Title:

Celeb Gurth (Silver Death)

Author:

Stacee Phelps

<stacee_phelps@cliffhanger.com>

Disclaimer:

`Lord of the Rings` belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, and New Line Cinema. I am not getting paid for writing this. The only characters that are relatively mine are Ancú (he is half mine, half Charity Cills) and Këan. Moranuean belongs to Cassia and Sio from their `Mellon Chronicles` series. The two authors are generously allowing me to borrow him.

Author's Notes:

I am not an expert on Middle Earth. I read a lot of fan fic on it (mostly Cassia's, Nili's, and Chloe's!) and I have the `Lord of the Rings` trilogy, plus `The Hobbit`. I am currently in possession of some Elvish language and stuff, and hopefully it'll help. Oh, and I should just say this, that even though I may not be and expert on anything, I am a fanatic. The song used in this fan fic is Evanescence's, `My Immortal`. I got the CD for Christmas, and I love the song, and it fits this fan fic so perfectly.... So, when you read this, and you have the CD, I highly recommend listening to it while you read this.

Note, when Tolkien said, `Aragorn was raised in the house of Elrond`, I'm going to say that Lord Elrond took the young human in when his parents were killed (I realize that in the books, Gilraen lived, but I like the idea that she died with Arathorn), and raised him as one of his own sons. This would mean that Aragorn would be like a younger brother to his twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir. But, this does not necessarily mean that Arwen is like a sister to him (of course!), but I do not really like to write about Arwen. So, she's not really mentioned in my stories or anything.

I hate having to say this, because it's pretty bad when I have too, but this is a non-slash. Only father/son, brother, best friends thing going on.

Also, I realize that it had only been Elladan, Elrohir, and Arathorn on that ill-fated hunting trip, but in this story, for the purposes needed, others will have been there (plus Gilraen and toddler Aragorn).

 Also, please notice that I'm saying this; but I know that I started the story out pretty fast and pretty short, but this is my first posted fan fic, and since I know exactly what I want to do with it, I tend to speed things up. Things should slow once I get to a certain point, but posts may be spaced a lot because I'm not finishing the story before I post it.

This is AU because of something, but then, it’s kind of not.

Dedication:

This story is dedicated to Tinláurë, Charity Cills, and Nimroch Nen Loth. They help me with everything that has to do with my stories, and stand and listen to my over-enthusiastic ramblings.

Timeline:

40-45 years before `The Fellowship of the Ring`

Summary:

 A mysterious disease unleashed upon Middle Earth is targeting those of Númenórean blood. One man is behind the whole thing, but none know him, and none have seen him. No one knows the man's motives, and none can guess. Unknowingly to those it concerns, though, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, is exposed to the disease.

By chance, the man comes across the weakened ranger, and the results will affect all the free peoples of Middle Earth.

Rating:

PG-13 for Violence

/8/

        The last of the painful cries died away as the ranger went slack upon the table. Smiling in satisfaction, the Númenórean's killer turned away, spinning a bloodied dagger between his fingers. Facing the men who worked for him, he walked up to the leader, and the Gondorian man looked coldly up at him.

        "Take this vial, and coat all your men's weaponry with its contents." The smooth hand gave the medium sized container it held to the burly man, and then turned cold, blue eyes up. "Travel to every inch of Middle Earth, from Rohan to Gondor, and find all the rangers you can. Exterminate all those you come across. I want none alive, or else it comes out of your skin."

        The large man noticeably flinched under his employer's scrutiny, and nodded dumbly. "Yes, sir. It shall be done as you wish." He then turned to those around him, and barked, "Everyone to the armory!" the men gathered around the cavern nodded, and then nearly took off at a run to get away from the dangerous man they had wrongly gotten involved with.

        Këan of Osgiliath frowned at the group's single mindedness. Perhaps he had been wrong to hire such worthless, stupid human beings, and should have gone for the smarter, but smaller, troop. He thought about it, but then dismissed it just as quickly. He had hired the right men for the job- those who were too mentally challenged to question orders, and who were followers: not leaders.

        Besides, these men were only to be used for the dirty work. They would be able to track and kill any of Númenórean blood, and report any and all progress to him. But, most of all, they would be able to tell him whether or not the heir of Isildur lived.

        Këan's mouth drew into a tight line as he thought of his life's pursuit. To kill the heir to the throne of Gondor.

        Ever since Këan had reached puberty, he had thought of nothing else. Gondor had a good system under Ecthelion, the twenty-fifth Ruling Steward of Gondor, and nothing needed be changed. For when Denethor, Ecthelion's heir, became Steward, non-shall be different from the previous rule, and Gondor's government would remain the same. That was all Këan wished for. Gondor had no king. Gondor needed no king.

        But, a few years had gone by, and no reports had come through concerning the heir of Isildur, and Këan had about given up hope. Until, one former ranger had come stumbling drunk into the tavern the Gondorian had been occupying.

        It somehow was revealed the drunken ranger had been out hunting with his chieftain and two elves. The higher-ranking ranger had been killed, as well as his wife, and about three-fourths of the men within the camp. Knowledge of the two twin elves taking a small child to their elven haven was given. But, the most valuable information was that the chieftain was Arathorn, son of Arador, an heir of Isildur, and the babe that was taken was his son.

        Këan had nearly danced at the news. Sure, the intoxicated former ranger had been old, and it seemed that over thirty years had passed since that day, but the brown haired man still held hope. Now, the only problem that persisted was the location of the elven haven.

        There were three known elven realms in existence, but only two were proven to offer protection to other beings. Rivendell and Lothlórien, while Mirkwood remained distrustful of the younger race of Men. So, Këan had been carefully planning over the last several years, and almost everything was in place.

        He knew now the last heir of Isildur to be over thirty years old, and being of Dúnedain blood, would have gone into the world by himself. That meant he would no longer be residing in his elven home. Therefore, the purpose of the hired men.

        Being a prodigy in his home city of Osgiliath, Këan had always been able to invent things almost beyond his years. He was a mathematical thinker, and could think of the most unbelievable things. So, when by chance he was able to capture a few rangers, Këan took the opportunity, and started to experiment. By the end of the deadline he had set for himself, the man had discovered a new disease to wipe out the Dúnedain.

        By taking his captive ranger's blood, Këan was able to implant some of the more recessive genes, and modify them by adding some deadly poisons. Mixing these together, the Gondorian was able to create the disease he called Celeb Gurth, which in the common tongue meant `silver death`. By taking most of the silver, or iron, in the Númenórean's blood, Këan was able to use that so that only the rangers would be targeted, and when added with knives and sword blades, the disease would be activated easier.

        But, the problem was still about the heir of Isildur's whereabouts. Këan almost expected the ranger to be around Bree or the Shire, for that was mostly the region reported to be patrolled. Also, another issue was if the heir were killed as planned, Këan would not be able to know. The first issue could almost be easily remedied, but the second provided the most difficulty. The only possible way of knowing would be to get a hold of the elves that raised the heir of Isildur, but Këan still did not know what elven family took the child in.

        Pacing up and down the underground cavern, Këan began to think even more deeply. The man was supposed to be a ranger by now, what if he was to be found in a man town? Turning around to look at the exit the men had taken, the Gondorian man nearly smiled. Bree was the closest to his `lair` (next to the supposed location of Rivendell), and it was reported that rangers were spotted nearly every day in the town.

        Grabbing his riding cloak, Këan exited the cave, and wandered through the underground tunnel that led to the outside world. He would again search for the heir of Isildur, and this time he would find him. He was sure of it. By the end of the week, the future king would be his.

/8/

        Sitting upon the overstuffed chair in the Hall of Fire, Lord Elrond Peredhil was leisurely enjoying the book he was reading. At this moment, nothing was pressing, and everything within the elven haven was peaceful and calm. He knew this could only last for so long, but the elf lord was enjoying the serenity while it lasted.

        The reason for his unusual `laxness`, as Glorfindel would put it, contributed to the fact that his twin elven sons were out hunting with a few of their elven friends (Ancú and Moranuean among them), and his young human foster son was traveling Middle Earth with his ranger troop. Even though he worried for his sons more than he ought to sometimes, it was a general relief to be rid of the noise and mischief.

        Reaching a climatic point in his novel, Elrond was absorbed within the contents of the pages. So much, that he failed to hear the footsteps of his chief counselor, and friend, Glorfindel.

        The blonde elf of Gondolin nearly was smirking as he approached the elf lord. It seemed that Elrond was immensely delighted with the latest events, and he seemed unaware of his friend's presence. `It's not every day someone has the opportunity of sneaking up upon the lord of Imladris.` After standing at the other elf's side for a couple more moments, a sneer made itself known across the fair being's face. `And, he has been so bored lately; no excitement whatsoever.`

        Stepping back, Glorfindel carefully walked to the back of the chair. This would be so easy.... Extending his arms forward, he attempted to put his arms around Elrond's neck, but an amused voice halted any movements he would have started.

        "You took too long, mellon nín /my friend/. The section got dull." Glorfindel stood in amazed shock. Not that the lord had really impressed him by knowing of himself being behind him, but by the fact that Elrond had managed to drag his eyes and mind away from his enthralling book.

        Shaking his head, he moved, and plopped himself on the cushioned bench facing Elrond. He may be a lord of the elves, and even a slayer of Balrogs, but he figured that since the twins nor the young adan was around, why not do some things he wouldn't normally do?

        "Relishing the silence, heru nin?" he raised a perfectly arched eyebrow in sarcasm. He knew how the lord worried nonstop for his three sons, and even Arwen, and so it was strange to see Elrond.... so relaxed.

        The room generated a feeling of peace, and its arched roof and high ceilings showed an atmosphere of contentment. The scars of the walls revealed a young family, even after thousands of years, and the proof of much love. Glorfindel could perfectly understand what had caused his friend's lazed mood.

        Leaning back, the blonde merely looked Elrond in the eye. He knew exactly how the lord was feeling, for even through the mask of relaxation, he realized (and recognized) the father's worry still etched into Elrond's ageless face.

        No matter how old the twins and Estel got, Elrond would continue to worry each and every day for their safety; especially Aragorn's. It was so uncanny how easily they, and the prince of Mirkwood, could get into trouble, and even though it was sometimes a joke, it frightened the two elven lords more than they could say.

        "Elrond, yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier." His tone had taken on an almost hopeless tone, and he immediately sought to lighten it. "And, yet, you still fear for your sons as if they were newborns. They can protect themselves, and anyone else who comes under their care. I, for one, should know, considering I helped train them." Glorfindel looked for the small smile he was hoping for, but none appeared.

        Elrond Peredhil merely closed his book, and folded his hands into his lap. "I cannot help it anymore, iaur mellon nín /my old friend/. My sons have grown in age, but I still fear for them despite their capabilities. Now, more than ever." He looked deep into Glorfindel's gray eyes, and the Balrog slayer could almost glimpse the lord's foreseen vision in his blue orbs.

        "The Shadow of Sauron is ever growing, but I do not fear his minions as much as I do an evil that we do not yet know about." He read the question on his counselor's face, and he shook his head slightly. "No, I have not received any type of vision pertaining to this, but I know that a new evil will show itself, and sooner than we like to think. I know not when, or in what form, but I am sure that my sons will be a key factor in this new change in the tide. I have this overwhelming feeling of.... loss. But, it's almost as if the feelings has yet to come to pass, and that's what frightens me." The lord's good mood vanished, and he knew his moment of relaxation was over. Now, he only feared that a stressing matter would come to overtake their lives, and knew that nothing they did would prevent anything from happening.

        He walked over to the well placed balcony alongside the far wall, and leaned against the door frame leading out onto it. He could not look Glorfindel in the face, but he continued to speak. "I have never experienced this much worry for any of my family before, Glorfindel." The elven lord paused for but a moment, his breath coming out in a rush. He swiveled around, his eyes holding barely suppressed panic. "Not since Celebrían."

        The warrior sprang to his feet to stand in front of his liege. "Elrond, if what you're saying is true...."

        "Then my sons are in more danger than even I could have seen."

/8/

        Sitting in the main room of the `Prancing Pony`, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, waited impatiently. Ordu was supposed to have met him here hours ago, but the other ranger had failed to show. The ranger possessed valuable information to the Dúnedain, and as chieftain, Aragorn had been called to receive the man personally. But, the other ranger had been assigned to watch over the Shire, and the halflings that inhabited it.

        A designated meeting spot had been arranged for the two, with Bree being between the two's assigned posts. So, here Aragorn sat at the agreed meeting spot, with no Ordu in sight. Allowing his gaze to casually sweep the tavern's crowd, again he caught no sight of his fellow ranger.

        `This is not like him. ` The ranger thought after a moment, and stood. Silently walking up to the bar and paying the owner, Strider, Ranger of the North moved to leave. He was stopped, though, as the owner placed a hand on his shoulder.

        Looking at him in silent warning, Aragorn watched as the hand dropped. "Forgive me, Strider, but urgent business do I need to talk to you about." Flicking his eyes over his own establishment, he gestured for a young lad behind him to watch the bar. Motioning for Strider to follow him, he hurried for the back of the room.

        Following him at a slower pace, but keeping him in sight, Aragorn's suspicion rose. What did the owner have to tell him, that the other man braved talking to a feared ranger? Halting next to the tavern owner, Aragorn waited for the man to begin.

        "Strider, usually I don't do this, but I like you. You don't cause trouble, and you for the most part stop fights from brewin`. But, somethin's out there, somethin's that's killing rangers." Aragorn nearly stared at the man. How did he not know about this?

        "Only a few have been found dead here in Bree, but rumor is that people go around towns, askin` for any news on any of you ranger folk. People say they go around, talking of a private employer that has big plans, and sometimes, they don't kill the rangers. They take them prisoners, and no one knows why." Genuine fear shone in the man's eyes, and Strider could tell it was not for him, nor for any of the rangers. It was for himself and the regular inhabitants of Bree. If these people were killing off rangers, skilled men with any weapon at hand, real capable warriors for Men, what chance did the common people have if sights turned to them?

        "Why are you telling me this?" Aragorn finally asked, his eyes going around the room to see if anyone had overheard. The owner took a deep breath, and looked him straight in the eye.

        "I've heard things of you, Strider. Of how you fight, and how people believe in you. I know that if anyone in this wretched land can bring a stop to all this, it's got to be you." The owner then looked around quickly. "A ranger was seen being dragged out of the edge of town last week. Two big men took `em, and people could hear screams from the rocks. I know you came here to meet up with someone, and I thought you'd like to hear. He may or may not have been who you were lookin` for."

/8/

        Aragorn silently exited `The Prancing Pony`, thinking about what the tavern owner had told him. If it was true, then Ordu was either in danger, or dead. And, that meant that all rangers were in danger.

        Walking silently down the main street, the ranger held a hand loosely over his sword hilt, and with his other pulled, up his hood. He knew that no one would recognize him, for Strider barely inhabited anyplace anymore. As far as he or anyone else knew, Strider basically did not exist.

        Looking around with light gray eyes, Aragorn kept walking past shops and taverns. This was all becoming too complicated. Not only did the rangers now have this new threat to contend with, but the information Ordu had been expected to report was unknown. No one knew what was killing off all these dúnedain, and whether or not these two dilemmas were connected.

        Passing by darkened shop windows, barely looking at the people's concealed faces, trying to get a clue from anything and everything, Strider's mind was running a mile a minute. How was he supposed to defend against an enemy that no one knew nothing about, and yet still fight against an unknown factor?

        Nearly growling in frustration, he passed by a couple dark alleyways, flicking his eyes up and down the streets. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and nothing seemed to be threatening, either.

        Removing his hand from the hilt of his sword, he began to walk faster to the stables where he had placed his mount. Aragorn was exasperated beyond words, and his surmounted worry was exceeding anything he'd ever felt before. He was sure the reason Ordu hadn't met him was because the other ranger was dead, and if those reports were as valid as the tavern owner claimed, the chieftain had a lot more than one dead ranger on his hands.

        But, why had he not heard of these reports before? Surely one of his troop could have heard even the slightest gist of this evil news, and have told someone within the dúnedain. None of this made since!

        Prepared to enter the stable, Strider grasped the wooden handle of the door, but once his thinking had subsided for the moment, he could have sworn he'd heard the sound of metal clashing. Pausing, his thoughts raced around in his head. This was Bree, for Elbereth's sake! Fights, gang `fights`, and duels occurred all the time in this place! It was almost unheard of for a night not to be occupied by a murder or two. But, now.... with all that had come to light in the last few hours, the ranger was not sure whether or not he should pursue the sounds' origin.

        Deciding, and hoping against hope that it was Ordu, Strider let go of the handle, and raced as fast as his legs would carry him to the alley he had nearly stopped at before.

        Amidst the darkness, Aragorn could barely make out three figures fighting within the small opening. One was medium sized, but the experienced eyes of the seasoned ranger could tell by the man's fighting style that he was not used to fighting more than one opponent fairly. The other two, on the other hand, only seemed to be kept from pulverizing the third by the fact that the smaller guy was hacking his sword quickly back and forth. They seemed to look like they wanted to keep a few limbs.

        Walking further into the alleyway, Aragorn could not shake the insistent feelings of foreboding running through his veins. This wasn't right! He shouldn't get involved! Not in this!

        But, as he stopped to gaze on the `battle` once more, he knew without a doubt, that the smaller man needed help badly. Quickly drawing his sword from its sheath, Strider stepped forward, and loudly cleared his throat.

        He waited until all three were startled from their sloppy movements, and then spoke in a very authoritative voice.

        "What seems to be the problem here, gentlemen?" he asked calmly. The two who were winning looked dumbly at each other, and didn't answer. The third, however, seemed to swell in anger.

        `A *RANGER*! Of all the rotten luck....!` Këan very nearly threw his arms up in frustration. He had not planned for this to happen! He'd only asked these two about any ranger sightings in the area, and they'd practically gone insane! The tallest one had grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, and dragged him to this alley, throwing him among the trash. The second had immediately sought to crack a few of his bones by kicking anywhere his foot could touch.

        Këan had retaliated by drawing his blade, and pushing the two back a little. Until the two had gotten smart and drawn their own weapons. But, now, of all the people who had to find them, this....this *ranger* had stopped the bulking men of Bree from killing him.

        `I *will* not be indebted to this man! I will *not*!` looking around the small lane, he noticed how the two bulking masses of men looked at the newcomer with obvious respect, and fear. They very plainly did not want to mess with one of the greatest kind of men in existence. Especially when the rangers of late were known for their exceptional skills with a blade, or any weapon for that matter....

        Knowing that this was his only chance of escaping alive, Këan sheathed his sword, and quickly grabbed for the dagger he kept under his cloak. He would not miss this opportunity....

/8/

        He could not be late, he couldn't! So many had already died, so many had not known what purged through their systems, weakening their strong bodies too much for any type of disease to be fought off.

        Legolas Greenleaf, Crown Prince of Mirkwood, formerly known as Greenwood the Great, leaned over his horse's haunches, pushing the creature to reach the Last Homely House. They had already been detained too long, and the prince feared that those small hours had already cost too many valiant men their lives.

        A disease, unheard of by any healer in Mirkwood, was sweeping through the rangers like a wildfire through a forest. None knew what it was, and none knew of any way to stop it. The king of Mirkwood, Legolas' father, Thranduil, had sent his only son for one reason only to Lord Elrond Peredhil of Imladris. His foster son was in danger.

        The Sylvan elf had pleaded to his father's court for many weeks before he was sent out, and he had almost wondered if his warning was too late. He had not heard from his mortal friend in nearly two and a half years, and he worried that the lack of contact may result in terrible consequences for his young friend.

        Reaching the last bridge fully leading to Elrond's house, Legolas could have wept with relief. Maybe, just maybe, he could help warn their Hope.

/8/

        "Ada, you worry too much! `Ro and I are fine! Nothing went wrong. You can ask Ancú." The elf mentioned just threw up his hands.

        "Oh, no, you don't! There is no way you're going to get me or Mora to take the fall for you two again!" the evil eye the oldest son of Elrond sent his friend was the usual, so therefor, Ancú was not phased. "That will not work this time, `Dan. The last time you gave me that look was when we were 850, and you and Elrohir pulled...." the younger twin and Moranuean immediately lunged forward, and covered the raven haired elf's mouth tightly.

        "No need to tell that, now, huh, Ancú?" he continued while a silenced Ancú glared on. "You know exactly how uninteresting that story is, and how much we were not the only ones involved?" the understanding, and remembrance shone in his green eyes, and they widened in fear.

        Lord Elrond merely shook his head at his sons' antics. They would never change....

        The twins and their friends had returned only an hour ago, and they had sought to reenact their hunting mishap, only at Ancú and Moranuean's expense, of course. The four had spent most of the time arguing over whose fault had gone with which incident, so obviously the lord never heard what truly happened.

        Shaking his head as the twins managed to tackle Ancú to the ground, he looked up right as Glorfindel walked into his study.

        The blonde elf looked concerned, and a little confused. Those two together on his face did not bode well....

        "Heru /lord/ Elrond, the sentries on the eastern border have reported in. It seems a messenger hailing from Mirkwood is racing at full speeds towards Rivendell. It looks like Prince Legolas, they say." Elrond stood, and noticed how Elladan, Elrohir, Ancú, and Mora had stopped rough housing, and were now following his counselor.

        The Balrog slayer led them to the courtyard, where the thundering of hooves could be clearly heard. Elrond descended the steps, and waited as Prince Legolas Greenleaf came tearing through the gates.

        The younger elf did not even wait for his horse to fully stop before he had jumped from its back. He wasted no time on formalities, as his worry grew when he did not see Estel with his family.

        "Lord Elrond, where is Estel?" the elven lord could see the anxiousness and urgency revolving in the light blue orbs, turning them almost gray. He realized that the prince had grave news indeed, for even when he had been here on friendly visits, he had taken the time to wish Elrond's house with the courtesies deemed necessary for his station.

        "Aragorn is with his troop, young prince. Why does my son's location seem to sadden you?" he asked calmly as he watched Legolas' face fall.

        The woodland elf's emotions began swirling in a tumbled mass again, ever since he had discovered that the disease seemed to target Númenóreans. He almost felt weak, as if all his hopes had just been smashed into irreparable pieces. Aragorn was in danger....

        Legolas seemed to finally notice that his reaction was worrying the Peredhils, and he moved closer to them on the steps as he saw a stable hand lead his loyal horse to the stables.

        "My lord, I must speak to you. The news I hold is of the greatest importance, to not only Aragorn's life, but all rangers." His strong words sank deep into the elven lord's stomach, and a bigger knot of fear began to ravel up. His feeling....

        "Follow me, young Thrandulion. We have much to discuss."

/8/

        Running forward the way the little one did was not what Aragorn had expected. Groveling at his feet in thanks was far from his mind, too. But, when the diminutive man rushed at him at full speed, a dagger deeply imbedded into his left side was not anticipated.

        Crying out in surprise as well as pain, Aragorn was pushed to the side, his sword thrust from his hand, and he dropped painfully to the ground. Grasping the dagger at the hilt, the only place he could fully grasp the small weapon, he gritted his teeth and pulled. He almost screamed in agony, for the blade had struck a rib, and had tried to split the bone in half as it was pulled. Also, he could tell that this blade was doused in something totally different than anything he'd ever felt before.

        Throwing the small knife to the side, Aragorn felt rather than saw the two bungling men approach him.

        "Mister Ranger, sir, are you alright?!" the smaller one asked anxiously as he dropped to the ranger's side. If an overwhelming pain wasn't filling his senses at this moment, he decided silently, that man would truly be hilarious.

        Trying not to laugh, for he knew his injury would not enjoy that aggravation, Aragorn merely nodded. He firmly placed his left hand over his fiercely bleeding wound, and managed to make his way to his feet, swaying dangerously.

        "I'm fine, thank you." He looked to the two. It seemed that the little man who had stabbed him had high tailed it as fast as his legs could carry him, and so Aragorn knew he wouldn't be able to find him to get some answers. But, there were two who could....

        Even though he'd just been stabbed, severely so, he knew he needed answers. "Why did you attack that man?"

        The anger returned full force to the men's faces as they recalled Këan's questions, and they nearly trembled with the rage. They only calmed down when they supported Aragorn as he nearly toppled over.

        "He was asking about the rangers. No matter how dirty we get, we won't ever do what he's done." A look of repulsion crossed both dirtied faces, but the bigger one looked sympathetically to Aragorn.

        "He was bragging. He said he'd done something awful, a "deed to be remembered among the Gondorians forever"`." A look of sadness flickered across his grubby face. "He said he'd manufactured something. Something no one would ever figure out until it was too late."

        The smaller guy frowned up at his friend. "What did he call it? Shelb.... Cheleb..."

        Aragorn's face screwed up in confusion. He knew his wound was affecting him, and he also realized that he needed to get back to the `Prancing Pony`. But, these two were the first ones giving him straight answers in a while.

        "Celeb?" he asked softly. The two jerked.

        "Yeah! Celeb Gurth! That's it!" the taller one looked to his companion proudly. Strider merely looked to the ground in confusion. `Celeb Gurth? Silver Death? Why would any man say something so.... in Elvish?` he thought to himself.

        It seemed that answers were far in coming, but Estel knew one thing for certain. He could feel himself wavering in the men's grasp, and for right now, he knew he needed to trust these men.

        "The `Prancing Pony.... now...." Aragorn could identify his lightheadedness, and he recognized his body's throbbing cries for tending. He needed to see to his injury, and he needed to *now*.

        The two understood, and as Strider felt his legs give away, and the blood flowing freely down his side, he barely registered that one of the men had carefully scooped him up into his arms. He could hear their worried mutterings, but then all drifted away.

/8/

Legolas wearily followed the elven lord to his study, where Elrond and his sons promptly cornered the prince into a chair.

        The lord watched as Ancú, Mora and Glorfindel gathered near the door, but then his eyes were riveted to the elf that had yet to deliver his urgent news. Legolas' eyes couldn't seem to settle on anything, as his thoughts obviously consumed his being.

        Kneeling in front of the younger elf, Elrond gently placed a steadying hand on his sons' friend's shoulder. He did not speak, merely waited patiently for the prince to begin in his revelations.

        Finally looking to Elrond after several silence filled moments, Legolas' sadness, but grim determination, shone through.

        "Heru nín, no light news do I bring to you from my father's realm. For many weeks, men -rangers- have stumbled into our kingdom, and most have been infected with a disease none of our healers can identify. They know not whether the disease is natural, or if different means were reached to come up with this atrocity, but no antidote has been reached." He could not bear to tell his best friend's father anymore, but knew it was necessary.

        "The last ranger to enter our realm alive came from Aragorn's troop." Legolas saw the faint flicker of surprise on the lord's face, but it was just as quickly replaced by his usual, calm mask. Elrond spoke no words, his silence alone prompting the prince to continue.

        "The man himself managed to tell us quite a few things before he inevitably died, and gave very valuable information relating to this problem." Now, the facts were over, and only the tangent bits of information they'd managed to gather was left to report. But, this would be the hardest.

        Stalling in his explanations, Legolas looked around the study, and absorbed some of the tranquility the room exerted. It helped calm some of the nervousness that ran through his systems, but when his eyes met the worried ones of Estel's brothers and friends, some of the relief and calm faded away.

        Jerking his eyes back to Elrond, the blonde elf could see what his delay had caused to show in the wise Noldor. He could plainly see the nightmares the lord's mind was conjuring, and knew for a fact that the fantasies would not do the truth any justice.

        He could not pause any longer. "He'd been separated from the rest of Aragorn's men when Estel was called to meet a fellow ranger in an unknown location, and he had tried to find some help in a nearby town. What he met was something he'd never expected. It seemed that as soon as he'd entered the town, nearly two dozen men had ambushed him at the entrance to a local tavern.

        "He attempted to fight them off as best he could, but a few of the men's weapons had wounded him, and very seriously. He managed to escape, but not before he'd heard the men's exclamations. It seems that they had wanted to capture him for some sort of experiment that would have been performed by their leader, and they mentioned something about making sure to use `the right blade`." Again, the prince paused, trying to gauge the other elves' reactions.

        Elladan and Elrohir seemed to merely be stuck on the fact that the dead man had been a member of their younger brother's group, and that Aragorn had been sent alone to a meeting with a secret person.

        Ancú and Moranuean were leaning against the furthest pillar near the door, and both appeared a little mystified at what the Mirkwood prince was relating to the assembled group. They both were close with Estel; even though Mora had been the closest thing to a friend the mortal had known when he had been growing up within Lord Elrond Peredhil's halls. This seemingly new threat to his friend's life did not bode well with the Noldor elf.

        Out of them all, aside from Elrond, though, Glorfindel seemed to almost be grasping what Legolas was telling. `So, annaello i orë, what have you managed to get yourself entangled within this time? ` were his shocked thoughts. He could not.... *would* not believe what Legolas was saying. If what he said was true, then not only rangers were in danger, but all the mortal beings of Middle Earth.

        He could stand it no longer. "Fëa ernil, are you possibly telling us that humans are in danger?"

        Legolas looked to the golden haired advisor, but could not give him a reassuring smile. "No, Lord Glorfindel, I'm saying that the rangers are dying."

/8/

        `Why couldn't I stay unconscious once in a while, huh? I'm wounded, so obviously my body doesn't want to go through the torture of being in pain, so why is it commanding that I awaken at once?` the ranger's thoughts drifted lazily through his mind, the words finally coming together to form sentences he half understood in his state.

        At this point, his mind was floating freely from his body, and it almost was as if nothing could truly disturb this state of mind he had attained. Until he began to regain consciousness.

        Hearing frenzied voices faintly, Aragorn unsuccessfully tried to piece the voices together. Or, rather what they were saying....

        "....found....stabbed....left side....help!" mentally, he frowned as he struggled to remember what could have taken place for this person to sound as panicked as they were. The only things that came to mind was when he had began to enter the stable for Melonaur, and the talk he'd had with the tavern owner. `Maybe it wasn't in that order, but close enough....`

        That was when it finally struck him. The reason why the tavern owner had spoken with him, the fight he'd come across, the small man, and the dagger.

        Now, Aragorn wanted to return to awareness. Unfortunately, this was the one time his body at last decided that it didn't want to be moved. Fighting against the blackness that held him within its grasp, the ranger got to the point where he could fully hear what was being said, and just where he was.

        It seemed that those two goons had gone through with what he'd asked, and Estel could now feel himself being carried through a crowd. Attempting to open his eyes to see who held him, Aragorn's thoughts were now awake with the rest of his body. Although, that also meant that the pain was reawakened through his side.

        Crying out as the agony fully registered, Aragorn could feel a cool hand rest itself upon his forehead.

        "Rest easy, lad. We've got ya." A coarse voice reached his ears, but the ranger still wanted to see what was going on. He wanted to know what it was that he was really going through, and what he needed to contend with once he'd regained full awareness.

        Cracking his eyes open to slits, Aragorn made out three people carrying his body through the common room of `The Prancing Pony`, and several faces peering over their shoulders as they reached the stairs leading to the room he'd rented. `So much for staying low.` He thought dryly as they came to his door, and pushed it open.

        The bigger guy took Aragorn fully into his arms, pushing the other two away. He carried the ranger to the small bed, while his companion began to ready a fire in the fireplace, and the third man began to rummage through a bag at his side.

        No, wait.... it was a woman! The one that had talked to him, it was a woman!

        She was no means beautiful, her looks nowhere near his beloved Arwen's, but she was not thoroughly unpleasant to look at. Right now, her long, brown hair was kept back by a tie at the nape of her neck, and her simple dress was a light blue color. She strongly resembled the little boy he'd seen running around the corridors, and was able to come up with a conclusion. This must be the tavern owner's wife.

        At the present, she had made her way to the wounded man's side, and had proceeded in tearing open his loose tunic after removing his overcoat. Aragorn heard her sharp intake of breath as the festering wound was revealed, and he barely caught her slight curses at the men who had helped him.

        "You couldn't of tried to stop the bleedin` before you brought `im? He'll more `an likely bleed `imself to death before I can even help `im!" but, as she complained, her small hands ran over his chest, checking for any sort of intrusion around the open wound. When her fingers brushed across the rib the dagger had embedded itself in, Aragorn's eyes widened, and his back arched.

        Damn! That blasted weapon had done more harm than he'd originally thought when he himself had looked his chest over. Now, though, the tavern owner's wife was prodding the rib, trying to determine whether the bone was broken, or merely cracked.

        "The dagger went straight through!" he gasped out as the pain attempted to steal the breath from his lungs. He was sweating, and yet his body felt as if it had mysteriously turned into a block of ice over the course of a few minutes.

        "So, he's finally awake...." the biggest of the two men stood a little closer, but again took a step back at the scathing look the tavern's mistress glared at him.

        "No thanks to you! Now, you two blubbering idiots get downstairs to help my husband with those onlookers we had! Now, scat!" the two left as soon as they figured out which one would squeeze through the doorway first, and the woman merely glared at them.

        "You shouldn't really do that. Those two saved my life." He then began to cough, and she was saved from responding. She gently pushed him onto his side, and rubbed his back until the fit subsided.

        `What is wrong with me?! It's just a stab wound! ` The obvious thought immediately occurred to him. Infection. `Must be from the streets....`

        After his body stopped its rebellion, Aragorn rolled over so he was on his back again. The woman just gave him the critical eye of someone who has the innate ability of a healer. They all had that look.

        "No, young sir, don't worry about those two. I only yell at `em because they're my husband's brothers. Life wouldn't be the same if I didn't yell at them once in a while." She spoke softly, but smiled as she finished her sentence. Her hands were dug up to her elbows in the bag she'd brought full of herbs, and as Aragorn watched, she pulled out an assortment of remedies he recognized. Good, nothing for a sleeping draught....

        "Now, ranger, what caused this battle wound?" Strider looked to her in confusion, and so she lightly traced a faded scar that lined one of his left ribs. He nodded in understanding, and then shrugged. He could feel her delicate fingers rubbing in an ointment that obviously dulled the pain, for his entire left side went numb.

        "Orcs. Near my home. They caught my brothers and me by surprise, and I was in the front. It was a barbed arrow....!" he cut off as a sharp pain ran through his chest as she firmly pushed the rib back together, and he arched again in pain.

        After a moment, she let go, and pulled out a needle, allowing Aragorn to start panting with the pain. It seemed the ointment didn't work too well....

        With the needle in hand, the Bree woman pulled the man's skin together, and gently pushed it through. That, fortunately, did not hurt as much as the setting of his rib bone. Moments later, she was putting a salve on his stitches, and was securely wrapping bandages around his chest.

        "You're lucky, young man, that the dagger didn't go any deeper. You wouldn't have survived the trip here, let alone my treatments of it!" her light attempt at humor comforted him, and he laughed.

        Looking her in the eye, he grabbed her hand, and held it aloft. "Thank you for treating me. You and your family have saved my life, and I am in your debt." She merely smiled as she walked to the end of the bed, and pulled his boots off gently.

        "No, sir, it is us who's indebted. You and your people have helped protect Bree through many things. My husband and I know that you don't realize that we know you're here to help, and would rather sooner stay in the dark about it. But, we just want you to know how grateful we are." Aragorn watched her as she helped him to sit up, and remove his tattered tunic. She had pulled out one of his clean shirts from his pack without his noticing, and right now pulled it around his shoulders and laced the neck up.

        Then, she situated the sheets and over blankets to cover his body fully, and then she laid him back. Scurrying around the room, she stoked the fire, cleaned up the soiled linens soaked in his blood, and packed her herbs into their bag. At last, the room looked like it had before they had come in with a wounded Strider.

        "You know, I would feel better if I knew my healer's name." his soft, sleepy voice startled her from her place near the door, and she smiled back at him.

        "I am Léofa, sir." She then crossed over, and smoothed his hair and put a hand over his eyes. "As your healer, I strongly advise rest, dear ranger. Now, sleep." She then exited the room, and Aragorn could hear her fading footsteps.

        `I and my kin may help the people of Bree, but they have no idea how they help us, as well. ` With that final though, Aragorn slowly drifted off into a contented sleep.

/8/

        `*He couldn't explain it. The feelings were swirling around him in a mist; desperation, grief, loss... No matter where he went, he could not locate the origins of the strange emotions.

        Slowly walking, Aragorn had a sensation that none of it was real, that he was still lying upon his bed in Bree, and that none of this was happening. But, yet, it was.

        "My child, you must tread carefully." The words echoed throughout his mind, causing him to swivel in a circle. The scenery had changed from the mist, and now he was surrounded by trees on all sides. But, they did not look as trees from Mirkwood nor Imladris, but Lothlórien.

        They were tall, and full of life. The sunshine barely shone through, but caused a halo of sorts around the light green leaves. A small camp was nestled safely between several of these wonders, but the space was emptied; not a single soul in sight.

        "Nothing is as it seems. You *must not* think that all is as it seems. A hidden danger flows through your veins. You must exercise caution now, in all that you do. You must survive." The voice again rang out, seemingly from all directions.

        "Who are you? What is it that you are warning me against?" the desperation emerged into his voice, all his feelings bared in that one instant.

        A woman's shape suddenly appeared within the brush. She walked closer, smaller than the young ranger, and very beautiful. She had flowing brown hair to her waist, but it was her gray eyes that struck him most. They were the same shade and color as his. He then knew.

        "Ammë /mother/, what is going on?" he could read the shattering joy in her eyes, knowing that it was for finally seeing him a man, and also the heart rending need to warn her son.

        "There is a danger for the rangers, more so than ever before. The Valar have only allowed me to warn you, since Ordu was unable to warn you himself. He is meeting with Mandos this very instant." A strike of pain went through his heart at another one of his men lost. Her look of sternness nearly faded. "You are exactly like your father. But, know this. Ordu did not die in vain. His death will finally be the one that stops that madman from attempting to harm anymore." Her look of utter sadness returned.

        "Aragorn, you are in danger. You are not getting sick, my son, not in the normal sense. I cannot tell you more about that, for you must prove and exceed this test by yourself. No one, not even I, can tell you what to do about it. Know this, you are needed. No matter what you think, no matter what you have felt, you are needed in Middle Earth. For many years to come, whether it be the accomplishments of Strider or Estel, your efforts will be desired for all those throughout the land." Gilrean's tears glistened in her eyes.

        "But, the race of Men are not all those that desire you and assistance, Aragorn. Estel is still needed to the elves, especially those of the family Peredhil, and the son of Thranduil. You must do everything within your power to survive. You *must*." Her elegant head tilted to the side, and she closed her eyes in silent affirmation.

        They then opened, and the tears began to track down her face. The dead queen of the Dúnedain opened her arms, and took her son into her embrace. Be it that he was taller; she had caught him around the waist, but nonetheless, held him close.

        Aragorn, for his part, could feel his mother's love for him, and wrapped his strong arms around her slender frame. He placed his chin upon her head, and closed his own eyes. He knew that this was not possible, that Gilraen had no physical form.. And, yet, it seemed that she had not been any realer to him.

        "My little Aragorn, not so little anymore." She whispered against his broad chest, tightening her arms around his lithe waist. "Your father and I could not be anymore proud of you than we are. You have come to be so much, so much Hope for everyone you meet." Aragorn could feel the sobs shaking his mother's body.

        "Mother, I didn't remember, for you and Father were killed when I was little." He then gently pulled away from her, to look into her own beautiful gray eyes. "Thank you for protecting me. Thank you for entrusting me to Elrond and his sons. Ada /father/ is the only father I've ever known, but I know that he did not have to take me in. For an elf to take in a mortal child... You and father trusted the right family."

        Gilraen smiled at her son's words. "We know we did, and we had talked to the twins soon before the attack. We knew that something was going to happen, and even when it happened we were not prepared, but we both knew how well Lord Elrond had taken care of Arathorn when he had lived in Imladris. Elrond could be trusted to take care of our one precious gift." She gently extended a face to his slightly whiskered face, and her grin broadened.

        "You've turned into a better man than we had hoped for." But, then her hand lowered, and sadness tinted her eyes. "I've got to go, and you have got to wake up. You will feel weak and feverish, but you must get to Rivendell. Tell Lord Elrond exactly what happened, and exactly how you feel. He may or may not be able to help you right now, but he is your best bet for assistance right now. Now, go, my son. You must begin your challenge."

/8/

        Waking with a slight groan, the vision still etched into his mind, Aragorn opened his eyes slowly. Looking around the room with a slight foreboding sense, he knew he had to go. His mother's warning fresh in his mind, he sat up. Recognizing the room swirling before his eyes, he looked to the ceiling, counted to ten, and took a deep breath.

        Looking to the interior again, the ranger climbed to his feet, and took stock of how his body truly felt. Sore was the first words that came to mind, and as he walked, his head let him know that it felt fuzzy.

        `Seems Ammë was right about the fever bit. ` He thought as he began to shift through his packs for a new pair of breeches and some bandages. Finding the material before the breeches, he sat down on the floor, removed his tunic, and began to unravel the soiled linens around his side.

        Examining the wound was difficult, but not impossible. Seeing the puckered and hot to the touch skin, Aragorn was a little surprised to notice that the wound was not attempting to heal itself at all. Knowing immediately that wasn't good; he administered new bandages, and tied them off.

        Taking his shirt off the floor, he slipped it back on, and then proceeded to change the rest of his clothes, albeit awkwardly. Standing a little uncertainly, he found his boots from where Léofa had dropped them, and then found all the rest of his belongings resting in their respective places in his pack.

        Lifting the satchel with his right arm, he cursed as he nearly forgot about his sword. A tad worried about his state of mind if he was about to forget his weapon, Aragorn reached down and pulled his sword by the belt. Strapping the belt firmly about his waist, he picked up his pack again, and looked around. Nothing apparent that he forgot, he walked out of the room; closing the door behind him. It was finally time to leave Bree.

/8/

        Elladan and Elrohir were pacing up and down Rivendell, both trying to "persuade" the other to request that they be allowed to go after Aragorn.

        After the `meeting` with Legolas, Mora, Ancú and the twins had left the study; splitting up into unspoken groups and directions. Now, Elrond's sons were restless within the gardens that usually provided them with peace.

        "We cannot allow this to happen!" and "Estel cannot be left alone for a minute!" were the main points of topic between the two, but neither one would bring up the true root of their worries.

        Their little brother, the one they themselves brought to their father's doorstep, the one that had returned warmth and joy to the Peredhil's house, was in danger, and no one had any idea of where to look for the wander some ranger.

        "Elladan, what if what Legolas says is true? What if Estel is already.." Elrohir attempted to broach `the subject` from his spot on the bench, but Elladan rounded to face him.

        "Don't you say it, `Ro! Estel is *fine*!" he gestured madly to the gate as he spoke. "He will ride through that gate, and he may be a little beat up, but our little brother will be *alive*." The tortured look on his face showed his twin that he wasn't angry for his remark, merely worried out of his mind for their human brother.

        Elrohir got to his feet, and stopped his brother from walking away. "I'm sorry, `Dan, but we both really know how Estel is. He has to find the only trouble in the world, and make sure right to get right into the thick of it." He made sure that his blue eyes met their exact pair as he spoke next. "Estel will be alright, and he'll soon be around to pester us all day long again, but right now, we've got to go and make sure that he can come back to do so. We have got to find him."

        Elladan looked to his twin, and nodded. Now, though, they needed to go and face the bigger problem; more troublesome than even finding their little brother- facing their father.

/8/

        Legolas sat in his guest chambers, the ones just right next door to Aragorn's own bedchambers. The prince sat, pondering over what course of action to be taken next.

        He knew how Aragorn may already know about the disease, and he might be on his way back to his father's house as Legolas sat here thinking about it. But, the other event that may have already happened kept revisiting his troubled mind.

        The twins were more than likely planning a rescue attempt, or at least a search, and the prince would probably be dragged into it. Not that he wouldn't go willingly, for Elrond's twin sons may be beat to the catch if they didn't hurry....

        Standing up, and crossing to the window, Mirkwood's prince leaned against the railing that wound around the balcony. His thoughts revolved around the ranger, his father, and his home.

        Aragorn, he realized, would never grow out of this. It seemed that the older he became, the more trouble he managed to find. Unfortunately, it almost always happened when Legolas was around. `Aragorn, mellon nín /my friend/, what have you done this time? Why aren't you here?` these questions would remain unanswered for a while yet, but what the prince didn't comprehend, was that things would only get worse from here.

/8/

        The horse raced onwards towards Rivendell, its rider nearly burning with fever. It was successfully keeping the human upon its back, but for how much longer would be anyone's guess.

        Aragorn had managed to stay conscious through most of the journey, and kept envisioning in his mind what his family's reaction would be when he arrived home in this condition. It cracked a smile every time he thought of his brothers.

        It had been only a couple of days since the Bree incident, and he had escaped the man town with only minor difficulties, mainly from the tavern owner's wife. Léofa had insisted that he stay a little longer, seeing as the attack hadn't occurred even twenty-four hours ago. But, after his adamant protesting, she had given up on him staying, and had decided to load him up with provisions instead.

        Now, a few days later, he was glad she had been so stubborn.

        He had wanted to continue traveling through the night, and late into the next night, but his wound did not allow such a vigorous schedule. After resting for an hour or so, the horse and the ranger had been off, but had ended up setting up camp by the end of the next day.

        Setting off after a night's sleep, the gates of Rivendell were now in sight. Aragorn realized that his father would go insane once he'd seen how badly off his son was, but there was nothing to be done.

        Not having to yell up to the guards(they were used to seeing the ranger or Legolas riding in injured), the gates opened once he reached them.

        Leading his horse into the familiar courtyard, Aragorn slid from his saddle gingerly, and began to pull his mount to the stables. That was when three figures came rushing from his father's house, and nearly managed to run him over.

        "Estel! You're back!"

        "How are you?!"

        "Where have you been!?!" came from Elladan, Elrohir, and Legolas, and Aragorn ended up with a stable hand taking his horse, and the three ushering him to Elrond, who stood at the top of the stairs.

        By now, the young human was feeling light headed, and he could feel the blood soaking through the bandaging he'd administered on the stop last night. He felt warm, and as soon as he saw his father's eyes fixated on his slumping shoulders, he knew the cat was out of the bag.

        The twins and Legolas only seemed to barely notice, for how exuberant they were in their joy upon seeing him back in Rivendell, but Elrond would not be fooled.

        "Mae govannen, ion nín /well met, my son/. You have been away too long." He stepped closer to Aragorn, seeing immediately that the ranger was about to collapse.

        As for Aragorn, he, too, could sense that something was not right.

        "Ada...." he stumbled on the steps, and his father caught his foster son in his strong arms.

        "Estel?" he asked worriedly, taking the human into his arms fully; one arm around his back, and one under his knees. "My son, what is wrong?"

        "I...." was all that came out, before Aragorn again felt himself lose consciousness.

        "Estel!" Elladan, Elrohir and Legolas nearly shouted in alarm. Glorfindel, too, had come out upon the young ranger's arrival, and now seeing Aragorn laying motionless in his father's arms, a chill went down the counselor's spine. Something about that seemed too familiar....

        Elrond made sure he fully had his beloved son in his arms, before he rushed into his house. Elladan, Elrohir and Glorfindel followed behind, Elrohir going to the store room for the herbs and bandages, and Elladan and Glorfindel following Elrond into Aragorn's room.

        Legolas hung back outside for a moment, staring sadly after the retreating figures. His head then turned to face the sky, his blonde hair suspended behind him, his sorrowed blue eyes staring; trying to see into the heavens.

        "Oh, Elbereth, watch over him. It is as I feared."

/8/

The little girl wandered around the ranger camp, staring intently at those she passed. Everyone seemed to be hurting, at least all of the men. She could not understand why suddenly they had fallen ill, but it seemed nearly impossible. All her life, she'd seen her elders as invincible, and now most of them seemed to have fallen to a hidden enemy.

        Walking towards to a tent on the far side of the camp, she could hear ragged breathing from inside. Quietly stepping through the tent's flap, she could see her mother leaning over someone in the corner, and could barely make out the words of comfort the older women spoke.

        Slipping over to her mother's side, the little girl knelt, and rested her head against the woman's shoulder.

        "Mommy, what's wrong?" she asked in a soft voice. Her mother nearly jumped from her position next to the wounded figure, and her hand went to her side. She relaxed, though, when her eyes landed upon her daughter.

        Leaning forward, she took the small girl into her arms, and turned her shoulders so she faced her. "Honey, nothing's wrong right now, your daddy just got a little sick this time. But, don't worry, everything will turn out alright." Her eyes had softened, and lost their desperate look when her daughter had claimed her attention, but now, they grew sad.

        "I need you to go and play by the creek, and wait until dusk to come back. We need you to be good, and stay out of people's way right now. Why don't you take a few of your friends with you? I'm sure their parents wouldn't mind them playing right now." The little girl climbed up from the safety of her mother's lap, and turned to face her.

        "Ok, Mommy. But, you'll come and get me if I need to come back, right?" her mother gently kissed her forehead, and smiled.

        "Of course. Now, go and play." The little girl then skipped out happily, screaming in happiness for her friends. Within the tent, her mother turned to her husband, worry again etched into her face. His face had turned even paler than before, and his breathing had regained some of the raggedness that had consumed him when they had found him by the river. He was deadly sick, and his wife knew it.

        "Oh, Celev. You have to be alright. You *have* to be."

/8/

        Elrond carried his son past the many tapestries that hung throughout the halls, barely giving any of the beautifully crafted masterpieces a glance. The worry that stirred within his heart doubled as he regarded the wounded man in his arms.

        Aragorn's face had paled considerably, and his breathing was even more labored than before. His father could feel the heat emitting from Estel's body, and the blood that soaked the left side of the ranger's torso.

        Rushing to the young one's room, he gently placed his son on his bed, and barely noticed as Glorfindel and Elladan scrambled around the room, preparing everything for Elrond to use to heal Estel.

        Removing his son's weapons from around his waist, and his boots off his feet, the elven lord quickly set about to strip the man of his tunic to inspect the wound. His eyes widened as the threat to Aragorn was revealed.

        It seemed that at one time, the wound had been stitched, but, of course, true to Estel's nature, the ranger had managed to rip them open. Now, blood gushed from the wound, and soaked the sheets and the healer's hands. Shock etched into his face, the elf looked up to Glorfindel, who had come over to offer his assistance.

        The blonde Gondolin elf only looked Elrond in the eye, giving him a silent support. `You can do this, mellon nín /my friend/, you have to do this. ` The elven lord nodded, and set to work. He had to save his son's life. He had to.

/8/

        Legolas waited outside the door leading to Estel's chambers with Mora and Ancú, and had only sat down once or twice in the past few hours that had passed since Elrond had taken the injured human inside. The three elves waited anxiously outside, knowing that their being in the way would not help the four healers within.

        Again pausing near the entrance way in his pacing, the Mirkwood elf didn't listen to the silent conversation Moranuean and Ancú held in the corner. He was too preoccupied with his own thoughts.

        What if Aragorn had managed to catch this disease that now plagued the Dúnedain's world? What if they couldn't find a cure to it? The prince shook himself as he faced the other two elves. He *would* not think that way. Nothing good would ever come of thoughts such as those.

        Ancú and Moranuean merely studied the blonde elf. They knew how worried the woodland elf was over the injured ranger, and understood his pain. Even though Ancú himself wasn't close to the human, he had only tolerated him when he was younger because he was Elladan and Elrohir's brother, the elf still felt sorry and worried for Estel.

        The human was not hard to like, even though he continuously got anyone who traveled with him into trouble. Ancú had found that out the hard way. But, now, when Estel was injured, the elf wished that someone had been with him. Perhaps it would have prevented anyone from hurting the ranger. And, then they wouldn't be in this situation.

        Moranuean walked over to stand beside the young Mirkwood prince. "Legolas, you don't need to worry. Lord Elrond will take care of Estel, and everything will be fine." Legolas merely looked to him out of the corner of his eye.

        "There's no need to try and comfort me, Mora. I know that Lord Elrond is the best healer in all of Middle Earth, but that still does not calm my fears for Estel." The Noldor elf nodded in understanding, and fell silent.

        Ancú proceeded to walk to the doors leading to Aragorn's room, and stared at them in irritation. "Surely Lord Elrond could send someone out with news...." he began, but was cut off as the doors opened to reveal a very haggard looking Elrond Peredhil.

        The lord had blood on his tunics, and his long, ebony hair looked to be disheveled and out of place. The look in the eldar's eyes succeeded in only adding to the younger elves' worries as the three surrounded him.

        Elrond pushed through, and closed the doors behind him. He sat down on the cushioned bench alongside the wall, and closed his eyes for a moment. Legolas eagerly walked over to stand in front of the haggard male.

        "My lord...." he questioned silently, waiting for the elven lord to answer. Elrond didn't even look up to him.

        "My son is in a grave condition, Legolas. He has not yet awakened to tell us exactly what has happened, but we cannot seem to get his side wound to stop bleeding! Whatever was on the blade that struck him, it is no substance I know of." Dread increased in size within the wood-elf's heart, and he almost hesitated to ask,

        "How is he now?" Elrond now glanced up at him.

        "He is still unconscious, and I do not expect him to awaken anytime soon. Even though it seems that the only wound he sustained was the stab wound, his fever keeps spiking, and then suddenly dropping. It repeats itself like a cycle. The first time it happened, we were certain Estel would regain consciousness. Alas, we were wrong." Barely suppressing a sigh, the elf stood again.

        "Ancú, Mora; I'm sorry, but only Legolas should really go in for the time being." The two elves looked a tad surprised, but then Moranuean nodded in consent for the two.

        "Yes, Lord Elrond. Know that our prayers and wishes are with Estel." The lord nodded, and he and Legolas watched as the two exited the hall to the gardens. Then, the prince looked to his best friend's father in puzzlement. Elrond did not share the look, and walked back into Aragorn's bedchambers.

        "Legolas, don't. You know as well as they do, and I, how close you and my son are. Your presence will help soothe him." Mutely, the prince followed Lord Elrond into the room. At once, his eyes were drawn to the figure lying motionless upon the bed.

        Aragorn's face was swathed in sweat, and his hair was plastered to his pale face. His breathing was rapid, and he shook with shivers that ran through his fevered body. He had no tunic on, and Legolas could clearly see the blood soaked bandage wrapped around most of the human's torso.

        Walking to the head of the bed, Legolas gently took Aragorn's left hand, and gave it a small squeeze. "Oh, mellon nín /my friend/, no." Tears gathered in his blue eyes as he compared his friend's appearance to those rangers who had died in Mirkwood. At this moment, Aragorn could be mistaken for one of the dead corpses that lay within the soil of the once great wood.

        "No, Aragorn. Can you hear me?" he whispered brokenly. He was scared. This was the first time he had ever been so bone-shockingly scared out of his mind. He was scared for his best friend's life. "Aragorn, you have to come back. Please, you have got to come back to us. You can't leave us! Not now, not for a very long time."

        Off near the fireplace, Glorfindel, Elladan and Elrohir watched as the prince kneeled next to the human's bed, and very nearly fell over trying not to cry. Elrohir made a move as to comfort the despairing elf, but a look from his father halted any movement.

        From behind Legolas, Elrond stood motionless, wanting the prince to somehow receive any response from his lifeless son. Seeing the young one so motionless was heartbreaking.

        Legolas continued to speak to his unaware friend, oblivious to the four other elves surrounding them. "Estel, remember? Remember when we promised one another that we would stand by each other till the end? That I would not leave you, and you wouldn't leave me until it was your time?" no response. "This is not it. It is not the time for you to leave me." Tears streamed down unknowing cheeks. "Please, Aragorn...."

/8/

        From within the comforting numbness, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, was disturbed from his peacefulness by only one thing. He could hear his friend's cries. `Legolas....`

        Not knowing for a second why his elven friend would be so upset, the ranger again had to recall the attack he had suffered in Bree. He then understood.

        One again, he had accomplished coming home injured, half-way near death's door. Once more, Aragorn had succeeded in worrying his family and friends over his condition.

        `Now it not the time! ` He reprimanded himself as he mentally shook his head. Right now, he had to find a way to reassure Legolas and his father and brothers that he was fine.

        Pulling himself from the numbness was possibly the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, and Aragorn was already exhausted. He managed to push his consciousness into effect, but getting his eyelids to listen to his brain's commands was a whole different story!

        All the while, he had identified the elven prince's voice getting stronger and louder, and the ranger could not understand everything Legolas was saying.

        The elf was still pleading with Aragorn to waken, not knowing the struggle his young mortal friend was fighting to return to him.

        Estel finally realized when he regained control of his body, for at once, a brilliant burst of pain erupted from his side, and he nearly yelled with the pain of it. Instead, a slight moan escaped his lips, causing his friends and family to crowd closer.

        "Estel, ion nín /my son/, can you hear me?" Elrond asked anxiously, awaiting any type of response from his youngest. The human, again, moaned, not quite able to open his eyes.

        Legolas leaned in closer to the bed, placing his head right near Aragorn's. "My friend, please, open your eyes. We need to see you're still with us." Struggling still, Estel found humor laced into the words.

        `If only he knew! ` But, his humored thoughts were cut off as his body let out a louder signal of pain at his discomfort.

        Moaning, Aragorn finally succeeded in opening his gray eyes, but they were a bit glassy for a moment.

        Legolas, watching as the ranger managed to open his eyes, smiled. Aragorn's eyes wavered around the room for a little while, but finally came to focus on the prince.

        "Leg....olas." Aragorn's voice came out scratchy, and Legolas could barely make out the words. Choking back a sob in relief, the elf dropped his forehead to meet the human's, and closed his eyes.

        "Yes, mellon nín /my friend/, I'm here." Aragorn's eyes also closed for a minute, but then reopened when he heard his brothers. Looking over their way, Legolas straightening up, Aragorn smiled.

        "So, does this count as being dragged home under my own power, or carried through the house in one of your arms?" he asked softly. Elladan and Elrohir did not even bother answering, but most merely threw themselves at their brother.

        Being careful about his wound, the twins still hugged him as tight as they could. Touched once again by how much his adopted family cared for him, Aragorn did not object, but just let his brothers hold him.

        Letting the three siblings alone for a spell, Legolas turned to look at Elrond and Glorfindel, whom both wore faces of relief and worry. The three shared a moment of understanding about Estel's condition, and the prince knew first hand about how the patient could seem okay one minute, but then have a relapse a second later.

        Both Glorfindel and Legolas stepped back to then allow Elrond close to his sons, and the two watched as the lord bent down to place a kiss upon the human's brow.

        "Estel, why must you always come home the way you do? Rivendell could more than likely start a new archive just on the different ways you manage to bring yourself home." Recognizing his father's worry, Aragorn just smiled up at the elf.

        "Oh, come on, Ada /father/. You know that your life wasn't exciting until I came around." He then winced, and placed a hand to his side, pushing his head back against the pillows.

        The twins, who had pulled away from their brother whilst the three other elves were communicating, immediately sought to ease the human's discomfort.

        Elrond's eyes lost their mirth, and a fatherly worry mixed with healer's curiosity overwhelmed his senses. "My son, you must tell us *exactly* what happened to you."

/8/

        Later that evening, Aragorn lay resting in his room, while Elrond, Glorfindel, the twins, Ancú, Moranuean, and Legolas sat in the Hall of Fire. Elrond sat in his own chair, the twins on a cushioned bench, Glorfindel leaning up against the balcony door frame, Ancú and Mora sitting near Elladan and Elrohir on the floor, and Legolas was standing near the fireplace.

        The two elves that had been left out of Estel's room were finally filled in about what had happened to the ranger, and now they all sat in shocked silence. Only until Legolas spoke.

        Looking directly into the flames within the hearth, he spoke quietly. "It is as I feared. Estel was given the disease, just as all those other rangers who had come to my father's realm for aid." Elrond's head rose sharply at his words.

        "No, Aragorn could be suffering from anything. It is an optimistic hope I hold, for even I realize the coincidence in all of this. Those rangers that had gone to Mirkwood were all attacked, and a special blade was used. Unfortunately, it could mean that one of those blades was used on my son." Silence again reined.

        "Elrond, could you not find anything about the disease? Surely there must be something within all your volumes about things like these." Glorfindel spoke out of worry for his young pupil. He, as well as everyone within the hall, knew how much something such as the death of Isildur's heir would impact Middle Earth. But, this also meant how much *Aragorn's* death would effect those that loved him.

        Shaking his head in frustration, Elrond looked the Gondolin elf square in the eye. "No, it's too new. Obviously none of us have heard of anything like this before. The only thing we can do right now is isolate the disease, and study it for all its properties. Then, we may be able to locate a cure, but events are still uncertain."

        Nodding in understanding, the counselor allowed the voices in the room to drop to a hush. Now, nothing could be done by the others, only Elrond. For now, they would just have to watch over Aragorn, and pray to the Valar that nothing new would occur.

/8/

        It was mid-day, and since the late meeting the elves, Elrond had barricaded himself within his study, attempting to find the cure to save his son's life.

        Elladan and Elrohir had gone with Legolas to stay in the ranger's room all night, but now were helping Glorfindel lead in the training of the elflings wanting to join Rivendell's guard.

        As for the prince of Mirkwood, Legolas now sat next to Aragorn's bed, awaiting any type of sign of the human's awakening. So far, nothing had rewarded his patience.

        Finally getting a little frustrated over all that had happened, the elf got to his feet, and stood looking over Rivendell's beautiful land by the balcony. His troubled mind ran with obvious questions over his friend's fate, but a small part of him wondered over what he would do if Aragorn were ever to die. The ranger's predicament had at last brought to light the elf's fears of one day loosing his closest friend.

        Ever since the two had bonded, Legolas had recognized that one day, the human would cease to be. But, being with the ranger, his overzealous love for life, and those who surrounded him, seemed to overshadow the fact that he was still only mortal. Legolas and the twins, not to mention Elrond, had always attempted to discourage Aragorn from thinking of himself as `just mortal`, but the statement held two meanings.

        In the ranger's view, it meant that he was weaker than his elven family. Unable to match their speed, their hearing or sight, and any of their abilities; such as walking on top of snow, or climbing a tree in under five seconds. To the elves, it brought to life that they would someday lose one they had come to see as a friend, brother, and son.

        Lost within his brooding, Legolas was oblivious to the sounds of Aragorn coming back to consciousness.

        `Not again! ` The ranger groaned as the pain infiltrated his body with a vengeance, seeming worse than before. `I can't go through another waking like this! ` He thought as he opened his eyes. Looking around the room in confusion, for he still did not see anyone, he tried to sit up on his right elbow, but the pain that shot through his chest stilled any type of movement.

        Lying down fully upon the bed, he closed his eyes to calm the agony that ran through his being. He knew not what was wrong with him, nor what ran through his veins. The only thing he realized about himself was that something was wrong.

        Legolas, hearing his friend's struggle, came over to the bed, and placed a delicate hand upon the uninjured side of Aragorn's body. "Estel?" he asked quietly, not wanting to startle the man.

        Opening pain filled eyes, Aragorn managed to smile reassuringly to the elf. "I'm alright, mellon nín /my friend/. It's just.." He cut off, and grasped his left side even harder. Legolas leaned forward in concern, and waited for the ranger to pull his hand away from his side.

        Aragorn could feel the wetness that covered his hand, and hesitated in revealing it to the worried wood-elf. Sighing in resignation, he slowly pulled his hand away from his side. Immediately, Legolas identified the substance, and quickly pulled away the covers to examine the bandaging.

        Seeing the linens drenched in the human's life substance, the prince crossed quickly over to the other side of the bed, and began to help Aragorn sit up so he could assist in the unraveling of the bloodied bandages.

        Dizziness overcame the human, and he again closed his eyes to keep the world from spinning. Leaning heavily against the immortal, he didn't notice Legolas' panicked look to the human.

        "Aragorn! Stay awake! You have to stay awake!" he pleaded to the ranger, trying desperately to keep the wounded man conscious. He was no healer, except for the training all Mirkwood warriors attended to be able to help those wounded in battle. Legolas had no idea what to do to help Aragorn now.

        Throwing the soiled bandages to the side, he nearly cursed in dwarvish at the sight of the blood sweeping throw the torn skin. Elrond had not restitched the wound, seeming as the blood flow never seemed to stop since Aragorn had reentered his father's halls.

        Knowing now that there was no possible way he would be able to accomplish this alone, Legolas carefully laid Estel back upon the bed. "Stay here, mellon /friend/. I'll be back with your father. Keep your hand here until we return." Saying this, and giving the ranger one last look, Legolas raced from the bedchambers.

/8/ 

        Elrond nearly groaned in frustration as he slammed another book closed. All the reading he’d done in the last few hours proved fruitless! After examining the properties of the blood he’d taken from his son, the endless searching for some type of cure, the elven lord had found nothing that could help him save Aragorn. 

        But, now looking around the disarray he had caused his study to become, the elf was nearly defeated. He knew that he would keep searching for any kind of answer that would lead to his son’s recovery, but he also knew that the pressure of being the ranger’s father and healer would inevitably take its toll upon his noble body. Even though he was of elven kind, and he retained the amazing limits of his race, the emotions would somehow prove to tear his body down. 

        Closing his eyes, and rubbing a hand across his temples, the elven lord sat back into the overstuffed chair he occupied. This was too frustrating, even for him. He worried for Aragorn, obviously, but also the mentality and stability of his family. If they lost the human, he feared that the Peredhil household would no longer be held together. 

        After the few months following his beloved Celebrían’s sailing to Valinor, he and his children had gone through a troubling time. When Arwen left to live with her grandparents in Lórien, and the twins had gone through their century long, rage-filled slaughter of orcs, Elrond had feared for the emotional baggage of their pain after their mother sailed.  

        But, after Elladan and Elrohir had brought a baby Aragorn to their house, a new light had been kindled. Hope had been brought to three of the Peredhils, and even Arwen, whom her father knew had been healed among the strength of her mother’s people. 

        When Aragorn had come to Elrond’s house, the elves had reluctantly accepted them into their lives. It had taken a while, but unsurprisingly, the three had fallen for the small boy’s tricks. He had managed to wiggle his way into their hearts, and ever since, the Noldor elves had been there for him, whether to protect him from dream or foe, or the resisting elves of Rivendell who were still determined not to accept the human within their realm. 

        And, now, when there was seemingly nothing they could do for the one they loved, no way to cure him, it proved that it may be the undoing of the household.  

        Unable to think about the consequences of Aragorn’s demise any longer, he looked up right as a panicked Legolas ran into his study, throwing the doors open against the walls.  

        Seeing the wild look in the prince’s eyes, Elrond was immediately on his feet, at the distraught elf’s side. Taking the younger being’s arm, he waited for Legolas to speak. 

        “Lord Elrond! You must come quickly! Aragorn’s bleeding has increased, and I can’t stop it!” the prince explained hurriedly. Elrond wasted no time, and sped off after Legolas down the hallway.  

        Reaching his son’s room, the elven lord went to Aragorn’s bedside. The man was looking even paler than before, and now Elrond could see blood through the blanket. 

        “Legolas, I need you to get me bandages, and some of the green herb in the corner. Hopefully, it should help clot the blood more.” Turning to his motionless son, Elrond placed a hand upon Aragorn’s forehead. 

        “Ion nín /my son/, I need you to open your eyes for me. Okay?” he asked quietly, but nearly frantically. He was desperately worried for the well being of his son, and right now, the human was in a great danger of bleeding to death. “Estel, I need you to look at me.” He spoke more forcefully to the nearly incoherent man, and finally received a response.  

        “Ada /father/,” he asked softly, his eyelids fluttering open. His father almost sighed in relief as he examined the wound. Immediately, though, his sigh of relief turned into one of despair. The wound had seemed to worsen over the time span from whence he last checked it over, and now blood was pumping slowly out.  

        Seeing the stained sheets, Elrond knew that healing his son in this unsanitary environment would not help Estel’s condition. Seeking Legolas, the half-elven turned to the prince. “Legolas, I need you to help me for a moment.” At once, the younger elf was at his side.  

        “I cannot heal Aragorn in these conditions. I will lift him, whilst you quickly remove the bedcovers. Understood?” the prince didn’t even waste time acknowledging, and simply prepared himself to help. 

        The elven lord very gently removed his foster son from the bedding, making sure that all stained sheets were away from Estel’s body. As soon as the human was lifted, Legolas worked quickly to strip the bed of the unnecessary materials.  

        Lying Aragorn on the now empty mattress, Elrond set about to fully tend his son’s wound. The skin was torn in an unusual way, and for the moment, Elrond had nearly no idea of how to stop the wound from worsening anymore.  

        Not looking over when Legolas brought the needed herbs and bandages, the elven lord attempted to comfort his injured foster son. “Shh, it’s alright, ion nín /my son/. Everything will be fine.”  

        Aragorn, even in his weakened condition, wanted so badly to somehow relieve his father and friend of their worries. But, for the time being, he knew, and realized, that he would have to merely fight to live, and that would be all the reassurance they would require.  

        Trying not to move as he felt his father’s hands probing his side, Aragorn’s whole body stiffened as the lord touched an extremely sensitive area. Closing his eyes tightly in pain, he waited until the attack subsided before reopening them.  

        When he did, though, he saw the anxious eyes of Prince Legolas looking to him intently. He could see the concern, panic, and helplessness written plainly across the elf’s face, and the human knew that the elf needed some type of spoken guarantee.  

        Struggling to find his voice, the ranger licked his lips. “I’ll.... be alright, Legolas. Everything’ll be fine.” He tried to smile, but the action of the movement turned into a wince as the pain reregistered within his young body.  

        Trying not to show his pain to his friend, he managed to smile fully. “Besides, whenever has a little stab wound kept me down?” he got out before a coughing fit overcame him. Nearly sitting at the effort to stop, the ranger felt hands at his shoulders and after a minute or two, when he thought that a competition raged within his body, his lungs or his wound wanting to see which would explode first. 

        After a time, the fit ceased, and Aragorn sagged against the supporting arms of his best friend, his strength sorely depleted.  

        Over the young man’s head, Elrond and Legolas shared a desperate look. Aragorn’s father stepped forward, and he gently took the ranger away from the elven prince, lying him down. He knew they had to work fast, and the sooner they started, the sooner Aragorn would be well again. 

/8/ 

        Elladan sighed in frustration as the youngling’s arrow struck the outside of the target. They had been out here for almost two hours, and this one’s aim still had not improved as much as the older elf had thought that it could. It seemed as if the young one was trying, but no matter how much, the flying projectile still did not hit the right mark. 

        Glancing to his twin, the older Peredhil took a step forward. “Aldacaran, I think that’s enough for today. Perhaps you should go home and practice, but Elrohir and I need to attend to other matters. We’ll see you tomorrow.” The younger, brunette elf nodded meekly, and put his bow down. Bowing a little to Elrond’s sons, Aldacaran walked quickly away. 

        After he disappeared from sight, Elrohir turned to his older brother. He knew exactly why Elladan had dismissed the student, but he also understood that for the moment, neither one of them were needed right now.  

        Placing a hand upon the other’s shoulder, Elrohir smiled to his brother. “Estel is fine, muindor nín /my brother/. Legolas is with him right now, and if anything were to happen, he’d get Ada. We have nothing to worry about.” Elladan didn’t look to his twin, merely glancing into the woods surrounding the elven haven. His mind was lost to his troubled thoughts, and nothing could disturb him.  

        Sighing, the younger of the two turned to their father’s house, and noticed when Glorfindel emerged from underneath the arched doorway. The blonde elf’s face was wearing a tranquil mask, looking almost too calm.  

        Elrohir started to meet his former mentor, but paused when he saw the stormy look in the blue-gray eyes. “Glorfindel, what is it? Has something happened to Estel?” he asked worriedly as he sensed his brother come up to stand behind him.  

        The Gondolin elf looked to his friend’s sons, deciding best how to reveal to them what he himself had just discovered. “Estel.... Legolas went to get Elrond from his study. It seems that Estel’s wound had kept bleeding through the hours, and now your father is working on him.” 

        The twins exchanged a panicked look, and started past the older elf, but he held out his arms in gestures of patience. “You must wait, nessa ers /young ones/, for Elrond needs all the room he can get to help your brother. He has Legolas to help him for the moment, and we must simply wait.” The twins looked to Glorfindel with identical looks of shock and confusion written upon their faces.  

        “But, we can help! Besides, Legolas is no healer!” Elladan cried in indignation. He did not want to face the idea of not being with his youngest brother when the human was in danger or injured. The older elf was used to being able to assist the ranger whether they were locked in battle, when he had nightmares as a child, and even cared for Estel when he was injured and alone in the wilds. This feeling of helplessness had only occurred two other times, and it was a feeling that Elladan did not appreciate. 

        “No, we will wait in the Hall of Fire. Your father will have seen to Estel soon, and we will have little time to wait.” Glorfindel’s voice was firm, and offered no gap for protests. He would hold the brothers by the roots of their hair if he had too, but those two would not see their brother until the right moment. No matter what. 

/8/ 

        It was a few hours later, and Elrond sat back in the chair next to his son’s bed. He was exhausted. Looking over to the prince, he gave the younger elf a small smile. They had managed to stop the bleeding from Aragorn’s body, and had sewn the wound. Right now, the young human was semiconscious, and obviously struggling to remain so.  

        Legolas was perched on the edge of the bed, still holding Estel’s hand. Worry still shone in the blue depths, and an anxious expression was evident upon his face. Even though the man was evidently healing, the elf was worried out of his mind for his young friend.  

        Elrond slowly sat up, and began the task of cleaning the linens and extra herbs they had not used, and placed them in the corner in a small chest of drawers. Looking back over towards the bed, the ancient elven lord nearly sagged in relief as the overwhelming thoughts of despair invaded his mind. He'd nearly lost his precious son. Middle Earth had nearly lost its future savior. And, even now, Lord Elrond realized that Estel was still in danger.

        Closing his eyes, and getting his bearings somehow, the elf centered himself, and then began to walk back to the elven prince and his foster son. Reaching the edge of the bed, Elrond smiled to Legolas, attempting to relieve the young one of his worries.

        “Estel is better now, Legolas. There’s nothing more we can do for him. The blood finally clotted, and the fever has lifted from his body. Now, all he needs is rest and care.” Legolas looked up to his best friend’s father, and nodded. He then seemed hesitant to mention what was obviously on his mind.

        “Heru nín /my lord/, must Aragorn stay here? The mattress is now much like the linens, and he cannot rest in these surroundings. I fully suggest, and volunteer, moving him into another room.” Elrond smiled.

        “I was thinking much of the same, young prince. And, yes, I think Estel should be moved to another room. I would have recommended the healing ward, but my son always seems to detest the place, and it gives the impression that he tries harder to escape the ward. So, I will move my son into your chambers, your Highness, if you truly desire him to reside within their walls.” Legolas nodded with a small, and leaned over to begin to take the mortal into his arms, but Elrond stopped him.

        “You always have to carry Estel when he’s this way, and I haven’t carried my son since he was a young boy. Even thought I wish it was under better circumstances, I will take him.” Wrapping Estel in the available blankets, and making sure the human had finally given into the darkness, Elrond gently took his youngest into his arms. Carefully maneuvering so Aragorn was fully supported, the elven lord led Legolas from the room.

        The designated place of residence for the prince had always been next door to the young human’s own, and now was no different. Bringing his son to the closed doors, Elrond waited for the blonde elf to open the door.

        Rushing around the room, Legolas stoked the small fire in the fireplace, and then went immediately to the bed; removing his weapons from the coverlets. Pulling back the warmest comforter on the top, the woodland elf waited for the elven lord to bring his young son forward, and then he moved. Stepping back away from the bed, the young prince of the former Greenwood the Great watched as father and son were comforted by each other.

        Estel had awoken somewhat during the short trip, and now looked to his foster father with sleep-glazed eyes. Pain was still evident upon the youthful face, but not as clear as before. Now, it seemed that the small pain barely affected the mortal, which was a good sign.

        “Ada, where....” Elrond cut him off by placing a finger upon Aragorn’s lips.

        “Shh, we’ve moved you to Legolas’ room for now. We must still clean yours before you may go back to it.” The human looked then to his friend, and smiled.

        “Again giving the bed to me, mellon nín /my friend/. I remember another instance much similar to this that occurred. Your generosity never stops.” He then smiled tiredly as a slight flush came to Legolas’ cheeks.

        “Estel! You gave your word you would not mention anything!” the prince nearly cried out in indignation. But, he smiled, too. As long as Elrond’s son was able to joke, that was very nearly always a sign that he was feeling better. This was good.

        “Well, ion nín, you must rest now. Legolas can stay with you, and I will go get your brothers. But, *rest*. We very nearly lost you, and I want to make sure that you will not push yourself this time.” The elven lord’s piercing eyes made Aragorn stop. He had been about to protest, but he noticed the look he had never seen before in his father’s eyes. At least, not one when he was on the mend. Elrond was still scared for his son’s life.

        Elrond gently moved some hair from Estel’s forehead, and kissed it. “Rest, and then you may get out of bed. Not before.” He then made sure the covers were under Aragorn’s chin, and then he stood up. Pulling Legolas to the side, he whispered into his ear,

        “Make sure he does not get up. He may be too tired right now, but make sure he doesn’t later. I should be right back with Elladan, Elrohir, and Glorfindel, but I do have other matters to attend to. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” The elven lord then left the room.

        Legolas watched as the lord left, and then turned back to Estel. The human had closed his eyes, but the prince could tell that he was still awake. Sitting down in the chair by his bed (it seemed to permanently reside there); Legolas looked to the resting man.

        Reclining in the chair, the elf merely watched his friend. The ranger seemed to be resting, but with this young man, appearances could be deceiving. Placing a hand to his temples, the blonde elf rubbed at his head with discomfort. All of this was taking too much energy!

        On the bed, Aragorn’s eyes opened slightly in exhaustion as he sensed his friend’s obvious distress. Trying not to move around in fear of aggravating his festering wound, the young man looked to his friend. The elf looked haggard, his normally radiant blonde hair hung limp around his slim shoulders, and his clothes had bloodstains all over the front. Shaking his head, Aragorn smiled tiredly.

        “Mellon nín /my friend/, you need a bath.” The prince noticeably jerked, and the human chuckled softly. Grinning in relief, the young elf moved the chair closer to the bed, and placed a hand over Estel’s forehead in mock playfulness.

        “You must be delirious if you think *I’m* the one in need of a bath.” Legolas said with a smile. Aragorn rolled his eyes as if to say `Yeah, right`, but then closed them in fatigue. Legolas looked to his friend in sympathy, and sat back.

        "You need rest, my brother. You need to relax, and allow time for your body to heal from the hurts it has sustained. You push yourself too far, but we will not allow this to happen this time. We very nearly lost you, and we have reason to believe that you are still in danger." Aragorn looked thoughtful for a moment, and then turned tired eyes to his friend.

        "I don't think the man was trying to kill me exactly. I just happen to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing else." Legolas shook his head in amusement, and leaned forward, closing the ranger's eyes with a small hand.

        "I should not have brought it up." He laughed, but then continued. "You need to forget about it; go to sleep. Nothing will disturb you while you rest." Aragorn sank down deeper into the soft bedding, and closed his eyes in exhaustion.

        "Rest, mellon nín /my friend/, rest. Everything will look up when you awake." Aragorn's eyes slowly opened, and he smiled almost childlike up at his elven friend.

        "Sing to me." He requested as his eyes drooped. Legolas laughed softly.

        "Really, young one? You want me to sing?" Aragorn nodded in sleepiness, and the elf smiled. "Alright, but just until you fall asleep." The prince looked to be in thought for a moment, and then smiled. Resting a hand on Estel's chest, the soft voice rang out throughout the room and Rivendell:

        //....So I was the one with all the glory,

        while you were the one with all the strain.

        A beautiful face without a name for so long.

        A beautiful smile to hide the pain.

        Did you ever know that you're my hero,

        and everything I would like to be?

        I can fly higher than an eagle,

        for you are the wind beneath my wings.

        It might have appeared to go unnoticed,

        but I've got it all here in my heart.

        I want you to know I know the truth, of course I know it.

        I would be nothing without you.

        Did I ever tell you you're my hero?

        You're everything, everything I wish I could be.

        Oh, and I, I could fly higher than an eagle,

        for you are the wind beneath my wings,

        'cause you are the wind beneath my wings.//

Legolas' voice slowly dropped off as he looked over to the slumbering human. The young one's weakness showed through during his sleep, and the elf had to smile again as he saw how innocent and carefree his friend looked. No one would believe one such as this was the savior of Middle Earth, and an heir of Isildur. No one would think that this one might suffer from an unknown sickness.

        Standing up, Legolas carefully drew the blanket up around Aragorn's shoulders, and made sure the room was warm enough. Sitting back in his chair, the elven prince watched his beloved brother sleep.

        Even though Aragorn already showed much more improvement over the time since Elrond had stopped the bleeding, the elf had learned in the beginning never to underestimate the disease. A couple of the rangers in Mirkwood's healing ward had shown improvement, but then in an unexpected turn, had died suddenly of body failure. Those were the cases that scared Legolas more than the ones in which death took them slowly.

        Looking once again to Aragorn's resting face, Legolas offered up a prayer in thanks to Iluvitar, the great elven Vala. Hopefully, he and his fellow Valar would help save the Hope of Men.

A Week Later

        Lord Elrond stood upon the stoop, watching as his sons and Prince Legolas rode out of the gates. A terrible feeling of foreboding overrode his senses, and he had to shake his head. He had the worst feeling now that that would be the last time he saw one of his sons alive.

        Leaning against the railing around the stairs leading into his house, the elven lord watched the path, concentrating on any indication that he would see the four tearing back up to the Last Homely House.

        Hearing footsteps behind him, Elrond could not stop thinking about the near future. "Glorfindel, I know not of which my sons are facing. How can I protect them when I don't even know what they’re in danger *from*? It is not merely this disease that bothers me, but rather, where did it come from? What sick form of nature did it spawn from, and did it truly infect my youngest?" turning to look to his counselor, the lord of Rivendell could no longer suppress his fear.

        Placing a hand upon his friend's shoulder, Glorfindel of Gondolin merely squeezed in reassurance. "You raised three responsible sons, mellon nín /my friend/; they can take care of themselves. And, the prince will be there, too."

        Elrond's eyes grew glassy, and an actual image took shape in his mind. His son, Elrohir or Elladan, he could not tell which, running through the looming gates, his mouth opened in a silent cry. "LEGOLAS!" was the dreaded word his mouth took, and the lord could now see the battered and bleeding figure of the prince lying cradled in the twin's arms.

        "Elrond, what did you see?" Glorfindel's gentle prodding pulled Elrond away from the vision, and he looked to his old friend with despair and anguish.

        "Mellon /friend/, we may be already too late."

/8/

        "Estel!" Elladan yelled in frustration as his two younger brothers tore down the embankment. "You'll tear Ada's stitches!" he bellowed in warning. None of them wanted to witness yet again, Lord Elrond's wrath at his son again ruining his hefty healing work. They all remembered last time.

        "Aragorn, you're not strong enough! Admit defeat, and come with us to the glen!" Legolas joined in, still worried about his young friend's condition, and trying not to laugh at the sight of the two brothers running down the hill like little children.

        "Never!" the Dúnadan yelled enthusiastically, and managed to get ahead of his older, elven brother. Elrohir laughed, too, and nearly doubled over in his fit, costing him the race. The two, now roaring with laughter, got entangled within ea