Rating: PG-13 to R (Angst... proceed with caution)

Summary: When Legolas is forced to make a decision that could very
well determine the fate of all Middle Earth, what will he do? And
what consequences will his choice have?

Disclaimer and Acknowledgements: As in Chapter 1

// = elvish translations
# = flashbacks
* = thought

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Chapter 5 - Holding On

The ranger shook Legolas lightly trying to get his attention to focus on him. "Tirna amin, Legolas!" he pleaded. "Ta naa im, Aragorn."

//Look at me, Legolas!//

//It is I, Aragorn.//

Legolas blinked. The face in front of him faded to be replaced by another, one with kind sliver-green eyes instead of the maddening red glowing ones.

"Aragorn?" his hands reached out shakily to grasp the human’s forearms, making sure that he was not caught in a dream. "I’m sorry, Aragorn... I’m so sorry... " the voice was so soft that Aragorn could hardly hear him. His grip relaxed as Aragorn helped him up to his feet. Legolas swayed and the human grabbed hold of him, wrapping an arm around his waist to support him. The elf silently nodded his thanks and leaning heavily on Aragorn, he allowed the human to guide him back to the camp, concentrating hard on not passing out again.

The fact that Legolas willingly accepted his help worried him. The proud elf usually refused any help offered to him as long as he had the strength to stand. The short trip back to camp seemed to last forever and he found that he was dragging Legolas by the time they were halfway through. "Stay with me, my friend. We are almost there," he urged the semiconscious elf but had gotten no response. With Legolas’ weight weighing down on him, they barely made it back to the campsite when the elf pitched forward, his strength finally spent. Aragorn caught him before he hit the ground, easing him down carefully. He reached out for the cloak which was discarded earlier during the prince’s flight and wrapped it tightly around the unconscious elf.

As Aragorn brushed his hand across Legolas’ face, a slight tremor spread through the elf’s body, the fever that plagued him earlier had gone, leaving him cold to the touch. Fearing that his friend was going into shock, the ranger pulled him closer to his own body, extending his cloak around the elven prince. Placing a hand behind Legolas’ head, he drew it against his chest, trying to share as much body heat he could with the injured elf.

"What happened out there? Who did this to you?" Aragorn asked even though he knew that he would not get a reply. The most important thing at that moment was to get him back to Rivendell and to his father. Maybe then they would get an answer.

Elrohir’s return had never been better timed. Balancing a handful of firewood, the younger of the twins appeared out of the shadows. "Elrohir!" He heard his brother beckon to him, the human’s voice filled with anxiety and fear. His gaze fell on the two figures beside the fire and judging by the way that Aragorn was holding the elf prince, he knew something was wrong. He dropped the bundle carelessly and hurried over to the pair. His heart went cold as he took in Legolas’ condition. The prince’s face was a sickly white, his skin almost translucent under the pale moonlight. Dark bruises accentuated the pallor of his face. His breathing was slow and shallow, the rise and fall of his chest barely noticeable. A quick examination revealed that his pulse was weakening too. His body was shutting down and it seemed like the prince had lost the determination to live.

"We have to get him back to Rivendell, now!" Aragorn stated frantically.

"It’s too dangerous to travel at night. You know that, Estel," Elrohir replied but before Aragorn could argue with him, he continued. "But desperate times call for desperate measures. I will bring the horses and break camp."

Holding on to Legolas while Aragorn mounted his horse, Elrohir helped his brother lift the prince and settled the unconscious elf in front of him. With one arm wrapped around the elf’s waist, Aragorn held him securely against his chest, resting the elf’s head on his shoulder. Elrohir mounted his own horse and with a soft command, the two beasts took off towards Rivendell in a fast trot, sensing the urgency in their master’s voice.

The short trip back home was unnerving for the ranger. Feeling the breathing and heartbeat fading slowly under his arms made him urge his horse to go faster. The icy cold body of the young elf lay limp against his chest and he feared that if they didn’t make it back to Rivendell in time, no amount of heat in the world could warm that body again.

"Garor, mellon nin. Va linna mi ana i mornie." he whispered softly into Legolas’ ears. "Do not give up on life so easily." Aragorn paused and continued, "Whatever haunts you, we will fight it together. I will stand by your side until the end."

//Hold on my friend. Do not go into the darkness. //

As the gates of Rivendell became visible, Elrohir urged his horse onwards, riding slightly ahead of the ranger in order to alert the guards of their arrival. A minute later, Aragorn rode swiftly into the courtyard and pulled his horse to a stop. He eased Legolas down from his horse into Elrohir’s waiting arms before dismounting it. Cradling the elven prince, Elrohir moved hastily towards the house without waiting for Aragorn. After handing the reigns to a servant, the ranger caught up with his brother as he was entering the house. Calling out for their father as they mounted the stairs taking two steps at a time, the pair did not care if they woke the entire household.

Elrond sat up in bed frowning at the noise that had interrupted his rest. The frown deepened when he realised that the noise was actually his two sons which he had not expected to see for another three days. He sighed and wondered what trouble they had gotten themselves into this time to warrant their untimely return. *Well* he thought to himself *at least neither of them are too gravely injured if they still have the strength to scream the entire house down*. Pushing himself off the bed lazily and throwing a cloak around his shoulders, the Elf Lord stepped out of his bedroom… and was almost trampled over by the two figures dashing past him. Taking a step back, he grabbed Aragorn by the arm as his other son ran pass him and headed straight into the guest bedroom, a bundle of something clutched tightly in his arms.

"Estel! What-" Elrond started but was rudely cut off by the breathless human who was waving his hands around madly in the air.

"Hurt... help... bad..." young Aragorn panted and ranted on incoherently, pulling his father along by the sleeves and dragging him into the guestroom.

They entered the room just in time to see Elrohir unloading the bundle onto the bed and realisation dawned on him. The older elf moved quickly towards the bed, trailing by his winded and a little disoriented son. His two children gathered around him as he tried to access Legolas’ condition and he had to push them aside so that he could work more efficiently. He undid the bandages. The wounds the prince had sustained did not look life threatening but the condition the elf was in puzzled him.

"He is fading and he has lost the will to go on," Elrond turned around to look at his sons who stood rooted to the floor staring dumbfounded at him. "Well, don’t just stand there. Make yourselves useful. Estel, go get some hot water and bring my healing pack. Elrohir, bring the extra blanket from the guest bedroom." The brothers were brought out of their stupor by their father’s voice and giving a slight nod, they made their way out of the room.

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To Be Continued...