen his Ammë dragged away by the orcs, and lifted his eyes to meet his brother’s. Elladan raised a hand and stroked his little brother’s hair out of his eyes, as Elrohir choked out a negative in a tiny voice.

“I have to go Elladan,” he whispered. “She looked right at me, I could see…I could see her and she was afraid. I can’t abandon her; we must get after her.”

He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his brother’s arm. He was led over to the three horses that they had managed to save, and dragged himself into the saddle, aided by a timely shove from his twin. He leaned forwards against the horse’s neck, letting it support most of his weight. His horse instinctively knew that there was something ailing his rider, and was prepared to softened its footfalls, and ready to allow for any loss of balance.

Elladan eyed his brother anxiously. He was torn between wanting to send him away, back to Rivendell for safety, and the desire not to let him out of his sight. It was already bad enough that he had lost his mother on this trip; he knew that he would not be able to cope without his brother either. Forced to appear strong in front of his younger twin and the guard, Elladan urged the three horses out in the direction the orcs had taken their mother.

//

The twins instinctively drew closer together, drawing courage from each other. It was not often that they faced off against their father, knowing that with his greater years he was usually a wise source of knowledge, but in this instance anger took over and their words flew out, heedless of his pain.

“You did not search for her Ada, you remained here, unknowing of the pain she suffered,“ Elrohir whispered, long repressed hurt finding an outlet after centuries. “She cried out in pain and terror while you supped wine.”

“It was up to us to rescue her, you did nothing!” Elladan echoed his brother.

Locked in their own outburst of pain, the twins could not see how Elrond’s face contracted at their every word, how he physically flinched at their accusations.

//

Elladan eyed his twin helplessly. The pain from his shoulder was obviously eating at him; he was slumped lower across his horse’s back, paying little heed to his surroundings, trusting in his brother not to lead them astray. They had been riding for over six hours, and night was beginning to fall. Soon they would have to stop, for the dark would hide the trail, and they would lose time if they veered from it. Elladan was torn; while he loathed the thought of resting while his mother was in danger, he knew his brother was in dire need of a break. Elrohir had refused to stop all day, and was paying the price for it now. The herbs that Elladan had used to dull the pain had worn off, and he could hear his brother gasp at the pain, trying to stifle his moans. He was resolved that the second the last ray of sun fell below the horizon, Elrohir was off that horse and being tended to on the ground.

True to his word Elladan jumped down, bidding his horse to stay put, before jogging over to where his brother had halted and, half-helping, half-lifting him off the horse. Elrohir groaned into his brother’s shoulder, as the change in position caused his head to swim. They had not eaten since the morning, having lost much of their supplies in the battle, and Elladan was regretting it already. Easing his brother down onto a bedroll, hastily laid out by their guard, he propped him up against a convenient log, and held out his water bottle.

Tilting it gently, Elladan dribbled some drops into Elrohir’s mouth, whose eyes had remained shut this whole time. Rummaging in his pack, Elladan produced some more of the herbs, which he quickly crushed between his fingers, and sprinkled into a cup. He filled that with hot water, heating over the small fire that they had hidden well, knowing that Elrohir would need it for medicine and to clean his wound. Elladan lifted the mug up to Elrohir’s face, only for his brother batted it away feebly.

“Ro, you must drink it, it will help with the pain.” Elladan insisted.

“I need to stay awake and help with the watch. There are only the three of us,” Elrohir indicated the remaining guard who was sat some distance away from the pair, staring intensely into the woods.

Elladan scowled at his twin. “You will be of no use to us tomorrow if you are not in any shape to fight. You need to rest tonight, and stop worrying.”

“How can I stop worrying?” Elladan did not answer his brother’s rhetoric, simply pulling him into a tight embrace.

//

Elrond watched his sons through unshed tears, seeing a similar glimmer in their own. He had hated being left behind while they rode out; hated knowing that they could be in danger, but they had insisted. Celebrian had laughed at him, telling him to stop worrying so much, that their sons could not remain as elflings forever, and that he should learn to trust them.

He had not been sipping wine and hosting dinner parties while they travelled, far from it. He had spent most of his time staring anxiously out of windows, listening for the sound of riders returning, despite knowing that it was far too soon to hear any word. It had only been the hand of Glorfindel that had prevented him riding out after them; that and the look of amusement that he knew would be twinkling in Celebrian’s eye at his inability to stop worrying.

//

Elrohir appeared to be no better the next day, but he nevertheless insisted that he was, and dragged himself up on his mount. Elladan watched him as he lay against his horse’s broad back, panting harshly. The elder twin shook his head, ‘is this family cursed with stupidity?’ he wondered.

Finally Elrohir had regained as much balance as he was ever likely to and was sitting up, back ramrod stiff, as though to prove that he was not weak at all. Every time Elladan looked over at him, the younger elf either pretended not to notice, or glared back. The accompanying guard, Lanfir, was the only sensible person there. Keeping his eyes on the tracks they were following, he rode a little way ahead of the group so as not to become embroiled in the family dispute.

“These tracks are several hours old my Lord,” he stated, morosely. He yearned to rescue the Lady of Imladris as much as the sons of Elrond did.

Elladan sighed as Lanfir’s words penetrated Elrohir’s wall of silence, and caused him to quicken his pace. Only the subtle tension in his face and the extra shade of pale that befell him indicated any of the pain the increased speed was causing him. Elladan grew more worried, for the wound should have been healing better than it was, but his brother was putting too much pressure on it. What use he would be when it came to battle, he did not know.

Several hours of hard riding passed on, and darkness drew near again. Elladan felt hope waning in his chest, and he knew that Elrohir was also feeling despair. It was mainly what weighed him down in the saddle.

“We must stop my lords,” the guard said, “it grows too dark to see the tracks.”

Elrohir let out a groan of exasperation, and slid from the saddle before Elladan could dismount and help him. Jumping from his seat, Elladan knelt beside the slumped form of his brother who looked up with a mirthless smile.

“I think perhaps I dismounted too quickly,” Elrohir forced out through clenched teeth, holding his arm closely against his chest.

Elladan forbore to agree to the obvious, concerned with his brother’s health. “Are you hurt?” he asked, knowing from the creases of pain around his twin’s eyes that he was.

“No,” Elrohir answered, avoiding his brother’s gaze.

Elladan sighed, “Come on.” He half-lifted his brother over to a nearby log, and again eased him down. Dishing out the herbs was as painful a process as the last time, and Elrohir insisted that he would not be put to sleep again.

They had been drawing ever closer to the tracks ahead. The orcs hunted on foot, and the elven steeds were able to keep up well, so it was decided that they were too near the encampment to risk having a fire. Elrohir glared at his brother as he approached him, cup in hand. If he had thought the medicine tasted bad the night before, he knew that it would be far worse cold. Deciding that he was not prepared to drink it, he turned his head firmly away and clamped his jaws shut.

Elladan frowned. “Elrohir, do not think I have missed how much pain you are in, you need to drink this.” No response. “Ro,” he said more forcefully, shaking his brother lightly, mindful of the pain he was pretending didn’t exist. He felt the muscles underneath his hand go rigid with tension, and winced at the unwitting hurt he had caused.

“I am sorry…” he began, before he realised that his brother was struggling to stand. “Ro what are you doing?” he whispered forcefully. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

He pushed his brother back down and was surprised at how far he was flung backwards and his brother’s strength despite his wound.

“Ro?” he asked, “what was that for? I know the medicine tastes bad but that is no reason to hurt me.”

“Look Dan!” Elrohir cried, pointing somewhere into the middle distance. “Can you see it?”

Elladan decided to humour his brother; obviously his wound had been poisoned and was causing delirium. He had no inclination to discover what ‘it’ was, and only wanted his brother to rest, and for them to find their Ammë and return to Imladris where all would swiftly be made well again by their father.

“What is it, Elrohir?” he asked, turning his head and peering off in the direction he was pointing. “What can you see?”

He inhaled sharply.

“I’m not imagining it, am I?” Elrohir stated, seeing the expression on his brother’s face. “I’m not; it is there.”

“Yes, it is there,” Elladan said, hastily strapping his sword-belt back on. “LANFIR!” he cried. “A fire! To arms!”

Quickly gathering up what little belongings they had unpacked in preparation of making camp, Elladan bundled them onto his horse and swung up onto its back. He and Lanfir scuffed impatiently at the ground, waiting for Elrohir to drag himself onto his horse’s back, trying to prove that he was indeed well enough to ride and fight if need be. Finally, they turned and headed in the direction of the fire that gleamed faintly between the trees.

//

Elrohir rubbed at his shoulder again. His abiding memory of this time was of great pain. A cold fist had a hold of his innards, twisting and pulling at his fears. He could not get the image of his Ammë’s eyes out of his head, and was imagining all kinds of distressing tortures that she was suffering in the hands of the orcs. His physical wound did not pain him as much, he was barely even aware of its existence. All his thoughts were turned towards the hunt.

Elladan draped an arm over his twin’s shoulder, pulling him close. He had hated that chase. Keeping an eye out for his brother’s health was a distraction from the worry gnawing away at him. He had been in charge of the escort, and had managed to lose half of it, allow his twin to become injured, and worse still, had lost his Ammë. Guilt filled him with an unrelenting quest to rescue her, and he was determined to push himself onwards. But he had been ever mindful of his brother’s injury, and had been cautious in his approach.

His instinct to protect was ingrained from childhood, where he had been forever looking out for his younger brother. It was as much a part of his character as anything, and even mired in his own despair, he acted unconsciously in it.

Legolas, watching the face-off, was struck by how strong the two were, how their support for each other comforted and strengthened them. Although buried beneath what looked to be some horrific memories, they fared far better than Elrond who was trembling against the desk, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. Legolas realised that he was seeing the unleashing of some powerfully repressed emotions on the part of the elven-lord, and could only hope that they would not be released explosively.

//

Elrohir weaved his fingers between Luin’s mane leaning forward so his point of balance was nearer his horse, and he was less likely to fall off. He did however have a secondary reason for this, and that was that he was straining to make out shapes around the fire.

Elladan and Lanfir were equally squinting into the distance, the sight too far for even elven eyes to detect whose camp it was. None of them were in any doubts that it was the orcs. Obviously they had thought the rest of Celebrian’s party too badly injured to pursue them at the speed they had been travelling, so were taking little care to hide their presence. Worrying Elladan though was the thought that perhaps they had no need to hide because their numbers were so strong. He sincerely hoped that it wasn’t the last option, because he knew that the three of them, especially with Elrohir wounded, would not be a match.

Dismounting before they were within earshot, the three sneaked up towards the edge of the camp, careful to remain hidden behind these bushes.

For once the orcs had become organised, setting up a watch and a series of sentries. There was a large group of orcs who were not a part of the duty, and they were proceeding to down large quantities of their orcish brew, muttering to themselves about a bit of sport. Unfortunately there were many more orcs than had been present at the ambush. Obviously a second party had been waiting here ready for them. They must be aware of how important a person Celebrian was. This did not bode well for their prospects of getting her out.

Suddenly the group of orcs parted at their midst, and Elrohir felt his blood rising. Slumped over a rock, clothes torn, the tips of her hair dangling in the churned up mud, lay the figure of their mother.

It was obvious from the rising bruises and the blood that stained the ground beneath her that she had not been treated well, and Elrohir felt his brother twitch beside him, longing to run to her aid. His own muscles burned with the need to swing a blade through the air. A low growl left his mouth as the orcs closed back in on her, reaching out and running a hand along her back.

Elladan inched closer to the boundary of undergrowth, which protect them from detection. Lanfir had edged a little to the right, looking for a better angle, and Elrohir was about to head to the left when the orc stroked his fingers through her blonde hair, and bent forwards running a coarse tongue along her cheek.

A high keening came from the direction of the orcs and, with a horror, Elrohir realised that it came from his Ammë.

Bolting up, he pushed through the brush, crying inarticulately. He was echoed by his brother’s war cry as he stood alongside him, and the two advanced quickly on the group, taking the sentries by surprise. Lanfir trailed at their heels, guarding their backs, the picture of calm; his knuckles were clenched white around the pommel of his blade, however. The sound of the Lady of Imladris’ terror had struck deep, and someone was going to pay for this.

A swift battle ensued, with the elves seemingly unstoppable. Orcish blood was spilled all around, and the sound of the dying creatures filled the air. Over all that however, could be heard the broken sobs of Celebrian, fuelling their anger. Their surprise did not last long however, and the orcs quickly rallied. Just as the twins reached their mother’s side, they heard a cry from behind and saw Lanfir topple over, an arrow sticking from his throat. Their eyes rose up to the orcs in vengeance, and they found themselves facing the wrong end of a dozen arrows.

//

All three of the Peredhils looked up as the door swung inwards with a crash.

“Rúndil, what is the meaning of this interruption?” Elrond frowned, digging his fingers deep into his hands to try to hold on to his control.

“My Lords,” Rúndil gasped, out of breath. “This cannot wait.”

Elrond sighed, wanting to finish explaining things to the twins. He was not nearly prepared to deal with the mundane running of Imladris when his family was tearing itself apart. “Go on,” he finally asked, pinching the bridge of his nose, “what is it?”

“My Lord,” Rúndil began again, hesitating nervously, “I was putting hay out for the horses as I normally do, checking that they have enough water, making sure that they are warm for the night. I just ran one last…”

“Rúndil!” Elrond barked, “Get to the point!”

“My Lord, I heard a scratching outside, and at first I took it for the wind, but it sounded so near that I went out and looked. “He paused again, afraid of what Elrond’s reaction might be with the mood he was in. “My Lord, it was a horse; Estel’s horse. He was lathered and exhausted, he looked as though he had suffered a great fright. He is scratched in places, but otherwise has come to no harm.”

Elrohir was on his feet at this, “Estel’s horse? What was his horse doing out in this weather?” His heart pounded, “Valar! Elladan, please tell me Estel is in his room?”

Elladan winced, and looked down at the rug-covered floor. His head snapped up as Rúndil finished his bad news.

“I stabled Tinnu and came immediately to tell you what had happened, when I saw a stall door was wide open. I looked inside and,” he swallowed hard as he received the full-force of three elven glares directed his way, “and the Prince of Mirkwood’s horse was missing.”

Elrond snapped his head round to where he had seated Legolas and found only space.

Aragorn shuddered as his first step into the water numbed his foot to the point where he was unsure if he was standing on solid ground, or still hovering in the water. The chill soaked through the material of his trouser legs, easily reaching over the lip of his boots and filling them with water. Squelching uncomfortably as he stepped forward, Aragorn brought his other leg alongside, shuddering again as that boot filled too.

‘The things I do for you Legolas,’ he mused wryly.

Hitching his coat tighter around his chest, Aragorn tightened his grip on Legolas’ bow; having only just rediscovered it he was determined not to lose it now. Shivering as a keen wind caused the surface of the water to ripple, he took another step forward muttering under his breath as the water reached to his mid-thigh.

The force with which the water was hitting him was much less than he would have expected given the ferocity of the rain last night, but he was not one to pass up an unlooked for bonus. Aragorn had chosen an area to cross, which had a large rock not quite halfway across. He felt tired already, and knew that by the time he had reached that far he would welcome the rest.

As he advanced towards it, the water began to grow deeper. Aragorn took his jacket off and balled it up tightly it around his shoulders, making sure to secure the bow back over it. With his luck the water would be too deep to walk across and he would have to swim, but if not then he knew he would need something dry to wear when he exited out the other side.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Legolas grew more and more frustrated as the argument continued. The room seemed to have grown taught with the tensions that flew from the Peredhil’s eyes. The air literally crackled with pain.

Not insensitive to the plight of the twins or Elrond, Legolas nevertheless felt a rising sense of anxiety blossoming. Aragorn was fleeing his home, believing himself unwanted and unloved. His own part in that misconception ate at the elf, and he thrummed with the need to be out there, riding after his friend. Given the distraction that Estel’s family seemed to be buried under, Legolas believed that the storm would have ended long before they finished their rants. They had obviously forgotten all about Estel.

The wind rattled hard against the panes, and Legolas repressed a shudder. The human was out in this, and no doubt he had managed to find trouble. Legolas could wait no longer.

Rising silently from his chair, he found himself forced to lean heavily upon its arm as the room span a little. Shaking his head to clear it, Legolas repeated firmly to himself the thought, ‘I stood up too quickly, that is all this is.’

Despite this mantra, Legolas was beginning to think that there was something more severe happening with this Rucin thing than he was aware of. He should have been nearly recovered from his leg wound by now, and his concussion also, yet it seemed that the dizziness lingered. Despite his growing concern about his own condition his fear for Aragorn was greater, and Legolas crept over to the heavy oak door.

Glancing back to see whether his movement had been detected, Legolas noticed that the twins’ eyes - the only ones facing him - were glazed over in memory. Satisfied that he was still free, Legolas eased his hand onto the gilt handle. Holding his breath he pulled it down, wincing as the latch clicked in release. He looked nervously behind him, but over the raised voices in the room no one had heard it. Easing the door open, he desperately prayed that it would not creak, but fortunately the doors were well tended in Imladris. He slipped through.

Once outside he pulled the door to, unwilling to risk shutting it completely in case the latch attracted someone’s attention this time. He leaned against the wall; eyes closed, and heaved a deep sigh of relief.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Aragorn hefted Legolas’ bow higher around his shoulders. The water was waist deep and he needed his hands free for balance. Moving was much harder now, as he had to push against the force of the water. Suppressing a shudder as the water inched up to his chest, Aragorn found himself clenching his jaw tight shut to prevent his teeth chattering.

“Valar,” he muttered, “ am I to spend this entire week wet? This is my second swim in four days, the little shower last night, what is next? A flash-flood?” He sighed, shaking his head in wry amusement.

Taking another step forwards, Aragorn felt his way carefully for his foothold. The water was murky; mud sloughed from the earth by the force of the rain had found its way into the river and was obscuring his vision of the bed, making Aragorn’s crossing more treacherous.

His feet were growing numb from the ever-present chill of the water, and he knew that the wet leather of his boots would be chafing his feet; he was rather glad that he could not feel it. Unfortunately the riverbed was made of rolling stones that moved with the current, and he was forced to be very careful else he would sprain an ankle. That really would not help him in his haste to get home.

Taking another step forward, Aragorn tested his weight on the rock, and it seemed stable. Shifting himself forward, he placed all his weight on it, lifting his other leg forward.

The stone pitched beneath his feet, and Aragorn fell headfirst into the water.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Legolas sunk lower against his horse’s neck. The bay nickered softly, sensing that something ailed her master, and he summoned up the energy to run a soothing hand along her neck; she quietened. Clicking softly, he urged her along the grass, taking a less used route out to the rear of Rivendell. Although he had escaped without detection so far, Elrond’s study was at the front of the house and he did not want to be caught now; not with the way he was slumped over the horse. Not with the way sweat soaked his brow, and the way he was panting harshly. He would never be left unwatched again if they caught him now.

Legolas knew that the Peredhils would just fuss and coddle him. He was a Prince of Mirkwood, entrusted everyday with decisions that affected dozens of lives. He could be trusted to know when he was well, surely.

Four days after being stabbed lightly in the leg and knocking himself unconscious for a few minutes, he should easily be able to ride out after his fool of a human friend. His wounds should not still be affecting him this much.

A hollow sensation began to gnaw at the base of his stomach. The twins and Elrond had been far more attentive than normal; Estel was so distressed that he had fled. Legolas knew he was missing something, and he did not like it.

All he had done was walk - ‘well stagger,’ he admitted - down a flight of stairs, and slip quietly into the stables, thankful that Rúndil was not in sight. That should not have caused him such exhaustion as he felt. He had taken one brief, dismissive glance at the saddle and bridle hanging on the wall, and realised that with his hand in the state it was there was no way that he would be able to use them. Normally this would not be a problem, since it was his preferred way of travel, but as dizzy as he was feeling he did not think he would be able to balance from so high above the ground, and on a moving object as well. Sighing, he knew that he would have to stay on without them.

The rain hissed down upon his unprotected back. Legolas had no idea what had happened to his cloak last night, and had not been in either condition or frame of mind to search for a spare. The storm was dying down; he would soon have no need for it. Besides he was an elf, the weather would have no effect upon him. He had also not wanted to attract attention, and stealing a cloak was probably one of the quickest ways to go about getting it.

His blond hair hung heavy against his back, his clothes stuck to skin when he moved – something the tried to do as little of as possible. Though the wind and rain were but a fraction of what they had been earlier, Legolas was buffeted by it, finding it hard to catch his breath. Unable to withstand the force against him, which swayed him in the saddle, he leaned closer to his mare’s neck, trusting in her to keep to the path, and using her to shelter from the wind.

His head was pounding. Despite the cold rain that shrouded him, he felt hot. Raising his hand to dash away the rain from his eyes, he felt unnatural heat rising on his brow. Staring at his fingers in puzzlement he could see them trembling slightly, white-tipped. Something was definitely wrong with him.

His introspection stopped when his mare balked at a large pool of water. Legolas looked around, uncertain. He had thought that even in his state he had kept track of the route he was taking. Legolas was following the path that the lighted figure must have taken, for any tracks had long since been washed away in the storm. Indeed the very surface of the soil was being eroded.

Legolas had not expected to reach the water’s edge this soon, even with the floodwaters having risen. The river had been shallow before, and there should have been ample room for it. He was not expecting it to burst its banks to a distance of several yards. He sighed. How was he supposed to follow Aragorn with the path flooded?

He walked his horse slowly onwards, taking care to feel the way slowly, for the ground was made invisible by the water, and it would not do to be hasty and cause his horse injury. Not only would that cause him and his horse pain, but he would not be able to catch Aragorn back up, and he honestly did not think he had the strength to walk back to Imladris.

Slowly and surely the two edged their way forward, with the water level gradually rising above his horse’s knees. Legolas clung tightly to his mount’s back; not only did he not want to fall, he certainly did not want to land in water. Not twice in one week. The twins would never let him live that down. The rain collected in his eyes, and his hair hung even heavier against his back. His body was wracked by what he could only imagine were shivers. He had seen Aragorn suffering from them before, but had never himself been tormented by them. Dashing the rain from his eyes once more Legolas peered into the storm, staring at a large obstruction in the river.

Legolas’ mouth filled with the taste of bile, and he urged his bay onwards with more haste. The lump looked rather too body-like for his comfort.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Aragorn burst through the river top, shaking his head to free his eyes from water. He inhaled one deep, gasping breath, followed by another and then a third, as he began shivering in the cool breeze that circled above the water.

‘Typical,’ he thought, ‘just typical. How is it that I always manage to find the one unstable rock on the whole of the riverbed? Am I cursed?’ he received no answer.

Aragorn pulled his now-soaked coat down from his neck, and wrapped it tightly around himself, grateful for whatever warmth he could get. Living up to his name, Aragorn found the positive view.

“Well I would have had to have swum for it soon,’ he thought. ‘I am barely within my depth now, and it gets deeper further onwards.’ Even knowing that he would have been submerged soon did not help him fight the cold now.

Aragorn was standing shoulder deep in water, and the force with which it hit him took all of his effort to withstand. He knew that he would not be able to swim directly across the river – the current was too strong. No doubt it would sweep him downstream some way, but it would use less of his already depleted energy to swim with the current than trying to fight it. He staggered his way over to the rock, and dragged himself mostly out of the water, taking up all available space. His trembling limbs sagged in relief, while he wrapped his coat tightly around his shoulders. The wind was picking up again, and cut right through his soaked clothes. He sighed again, feeling tired and cold, and not up to this. The thought of swimming the river, let alone climbing the bank on the far side, or starting on the long walk back to Rivendell once across, was extremely daunting.

Gritting his teeth, Aragorn stared out at the far bank and took a deep breath. ‘First things first,’ he thought. ‘Let’s get to the other side before I begin to borrow trouble.’

Lifting his feet fully from the water, Aragorn unlaced his boots, wincing as the leather scraped at his feet when he pulled them. He bore the pain though, knowing that his boots would hinder his attempts to swim, and in his state any such hindrance could prove fatal. Balancing carefully on the rock, he threw first one boot, and then the other, to the far bank. Aragorn breathed a silent prayer of thanks to the Valar when neither of the pair fell short, though he did experience one brief, heart-stopping moment when the second boot started to roll backwards down the slope. One final check that the bow was strapped securely to him, Aragorn slid back down into the water.

Aragorn winced as the chill bite of the water crept through first his feet, then legs, before making its way up to his shoulders. ‘Surely it had not been this cold earlier?’ he wondered.

Clenching his jaw against the cold, a sharp cry of shock still found its way through as his shoulders slipped below the surface. He swam vigorously in the hopes of warming himself through his movements, yet not even these strokes were enough to prevent him from slipping downstream.

As soon as Aragorn’s feet left the riverbed he found himself being swept away with the current. While the water had not appeared to be particularly fast moving from the bank, a strong current pulled in the deep sections. Redoubling his efforts, his arms carved powerfully through the water, pulling him slowly towards the far bank. For every yard forward, however, he was carried two downstream. Aragorn realised that unless he wanted to face a long, uncomfortable, and bootless walk back to Rivendell, he would have to fight against the current.

His arms felt leaden and useless as he churned them through the water. His lungs burned; his breath was being swept away in the struggle against the current, and the biting cold. The weight of his drenched coat was weighing him down, and it belatedly occurred to him that he should have removed it with his boots. Fighting the water and the temperature would have been tough under the best of conditions, let alone for one who was wearied and hungered from a night of turmoil, and the heart-ache of the last few days.

Inevitably, Aragorn’s strokes grew weaker as his strength began to fade. No matter how hard he struggled he was beginning to be drawn inexorably further away from where his boots had been thrown. Feeling himself being dragged lower under the water, Aragorn desperately felt beneath him with his feet, hoping to have reached shallow enough water to stand.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Leaning forwards, Legolas peered through the storm, impatiently brushing the rain from his face with trembling hand. The figure lay in the shadows, caught in the gnarled roots of a tree, and was being constantly battered by floating debris. Legolas could not see a head, and he sent pleas to the Valar that it was not his friend. He could not bear the thought that Aragorn would have perished in this way; recollecting the anger in the last words that Legolas would ever speak to him, feeling himself hated and shunned.

Legolas gave a moan, gnashing his teeth together in anguish. It was taking too long to reach the shadows, and he could feel the tension sapping his strength. He was practically falling off his horse in his eagerness, lying prone against the neck, blond hair mixing with brown mane. Finally, the water now risen to the horse’s chest, Legolas was close enough to reach out and touch the figure. He let out a gasp.

Relief swept through his body, conversely sapping more of his strength. Legolas buried his face in his bay’s black mane; his hand burned with cold from the water, but he was relieved there was no memory of chilled, dead flesh at his touch. The object was not a person at all, but a large trunk, which had been uprooted during the storm. It had obviously sailed downstream with the floodwaters, but had caught up in the roots, and was the reason why the water overflowed its banks here, yet appeared much shallower downstream.

‘It is not Aragorn.’ Legolas’ tired brain was having trouble getting past that fact. The relief was so great it overwhelmed him.

‘It is not Aragorn,’ he sighed again. He closed his eyes tightly against the rain and the tears of relief that threatened to fall. “Eru be thanked,” he called out. ‘Thank you,’ he echoed silently.

He stayed like that, leaning into his horse, drawing strength from the creature with every breath. The mare, for her part, stomped her feet in mild irritation at the cold and wet, but could sense that her master was heart-sick and weary, and was careful to keep him on her back. After a time Legolas lifted his head, realising something.

“Ai, Aragorn,” he cried, lifting his head into the wind as though seeking guidance. “Where are you?”

Legolas had tried asking the trees if they had noticed any sign of the human’s passing, but they still fought against the strong winds, and were only concerned with the loss of nutrients as the soil was washed away beneath their very feet. They were no help. Looking around, searching for any indication of where the ranger may have headed, but he saw nothing.

Sighing, he realised that he was closer to the far bank than he was to the near, and he urged his horse forward. He hoped that Aragorn would have enough sense to stay close to the river where food and water were readily available. He doubted that even in the ranger’s state he would have forgotten the very basics of survival. Legolas intended to reach the far side and then ride downstream searching for signs of his friend’s passing on both sides of the bank.

It was a sound plan.

Unfortunately he never succeeded.

Legolas had been sliding lower and lower upon the horse’s back, clutching his fingers tighter into her mane. When she finally reached the bank, there was a large incline up from the water to the shore, and it threw Legolas off balance. Not expecting it, the elf had not prepared himself for any sudden movements, and he tumbled off to one side, landing half in the water.

The fall itself was fairly insignificant, what troubled him more was the pain as he landed on his bad arm.

Legolas gave off a cry, which ended in a choked sob as he stuffed his hale hand into his mouth, biting down hard. Burning rivulets of pain soared up his arm, despite the cool water that soaked through the bandages. Legolas pressed his forehead hard against the churned mud, wincing as the mare’s hooves came down near his face. She was guarding over him, breaking much of the wind, but there was a little thing called overprotectivity.

Legolas tried to push himself back up, but placed too much weight on his injured hand. With a cry, the world swiftly blackened around him, and he collapsed once more, unconscious to the rising floodwater.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The tips of Aragorn’s toes touched the rocky bed, although by now they were so numb that he could not feel them. The first he could sense of his footing was when he could push down no further. Sighing in relief, Aragorn put his full weight on his feet, standing back up at shoulder height in the water. He braced himself against the current, which still sought to sweep his feet out from under him, and stood there, uncertain which part of him was colder – the part below the water, or his head. Either way, he decided, he was cold.

‘Cold, ring, ringa, HELCA!’ he mused to himself, finding perverse pleasure in naming the affliction. It didn’t help battle the cold, but it brought a dry smile to his face.

All Aragorn wanted now was to get out of the cursed ice pit, drag himself onto the far bank, and trek the few miles back to Rivendell where warmed blankets, a hot meal, and a bed in a fire-warmed room awaited him. He realised that the only way for this to happen was if he actually lifted a tired foot, and struggled onwards, so he did.

The going was trickier now, with his numbed feet, and Aragorn winced at the thought that he could probably tread on cut glass without realising it. That thought caused him to stop still and lift each foot in turn, feeling the soles with his iced fingers. Sighing in relief at finding only unmarred skin, he forced all idle thoughts from his mind and concentrated solely on the object of getting to the far side. It took all of his willpower just to lift one foot forward and keep moving to the far bank.

Two things prevented him from achieving that goal. The first was the sudden wall of water that surged towards him, down the Bruinen, frothing and boiling. The second was the large wooden stump. Scarred and scraped from its storm-caused fall, it was thrust along ahead of the waves, and collided solidly with the side of his head.

The world dimmed. A grey film appeared over Aragorn’s sight, and he struggled to make his limbs respond to his commands. He had been swept off his feet by the force of the water, and by the blow, though the extra water would have taken him beyond his depth anyhow.

Through rapidly blurring vision, Aragorn looked passively at the riverside sweeping past him. It dimly occurred to him that he should try to stop himself, and he reached out a wavering hand to grasp at something, or at least he thought he did. His arm was not answering his instructions.

A roaring sounded in Aragorn’s ears as the spray began to collect in his eyelashes, preventing him from seeing. The warm trickle of blood on his face belied the chill of the water that was slowly creeping into his veins. Aragorn’s drenched clothing was dragging him under, and this time he was powerless to prevent it. His chin sank below the surface, and he inhaled a mouthful of water before he could stop himself.

The roaring in his head grew louder, and Aragorn dimly recalled hearing a similar sound, when water surged through rocks. Before he had a chance to digest this thought he felt himself connecting with something underwater, which scraped and bruised his legs. His cry of pain went unheeded as his mouth filled with water the instant it was opened. A second crash threw him into agonies when he slammed, shoulder first, into anther rock.

Not even giving him time to register the new pain, a third rock appeared from nowhere, planting itself directly in his path. At the speed he was travelling, even without his rapidly lessening grip on his senses, Aragorn would be going too fast to avoid it, and he collided head first with the rock. That second blow to the already damaged area was more than his beleaguered head could take, and his mind retreated into unconsciousness.

Mindless to the swelling water, which was slowly dragging him under, Aragorn was pulled along limply by the current, still clutching Legolas’ bow.

***

Ring – Cold (Sindarin)

Ringa – Cold (Quenya)

HELCA! – Ice cold (Quenya)