Chapter Thirty Three

A smile crossed Aragorn‘s face, when he finally saw the valley that protected Imladris, his home, come into view. He looked across toward the Last Homely House nestled among the waterfalls roaring down the mountain side. He sighed, taking a quick glance at Legolas, who was firmly in his fathers’ embrace. *Soon, mellon nin. Soon.*

The horses belonging to the Rivendell elves and the lone human increased their pace without urging, as they realized that they were also headed home. The two Mirkwood stallions followed suit. All of their riders were no less anxious to reach the elven haven.

It didn’t take long for the road-weary travelers to enter the courtyard and clatter across the cobblestones to a halt in front of the stone steps. Several elves seemed to materialize out of nowhere to take the reins and steady the animals.

Aragorn was the first to dismount and, as he had been doing since leaving the valley forest, approached Thranduil’s horse and untied the bound left feet of father and son. Then, he reached up to pull Legolas’s limp form down into his arms. This time, however, he was sure that Thranduil would be eager to take his son back, so he could be the one to carry Legolas up to his room. He stood a few feet away and waited for Thranduil to dismount and come forward to take Legolas from him.

The elf king believed he knew what Aragorn was thinking by the look on the man’s face . Aragorn was dismayed that his friend would be taken from him. It was only a simple task of carrying Legolas up to his room, but the ranger wanted to feel useful in doing so. Thranduil didn’t want to be selfish. So, it was with only the tiniest feeling of reluctance that he nodded to Aragorn, and said, “Take Legolas to his room. I will follow.”

The man nodded in return, his gratitude evident in his eyes, as he turned and began to carry Legolas up the stairs exactly as he had done several weeks before. This time, however, he knew what plagued his elven friend. It had been something more horrific than he could ever have imagined in his worst nightmare. But, it had finally been defined. It would be treated, and it would be vanquished.

He had convinced himself that now that they were back in Rivendell, Elrond would awaken Legolas, brew up some draught or other that would banish the poison, and after a period of recuperation, the elf would be fine again. Aragorn had to believe that. The man refused to consider any other outcome, just as he had refused to believe that Legolas would not survive this last encounter with Mordraug. That had worked out the way he wanted, hadn’t it? So, would this. It would break his heart to know Legolas was somehow permanently damaged by the venom’s poison. He couldn’t know right then what would lay ahead for his friend.

Elrond insisted that everyone bathe, eat and rest. Not surprising, there were objections all around. He held his hands up and shook his head. “I must brew the draught that will counteract the drug to bring Legolas back to consciousness. That process will take a while, not to mention the time it will take Legolas to respond. You will all want to be with him when he awakens, so now is the time to ease your bodies and quiet your minds.”

It finally took Elrohir, after receiving a tilt of Elrond’s head in Aragorn’s direction, to physically pull the human out of the room. Elladan came close to having to do the same with Thranduil. In deference to the king’s person, he lay his hand lightly on Thranduil’s arm and then used his powers of persuasion to coax him into leaving. With one exception, everyone had finally accepted Elrond’s wisdom and reluctantly left the room. Only Glorfindel remained behind with Elrond.

Once everyone else had gone, the two elven lords undressed and cleaned Legolas. They then put him under the bedcovers with his arms laid gently across his stomach and his left foot propped up on a small pillow. Elrond examined the young elf’s foot and was pleased that the color of his skin was normal, indicating good circulation. No additional damage had occurred during the journey back to Rivendell. A quick examination of his hands and lower forearms showed the same thing. Now, for the more difficult part.

Elrond left the room and headed down the corridor on his way to begin brewing the draught that would reverse the drug holding Legolas in its confining grip.

Left alone, Glorfindel settled in a chair next to the bed to watch over the Mirkwood prince. He was tired, but he could not think of rest until Elrond returned and needed him no more.

Elrond made his way to the room where he stored all of the paraphernalia that he used for the diverse treatments he was called upon to administer. The overriding odor in the room was of plant life, both living in pots and dried, these last consisting of a wide assortment of grasses, leaves, stems, roots, flower petals, mosses and fungi. There was also the woodsy smell of various types of tree bark and wood shavings.

All together, the room exuded a smell that was soothingly pleasant and thus always served to calm the elven healer. No matter how many times he entered this room, and it had been untold thousands, Elrond could never avoid standing with his eyes closed and breathing deeply, whenever he opened the door. This time was no different.

In addition to the plant life, there were several rows of jars, containing liquids in various colors. Most of these were on shelves placed across the lone window in the room, giving an appearance closely resembling stained glass. Only a few that could not be exposed to strong light were kept in dark cabinets.

The elf lord began sorting though his stores, pulling out the ingredients that he needed.

Before long, arrayed before him on his work table, were several herbs, a thumbnail-sized piece of dark brown bark, broken off of a larger piece, and a cup containing a carefully measured amount of amber liquid.

Elrond mixed all the ingredients together, but this time he did not boil or even heat the concoction. He left it on the table to cold steep. He knew without thinking that this particular mixture, if exposed to heat, could prove detrimental to the young wood elf. He had found that out the hard way many centuries ago, though the elf he had treated then had not died. Still, it had proven to be a near thing.

Elrond left and went to his own room. It would be a while before he could find true rest, but there was time now to bathe and get a bite to eat. As he set about disrobing, he chuckled to himself, thinking back to his remark a few days ago about elves not tiring so easily. He was more weary than he cared to admit, even to himself. Perhaps, he was beginning to feel his age. Over 6400 was it now? Amazing. He shook his head and continued with his task.

After an hour, in which he had had a refreshing bath and an equally refreshing meal, Elrond retrieved the draught and went back to Legolas’s room. Between him and Glorfindel, they managed to get the liquid down the prince’s throat.

“How long before he awakens?” the elder blond elf asked. He was tempted to add, “if he awakens,” but decided that he was not even going to think that way. Like Aragorn, he would hold only positive thoughts.

Understanding the uncertainties involved, Elrond replied, “About three or four hours, perhaps. Of course, we are dealing with an unknown poison and cannot be sure, at this point, how the poison has affected him or his body’s ability to process the draught. It is only a guess.”

“Your guesses are better than most others’ assurances” came a voice from the doorway.

Elrond and Glorfindel turned to see Aragorn walking into the room. The ranger had changed his clothes and run a brush through his damp hair, indicating he had washed it. However, he didn’t look particularly refreshed.

“Estel, I told you to rest,” Elrond admonished, though his voice was far more gentle than scolding.

“There is a chair right there that I can sit in,” the man answered, pointing to the one that Glorfindel had recently vacated. His face took on that of a child apologetic for something he had done wrong. “I’m sorry, Ada. I just could not stay away. Besides, I would only fret and probably pace all over my room, if I had to stay there. I have to be with Legolas.”

Elrond knew there was no point in trying to argue. Estel would not change his mind. Instead, he asked, “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, I ate. Quite a lot, actually,” the ranger admitted, remembering how acute his hunger had been once he had seen and smelled the tray of food that had been brought to his room.

Elrond sighed. “Then, you may remain. But, only if you stay seated and do not pace.”

Aragorn looked at his father, not sure how much humor there was present in the elf lord’s words. Elrond’s face was unreadable, but Aragorn was sure he saw a slight twinkle in his father’s eyes. He knew better than to do anything but nod his acquiescence, which he did.

Just then, Thranduil came into the room. He had also changed clothes, and his slightly damp hair indicated that he had bathed, as well. “When will Legolas awaken?” he asked without preamble. He was determined to get a direct answer.

“Three or four hours,” Elrond responded for the second time to that question. “There is no certainty on the time. We must all be patient. Legolas will awaken in his own time.” Like Glorfindel, he was not going to mention that there was a chance that might not happen. He knew no one had forgotten such a possibility existed so reminding them would be pointless.

Elrond was not in the least surprised when both of the twins entered the room carrying two chairs. Elrohir just shrugged as he set his chair down on the opposite side of the bed where Estel and Thranduil sat. Elladan left and returned with yet another chair. Elrond just sighed. “You might as well bring one for Glorfindel. I am sure he will show up, as well.” Twenty minutes later, he did.

And so, another vigil for the youngest prince of Mirkwood began.

~*~*~

Legolas knew he was drifting up toward consciousness. It was always different from simply waking up from normal sleep. He felt as if he was looking up through murky water at sunlight dancing on the surface. The closer he got to the top, the brighter his surroundings became. Sometimes it took longer than at other times, but the feeling was always the same: *I’ve been unconscious, not asleep.*

It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t know why he had been unconscious. He tried to remember what had happened to him to cause this all too familiar state. Had he been fighting orcs? Wargs? Had he been involved in some kind of accident? He couldn’t answer those questions. One thing he did know, however, was that the closer to the light he came, the more his body began to hurt.

Just before he broke the surface of consciousness, the pain became intense. He heard a moan and knew that it was his own. His memory seemed determined to remain faulty, so the only way to find the answers he sought was to break the surface into the light and open his eyes, which he realized were closed.

Legolas did open his eyes---very slowly. He blinked several times and was dismayed at the fog that surrounded him. This, too, was familiar, so he continued to blink rapidly. Suddenly objects, colors, figures came into focus, hitting him all at once with intensive clarity.

Vague shapes surrounding him had come into sharp focus. He looked from face to face, recognizing each in turn. He spotted his father first and then Estel. Elrond, the twins and Glorfindel all came into his line of vision, as he turned his head. He tried to smile but was only partially successful.

Thranduil got up from the chair he was sitting in and sat on the side of the bed. He leaned down and stoked Legolas’s cheek. “Welcome back, ion nin. How do you feel?”

Legolas looked at Thranduil, and his smile broadened slightly. He wasn’t going to say anything about the pain he was in. It had not yet risen to an unmanageable level, and he fervently hoped it wouldn‘t. Despite his earlier determination to find out what was wrong, he now decided he wasn’t quite ready to know. He was sure he wouldn’t like it. There would be time for that later. He also didn’t want to worry his father, or anyone else in the room, by admitting how much his whole body ached. He somehow felt that they all already knew what had happened to him.

The archer opened his mouth to answer his father’s question, but no sound came out. Realizing how thirsty Legolas must be, Aragorn quickly poured him a cup of water from the pitcher by the bed and while Thranduil lifted Legolas up, the man titled the cup to the elf’s lips.

Legolas’s throat was parched, and he drank every drop. When he finished, he looked at his friend and said, “Gluber ray.”

Aragorn frowned. “What did you say, Legolas?”

“Timble thas.”

The faces in the room, including Legolas’s own, reflected their owners’ complete bewilderment, to say the least. “I don‘t understand what you’re saying.” Aragorn said.

Legolas had heard the words that had come out of his mouth, but they made no sense. He had been trying to say “hannon le” in order to thank Estel for his help in givng him water. He didn’t understand the strange sounds that he had uttered. He tried again. “Sorme hab.”

“Elrond, what is wrong with my son?” Thranduil demanded unhappily. There was also anger in his tone. He instinctively knew that whatever was wrong went deeper than just strange words coming from a recently comatose elf just waking up. At no time had Elrond indicated this garbled speech could be a complication of either the poison or the drug. He glared at Elrond and saw the confused look on the elf lord’s face. Elrond had obviously not been keeping this from the king, which did not ease his mind any.

Legolas stared at Elrond. His mind was clear, his thinking processes intact, so why could he not speak properly? He knew what he was trying to say, yet the right words were not coming out. As his father had asked, what was wrong with him?

TBC