Title: Erfier (Only Mortal)

By: Chloe, the elvish, angst-loving, enthusiast, and being the third “Write” sister. ;)

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Rated: PG-13 (for major angst, and some rather heavy violence) This is NOT A SLASH FIC!!! I can’t stand slash, I don’t intend to ever write slash, and if you *do* like slash, I‘d appreciate it if you wouldn‘t bring it up here. So yeah. No slash. Bleh. ;)

Summery: Aragorn and Legolas have returned from their frightening adventure with the horrible plant Bengwiil, and are now safely back in Mirkwood. But are they safe? What is this young elf’s fascination with the nightmarish effects of Bengwiil? Why does Legolas continue to relive the memories of his infection of the plant? And what is wrong, or right, with Aragorn? (sequel to Iston, I know)

Spoilers: If you haven’t read this story’s back story, “Iston (I Know)” then yes, there are quite a few. Otherwise, no.

Disclaimers: Legolas, Aragorn, Mirkwood, Rivendell, and any other recognizable people or places in this aren’t mine. Gee, wouldn’t have guessed that! ;) These are all J.R.R. Tolkien’s only, and I’m just borrowing them. And after a whole load of angst and character torture, I’ll put them RIGHT back where I found ‘um! :D

Also, “The Song of Eä rendil” and “The Old Walking Song” are Tolkien’s, not mine, didn’t write it, not talented enough. Anyways, just in case you take one look at that (assuming you forget reading it in the books) and say: “WOW! I want to e-mail Chloe, and throw a party for Chloe, and be Chloe’s best mellon, because she can write poetry REALLY WELL.”

…sorry to dissolution you, but if you took a look at my poetry…you would probably despise me. ;) So, yeah. You are, however, welcome to do ANY of those things listed above ANYWAY, but I’m no poet. :D

Disclaimer Notes: As I said previously, on Iston (I Know) I couldn’t really find a place to put this story in Tolkien’s world, so I tried to write it so it *could* have happened, but you wouldn’t necessarily have heard about it. I apologize for anything in this story that doesn’t line-up with the events in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I did my best. :)

NOTE: If you haven’t read the back story of this, Iston (I Know), then you will like-as-not not get a whole lot of this. If you’d like to read it anyway, I hope you enjoy it despite slight confusions at times! And I will also be more than happy to answer any questions regarding the plot of the last story, if you’d like. :)

Marks: // marks are elvish translations. Example:

Erfier

//only mortal//

* marks are italics

Dedication: To Sarah and Hannah. Because, well I love them, and this is how I can repay them for that BEAUTIFUL story they just finished. *kisses Death or Despair* I LOVE THAT TOO!!! And yes, this is also a way of bribing them into posting their next fic early! *leaves to hunt down Thorongil*

Love you maer nosenari nin! :)

Well, you came to read the story, not the Disclaimer notes. Onto the fic! :D

Erfié r

(Only Mortal)

Chapter 1

Too Many Memories

A steady wind pushed the trees of Mirkwood around, causing them to sway back and forth, to the loud protest of their ancient trunks. It was a beautiful day in that deep forest, and promised to keep the pleasant weather, provided the rain held off just awhile longer.

Beyond the towering trees, over the Old Forest Road, through the enchanted river, and on past mile upon mile of fresh greenery, stood one of the most amazing structures in Middle Earth. Built into the hills of Mirkwood, and fashioned by the meticulous hands of the Woodelves years ago, it was now quite as ancient as many of the trees around it, though it did not show in these pale walls. It was indeed a site to behold. The Halls of Thranduil.

Through the gate, and past the great walls, there was a set of staircases. Up these three staircases was a row of rooms. And in the greatest of these rooms, there were three people; and Thranduil was among them.

He had begun the conversation with the two travelers before him, erect, and with an imperial look on his fare face. A look befitting an elfking. But as the story being told by these two people wore on, the regal air he’d donned came away, and he became solemn, and almost visibly distressed.

There was a long pause, as he let the most recent turn in the story sink in. He stared blankly at the one who had spoken that fatal word. A word he thought, and hoped, he would never hear again. It took him awhile to force his numb tongue to repeat it.

“Bengwiil?” the other nodded, and looked away from the elven king, with a sad sigh.

“Please father, would you not speak it often before me? Though Aragorn and I have had almost a fortnight since that night, it brings such terrible memories back to me.”

The second traveler looked over at the one who’d just spoken, and put a hand on his shoulder in reassurance. The other looked up at him gratefully.

Thrunduil was still deep in thought, though he nodded at the elf who had spoken first. “Pray continue, Legolas.”

Legolas nodded at his father as well, and looking towards the open window across the large room, stared out onto Mirkwood awhile. “Bodruith claimed that you had kept this plant from his uncle, and his father died because he couldn‘t be treated with it. He said in that way, you killed his father.”

Thranduil nodded absently. “I see.” was all he said, and Legolas looked hard at him.

“But Lord Elrond told us later that you were indeed innocent of this.” but Thranduil only nodded again, and forced Legolas to simply continue with the tale. “After telling us of his plot, Bodruith told me I would have but one hour still to live, and then the- this plant would destroy my mind, and I would die.” at this point, Legolas smiled over at the man beside him. “But thanks to Aragorn, I lived. He spoke comfort in my own tongue. Grey words that alone could get through to me in comfort. Once I knew this comfort, my mind could fight the poison away, and I came back again. Though, I had been determined to die. I- I had thought that Bodruith killed Aragorn, and I couldn’t bare it. But Aragorn brought me back, and I could even see with truthful eyes again.

He then tried to kill Aragorn, but thanks to another dwarf, Binwen, we both lived in the end, and Bodruith ran away. The dwarves went after him, and Aragorn after the dwarves to find a way out of their tunnels. While I was alone, Bodruith, who had feigned his retreat, came upon me, and I thought to kill me. But he instead drove his dagger through his own heart, and died there.” Legolas paused a moment, and steadied his voice, the grief of that day seeming so close still, but he soldiered on.

“Aragorn and I traveled away from those tunnels, and up the stairs to the surface of Mirkwood again.” Legolas glanced to his right, and a smile began to spread across his face. “Aragorn knows *exactly* how many stairs we climbed as well. How many, Aragorn?”

Aragorn glared at the other good-naturedly. The well-known looked earned him a soft laugh from his friend, and the human then turned his earnest blue eyes on the elfking, who was still deep in thought. “It was indeed your son, Lord Thranduil, who counted all the steps of Gabil Gû ndu, not I.”

“Aragorn!” Legolas laughed, cuffing the other gently on the shoulder. “I told you I did not want to present at this story’s retelling!”

Aragorn couldn’t answer for laughing, so he simply shrugged at his friend, while Legolas half-glared, half-grinned.

“Here. Right here in Mirkwood?” The friends tore themselves away from the private joke, and back to Thranduil, who was still looking distant, but now, also engrossed.

“Yes, he found the plant in an abandoned spider‘s nest. Why father? What is wrong?”

After a moment, Thranduil focused back on his son, and tried a week smile. “Nothing, my son. Nothing. I thought we had destroyed all traces of Bengwiil after Minaeg died of it.”

Legolas flinched at the plant’s name again, but Thranduil didn’t notice. He had become quite detached again.

“Well, we rode through Mirkwood, over the Misty Mountains, and reached the House of Elrond by nightfall. Elrond and Aragorn saved my life, and we left to come home again. And- that is all.” Aragorn turned to Legolas with a slightly quizzical look at his friend’s sudden curtness.

Legolas turned his silver gaze on Aragorn, and the annoyance with his father was quite visible in the look.

“I must retire, father.” Legolas continued, his voice now more weary, than impatient. “The hour is quite late.”

“Indeed.” Thranduil mused, not turning away from the blank wall he appeared to be gazing at. “Maer fuin.”

“Maer fuin, father.” and with a slight bow, Legolas and Aragorn left to rest.

**********

“Something unsettles you, Legolas.” Aragorn said softly, as the two walked down the stone hall.

“He hides something from me. He *never* hides anything from me. He is so distant, I cannot tell what ails him!” Legolas sighed, and for awhile, did nothing but watched his feet walk the long hall’s length. Finally, he spoke. “I am sorry, Aragorn, that I go on so. I am just not accustomed to my father keeping things from me. And he is not normally this detached.” Legolas sighed again, watching his feet once more. “And, of course, anything having to do with that plant unsettles me, and I am in no doubt that that is what my father is so distressed over.”

“Indeed, it must be, for that was the moment he became so ‘distant’ as you have put it. When we mentioned Bengwiil.” Aragorn, realizing his mistake, glanced quickly at his friend. The elf seemed to concentrate very hard on his shoes awhile. “I- I am so sorry, Legolas, I hadn’t meant to-”

“I know. I know you don’t mean me pain, I only- I only wish that I did not *need* you to not speak it. Whatever is wrong with me, Aragorn? The pain is gone. It is over. Why do I still think of it constantly? Why do I dwell on that which I want more than anything to forget. Why- why must I be frightened of a plant? Nay, but only the *name* of a plant. Why am I so weak?”

“You are *not* weak.“ Aragorn’s voice was firm, and almost angry. But he slowly walked a little closer to his friend, so he could put a hand on his shoulder. He murmured in a gentler voice, “I do not know what it is that causes continual pain to you, Legolas. But I know you can conquer it.” he squeezed the shoulder tight, in reassurance. “Iston nach.”

//I know you can//

And Legolas smiled at him, putting a hand on the one that rested on his shoulder. “Hantach, mellon nin.”

//thank you, my friend//

They walked in silence for awhile, before finally reaching the room they’d been heading for. Legolas glanced up the staircase that stood outside his bedroom door. “Is your room up there?”

Aragorn nodded, also looking up the stairs. “Your father said it was the only empty room this close to yours.” he shrugged “I don’t mind the dark, Legolas, I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I know, Strider. I was only wondering, I- it seems familiar to me somehow.”

Aragorn cocked an amused eyebrow. “Well, it should, Legolas, it’s your home.”

Legolas chuckled, and turned into his room momentarily, his voice continuing from within the bedroom. “Yes, Aragorn, thank you. I never would have guessed that I *lived* here.” Aragorn only shook his head in silent laughter as Legolas returned with his things.

“Here you are.” Legolas handed the ranger his bed role, and grinned. “Though I really don’t see why you need a bed role. We have *beds* you know, Strider.”

“Oh do you? Ah, yes. That’s right, *you* live here. Can‘t be without beds!” Aragorn’s innocent expression was shattered by the balled-up cloak thrust in his face.

“Thank you for your help, Strider.” and Aragorn only caught a glimpse of the elf’s smile before he turned, and went into his room. “Maer fuin!”

“Maer fuin, mellon nin.” and Aragorn began up the stone staircase.

As his footsteps echoed off the ancient walls, Aragorn was reminded strongly of his and Legolas’ journey up the light stairs of Gabil Gû ndu, and the memory made him cringe. He kept telling himself what he’d told Legolas on their journey back from Rivendell.

But even as his own words rang through his head, Aragorn found himself quickening his pace, and mounting the many stairs faster than he‘d meant. Upon reaching the top, Aragorn found, to his surprise, that there was only one room up here, rather than another floor. Shrugging, he pushed the door before him open, and stepped in.

It was a welcoming room. The bed was large, and full of inviting over-stuffed blankets and pillows. Aragorn collapsed into the bed, and had the wonderful sensation that it was almost swallowing him. He lay there, half covered in the bed’s folds, when all of a sudden, he sat bolt upright. A memory had flashed unexpectedly through his mind. One he was hoping he wouldn’t see again.

Erlond, draining the Bengwiil’s poison from Legolas’ system, a grim look on his face as the opaque liquid flowed from the gash in the young elf’s neck. Elladan and Elrohir were standing on either side of the bed, holding the prince’s struggling form to the bed. And Aragorn was trying desperately to calm him in the grey tongue. Calling him back to the light. But all the while, sure he was going to lose his friend.

Aragorn wondered what had sparked such a memory so suddenly, and hoped that it wouldn’t happen again. Slowly, he climbed off the bed, and walked to the washing basin. He dipped his hands into the icy water, and splashed it over his face, feeling a little better once this was done.

Aragorn paced around the large room awhile, looking at the various tables and stands. Each had something on top of it. A candle, another basin, some elven decoration or another. He looked into the table drawers, but found nothing of interest. Extra blankets here, more pillowcases there, and in one drawer, a spare, pale blue tunic.

Looking around the room again, Aragorn spotted a small writing desk beside the open window looking out onto Mirkwood forest. He sat at the desk, and reaching along it’s frame, found the latch to the top of it. Carefully, he opened the desk, and inside found a quill, a few bottles of ink, blank parchment, and then, an even bigger stack of parchment with writing on it.

Aragorn was intrigued. He lifted the stack of written parchment, and flipped through the pages fascinated. Each page was written on one side in a delicate scroll, but Aragorn couldn’t make all the words out. Every once and awhile, he’d catch a word like pain and artificial but for the most part, he couldn’t make sense of it.

He finally flipped the stack over, and on the last page, caught a word he understood. Iston. He stared a moment, then re-read it. The pages were not written in elvish, and so it was curious to him that there would be only one, and that one in particular. He made out the rest as best he could.

And the script cut off as though the writer had been in a hurry.

Aragorn cocked a judgmental eye as he read over the poor grammar again. It didn’t make sense! All that rang a bell was Iston but even that didn’t make sense, really. What was this writer talking about?

Sighing, Aragorn let the papers fall back into the desk. As he did so, another paper, lighter than the others, floated from between them, and onto the floor. Aragorn leaned over, and picked the paper up. On it was a pen and ink drawing of an elf. He looked rather like Legolas, but on closer inspection, Aragorn realized that he was merely another woodelf.

Below the picture was an inscription Aragorn couldn’t make out. Just an M here and a G there. All he could really tell was it was roughly five or six letters long. And below the inscription, the shadow of a leaf was drawn.

Aragorn understood this fairly well. It was clearly just a picture of an elf, possibly the one who had owned this room before him, and the leaf wasn’t too surprising, if it was indeed a Mirkwood elf. Leaves, trees, ivy, and any other symbol of nature were not uncommon among them. What perplexed him was the writing he’d read a few moments ago. It was practically not writing at all!

Confused, and figuring on asking Legolas about it in the morning, Aragorn blew out the candle on the table, and sank back onto the great bed.

He decided that whatever was wrong, it seemed to be so much stronger when sleeping on the huge bed. Maybe because it rather resembled the one Legolas had been forced down on, on that dark night a week ago. At any rate, he resolved to simply sleep on the floor.

He rolled his small, and Legolas had thought unnecessary, bed role, and lay down on it. He rolled over. Twice. And again. Rising up off the floor, the disgruntled human went for a pillow, and laid it on the floor at the top of his bed role. Once again, he lay down, this time with something to cushion his head on.

He lay for a long moment, but all he could think about was that evil night. He kept hearing his fearful words to his father when he’d lost his friend’s heartbeat.

“Oh father, I do not want to lose h-him!”

Aragorn closed his eyes to the memory again, trying so hard to shut it out, but to no avail. Finally fed-up, he grabbed the pillow, and decided to trade with Legolas. It was silly, and almost superstitious, but he had nothing better to do, and should also like to tell Legolas about the papers and picture he’d found anyway.

He made his steady way back down the ancient staircase, reminded once again of the nightmarish hours in Gabil Gû ndu. This thought, combined with the darkness now all around him, and the lack of candle light at the foot of the stairs, was likely why he made his way down the flight of steps quicker than he had up. He hated to admit it, but the long experience under the grounds of Mirkwood, in the Dwarvish city, gave him a phobia he’d never had before of the dark. It embarrassed him to think of it.

Once he’d gained the foot of the stairs, he stopped and leaned against the pillar beside Legolas’ bedroom door. He stood a long moment, catching his breath so Legolas wouldn’t know he had run all the way down from his tower bedroom. Finally, he straightened, and walked into the dark room.

It was slightly small, smaller than the one Aragorn had been put in. The walls were pale gray, and there was a window on each wall, and though they were covered by velvet curtains, they managed to make this room look less like a cave than most of the rooms in Thranduil’s halls.

Aragorn couldn’t help smiling at the thought, and the look widened as he gazed around at the many candles set on each table, windowsill, shelf, and anything else that would fit a candlestick. Legolas had obviously done everything possible to make his room look less like a cave. His fear of the underground, and especially caverns was understandable though, considering how many misadventures had taken place in them. Even so, the thought that he was so avoiding them was almost comical.

Aragorn could recall how Legolas’ previous bedroom had been a much larger one, on the same floor as his father’s. A grand room, but with no windows. After about the fifth night of waking up sweaty from claustrophobic dreams, Legolas had been moved to the floor below. A floor of good rooms, but certainly not ones for a prince. But Legolas was content, for there were several windows, and had no more claustrophobia dreams.

Ah, Legolas. Aragorn thought at the memory. So brave, and yet so frightened of such a little thing. Something that makes you almost human. Aragorn’s smile became unconsciously wide, and he no longer felt embarrassed about his sudden fear of the dark.

Aragorn approached his friend’s four-poster bed, where the prince was half buried in several layers of blankets. His face was covered by the hills in his feather pillow, and his normally tidy hair was sleep-tousled, and strewn over the rest of his pillow.

Aragorn leaned over his sleeping friend, and whispered quietly, “Legolas?”

Nothing.

He leaned over a little more, a little closer to his friend’s ear, and whispered again. “Legolas? Are you awake?”

From the depths of the pillow came a groan, and slowly, the elf turned over, and squinted up at the form in front of him.

“Aragorn?” He asked around a yawn. “What is the matter?” He rolled over a little further, and glance at the pillow that Aragorn held in his hands. “Oh. Go back to sleep, Strider, it was just a dream.” And with that, he flopped back onto his pillow, and kicked some of the blankets off him fitfully.

Aragorn rolled his eyes. “Legolas, really.”

Silence.

The annoyed human, out of other options, reached down, and jerked the blankets off his friend. Legolas propped himself up on his elbows, and was laughing. “All right, I can take a hint.“

“Yes,“ Aragorn agreed hardily “after the third try.“

Legolas was trying to laugh and yawn at the same time, as he said “So, what is it my friend?”

Aragorn sat on the edge of the elf’s huge bed, setting the pillow aside, pulling his knees against his chest, and gently resting his chin on them. “Well, I was looking around my bedroom, the one your father assigned me, and I came across something very odd in the desk drawer. About a twenty-page stack of parchment.”

Legolas pushed himself up against the backboard of his bed, and leaned his head back, watching the ranger intently. “What was on it?”

“Well, for the most part, I couldn’t understand it. It was like scattered thoughts, or a whole sequence of unfinished sentences. But there was something I caught that was familiar. Iston. It is a very, very familiar word now…”

Legolas’ eyes went to his friend and looked slightly worried. “Aragorn, do you believe this has to do with- with Bengwiil?”

Aragorn only nodded shortly, and looked away, wishing he had not driven his friend to saying the word he hated so.

Legolas was silent a moment. “Well,” he began “if these are writings of the previous owner of that bedroom, it’s very likely he was and elf of Sindar, and therefore, a word like ‘iston’ wouldn’t be so odd. It is a common enough Sindarin phrase.”

“True,” The young man agreed, but was not convinced yet. “But there was so much attention around that word. Oh, I should have brought it to show to you. Well, as best as I can remember it, it was something like, ‘Must be saying of what is known. Iston.’ It seemed as though the writer had been working up to this point, but didn’t even know it. It was…daunting.” Aragorn shook his head, and shrugged. After what Legolas had said about this Sindarin elf, it all made sense. And now he felt silly for running all the way down from his room to fret over it with his tired friend.

Legolas could see the embarrassment in the human’s eyes, and hated it. He hadn’t meant to make him feel so foolish. “Aragorn, I am sorry. You were right to inform me of this. If it unnerves you, you *should* heed that. I am sorry that I crushed your suspicions so easily. I shall not do it again.”

Aragorn seemed even more embarrassed that his embarrassment had been so apparent. But he was grateful none-the-less for his friend’s words, and smiled up at him when they were through. “Thank you, Legolas.”

Legolas smiled back. “How about you show me this paper you found in the morning. Perhaps I can decipher more of it.”

“All right.” Aragorn stood up from the bed, and turned to leave, but Legolas voice stopped him.

“Were you going to stay the night down here?” Aragorn turned a quizzical eye on the elf, and smiled sheepishly when he saw him holding up the pillow from upstairs.

“Forgive me.” Aragorn walked over and reached out for the pillow. “Every time I laid down on it, I had visions. Terrible memories of that night you nearly died.” He shrugged and looked down at his feet. “And, well, I thought it may be the pillow.”

Legolas didn’t laugh. He didn’t find the little fear of his full-grown friend at all silly, or comical. He reached out a hand, and laid it on Aragorn’s outstretched arm. “Dear Estel. Do not be troubled over such things. It was only a vision. Memories fade with time. At least I hope they do.” At this he sat back a ways, letting his hand slide off of the human’s arm, and his gaze blew distantly over the bedroom. “For these memories haunt me as well.”

There was a long silence. Aragorn stared at the velvet curtains of Legolas’ window awhile. They blew back momentarily, and Aragorn briefly saw a late-night hunting party taking off into the woods. Then, with a shutter, the curtain flopped back onto it’s sill again.

Finally, Aragorn saw fit to brake the throbbing silence, and return to life, rather than drift around in dark memories.

“So, may I have the pillow back?”

Legolas came back from his mind’s wanderings, and realized that he still held onto the pillow. His face broke into a half-concealed smile. “No, it is *mine* now.”

“There is not difference between it, and the ones you have, Legolas.”

“No, I think there is!” Legolas threw the pillow behind him, and fell on top of it with a contented sigh.

“Good grief, Legolas.” Aragorn chuckled, shaking his head.

“What?” the other demanded, feigning a hurt look.

“Well, I should like to go to bed, and I need a pillow.”

“Well, you cannot have this one back. I am growing far too attached to it.”

Aragorn couldn’t help laughing. “By the Valar, just give me a pillow, please!”

“Very well, very well.” Legolas pushed himself up off his mountain of pillows, and searched over them. “I think I should like to keep *all* of these.” Aragorn was still laughing as the elf threw himself over the side of his bed, and dug around in it’s unseen depths. Finally, he emerged, holding up three pillows. “One of these should do.”

“Goodness, how many pillows could you possibly need?!”

Legolas sighed, dropping the pillows onto his bed. “Alas! Every time I leave home, someone comes in and straightens me room. The unfortunate thing is, they always add half of a million things I don’t need, and certainly don’t want! And obviously, pillows are one of those things.” He grinned. “I can get you three more, if you should like.”

Aragorn shook with silent mirth, and snatched one of the pillows. “Thank you, but I think one will do.”

“To go with that bed role I *still* say you don’t need!” Legolas laughed, and lay down on his pillow-tower.

“Yes, exactly!” Aragorn laughed, knowing full-well Legolas wouldn’t know he was serious.

“Well, maer fuin, Aragorn. Sleep in peace.”

“And you as well, my friend.” And Aragorn made his way to the door.

Again he stopped, but this time by his own demise. And when he turned, there was a grin spreading across his face. “You know what this room reminds me of? Remember that one cave we-”

But because Legolas chucked the unwanted pillow at him, Aragorn was forced to make a hasty retreat out the door.

The human made his steady way back up the stairs; the conversation with his friend too fresh in his mind to think about the gloomy staircase. True, it made perfect sense to have a word like ‘iston’ in the midst of a Sindar elf’s writings. But somehow it was still unsettling. Deep down, the words on that dusty page had made sense to Aragorn.

Were these not the very things that had rushed through Aragorn’s mind when Legolas had lain writhing at Bodruith’s feet? He had wanted to get through to his friend. And his panicked mind had landed on Sindarin. Iston. Just as this mysterious writer had said. This was the very remedy for Bengwiil, and anything that made reference to that horrible plant couldn’t be good.

But despite all this, Aragorn was determined to keep a clear head. Legolas had, and he’d been through much more than the human, so why couldn’t Aragorn stay composed? He could, with determination, and he would. At least he would try. These dark memories couldn’t rule him forever. He’d rise above himself, if only he could try and forget his nightmares.

But though his thoughts were resolute, and his intentions good, Aragorn found himself sleeping on his bed role that night, propped up on Legolas’ pillow. Just in case…

Chapter 2

Beggars of Truth

Legolas awoke the next morning to the sound of rustling paper. As his opened eyes focused on his surroundings, he spotted Aragorn sitting on the edge of his bed, flipping through a stack of parchment. The pages he’d been talking about last night, Legolas assumed. “Do you humans *never* sleep?”

Aragorn jumped at the sudden noise, and turned to his friend with a smile. “I have not been up long.”

“Good.” Legolas replied, and pushed himself up against his headboard, as he had the night before. “So, may I see these papers?”

Aragorn nodded, and handed the stack to Legolas, who took them gently from the human’s outstretched hands, and spread them over his lap. “It is not very old…” he studied the writing again, letting his silver gaze slide over the minuscule writing. “You are right, it’s hard to read. And it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. It is like you said; random thoughts.”

After a few more moments of reading, or trying to read, Legolas glanced up at Aragorn, and saw he was holding a single page he hadn’t relinquished with the stack. “What is that?”

Aragorn looked up from the page, and turned it over so Legolas could see. “It was with the rest of them, near the bottom, I think. I don’t know who it is, and the name at the foot of it is as readable as the writing you hold.” He let go of the paper, and allowed Legolas to inspect it closer.

There was silence as Legolas’ keen eyes flew across the ink drawing of the Sindarin elf, over the illegible inscription at the bottom, and finally to the shadow of a leaf at the foot of the page.

“I cannot make sense of it either.” Came Aragorn’s quiet response as he saw Legolas’ bewildered expression.

Legolas shook his head. “I now know what you meant last night, Aragorn. I don’t like it either.”

Aragorn, though he did not like to see his friend upset, was almost relieved to hear those words. He suddenly didn’t feel so absurdly fearful anymore. There was indeed something wrong here, if Legolas too could sense it. Either that, or their misadventure with Bengwiil had made them *both* pessimistic.

“Well,” the elf finally concluded, stacking the papers up, and tapping the stack on his knee to make them even with each other. “I will keep them in my drawer, if that’s all right with you, Aragorn. Perhaps we can look over them together later. Perhaps then it will make more sense.” He smiled. “After breakfast.”

Aragorn returned the smile, and took the papers from Legolas. “Things are always clearer on a full stomach.”

“And if they are not,” Legolas shrugged, kicking his blankets off his legs. “they are at least more bearably confusing.”

And with that, Aragorn stuffed the papers into Legolas’ drawer, to be forgotten. For now.

**********

Aragorn and Legolas simultaneously dropped their breakfast dishes into the great stone sink in the kitchen. Aragorn was silent a moment while Legolas conversed with one of his many friends, Edren.

“You know who I haven’t seen about, Edren, is Raustal. Where has he got to?”

Edren looked up at Legolas sharply, and glanced around his shoulder as though nervous to speak. “He went out on that hunting trip last night.”

Legolas studied him a moment. “A hunting trip? Are you sure?”

“I saw a hunting party leave last night.” Aragorn nodded to Legolas. “Forgive me, I didn’t realize that was not a normal thing.”

Legolas shook his head in reassurance that it was fine, and looked over at Edren once again. “But why would there be a hunting party in the middle of the night?”

“No idea, really. But it was your father who sent the hunters out.”

“He did? Edren, are you *sure* of this?”

“As sure as I stand here, your highness.”

“But my father is not one to send any into Mirkwood so late. There are many dangerous beasts that roam about at night.”

“Which is just why I wonder at him sending them! He seemed very anxious for them to be on their way too, but we are not low on previsions. And the Spring has only just begun, so we cannot be at a loss for resources yet.”

“Indeed.”

There was silence a moment, while each considered the different reasons Thranduil might have sent out such a hurried hunting party so late. Then Edren spoke again. “Perhaps you should ask him about it.”

Legolas looked unconvinced. “I doubt very much I’d get anything out of him. He was so distant last night.”

“I’m sure it was the shock of our tale, Legolas. That is likely all. You would be surprised as well, were you in his position.” Edren looked from Aragorn to Legolas quizzically at the human’s comment.

“I still have not heard that story, Legolas.” Edren told the prince softly. “I should like to know why you left on a two-day hunting excursion, were gone for nearly a fortnight, and came back looking half-dead.”

Legolas shook his head. “I am sorry, Edren, but that is a tale I do not wish to tell at this time.” He place his hand on the elf’s shoulder, and smiled. “But I promise you will know in time.” Legolas’ friend nodded, and did his best to except the answer.

“At any rate, Legolas.” Aragorn continued, wishing he had been more careful with his speech, and not said ‘the shock of our tale’, knowing Legolas would likely not want to speak of it to just anyone, and a phrase such as this would likely strike the curiosity of anyone. “I think your father was mainly tired, for it was late when we arrived the other night.”

Legolas still didn’t look sure, but nodded, and agreed to speak with his father on the matter. This, unfortunately, was easier said than done. When Legolas and Aragorn required an audience with Thranduil, they were told he was currently too busy for discussion, and didn’t wish to be disturbed.

“Too busy indeed for his own son? What *has* come over him?” Legolas was still rather upset over the whole affair when he and Aragorn returned to the Great Hall that afternoon.

“Perhaps he is ill, Legolas.” Aragorn suggested helpfully as they made their way towards the gardens. Fresh air, Aragorn hoped, would clear his troubled friend’s mind.

“If he were ill, he would tell me.” Legolas shook his head and clapped a grateful hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “I am sure he’s merely…busy. It *does* happen at times, I just never like it. And I suppose after all I’ve been through, anything suddenly seems worthy of suspicion.”

“Do not let it trouble you, Legolas. Let us enjoy our time back. It’s home, after all.” And they made their way under the great archway that led to the gardens. It was a beautiful day, and not to be wasted.

The rest of the day was spent enjoying each other, and many other’s company. It was a splendid day, and Legolas and Aragorn were able to forget their horrible memories of their adventure for awhile. And whenever these recollections crept into their minds again, there seemed to be yet another friendly face, and far pleasanter subject to focus on.

Legolas, for once, felt at home, and ready to forget everything that had happened a week ago. Aragorn was so pleased to see Legolas’ spirits brightened again, that he couldn’t even think about the stack of parchments upstairs in the prince’s drawer. It just didn’t matter that much anymore.

But that evening, when many of the Woodelves had seated themselves in the Great Hall for an evening meal, trouble struck, as it is prone to do when anything is too good to be true.

Legolas had just finished eating, and was rising from the table to retire, when one of the elves from further down the long table also stood, and spoke loudly so that all could hear his voice.

“My dear prince. Pray, before you leave, will you not tell us of the adventures that you have experienced? For it is only your father who has been told of these things as of yet, and he is not present with us!” A murmur of agreement rippled over the table, and a few other elves stood up, nodding. Legolas sat down slowly in his chair.

“I so regret to say this, my friend, but I cannot. Not as of yet. The ache of this terrible journey I underwent but a fortnight ago, is too near for me to speak of it. I pray that you forgive me, and now excuse me. I am still very weary, and should like to get some rest.”

But only a few of the elves sat back down, and all continued to stare at him. Aragorn had a sneaking suspicion that they had not heard a word. The first elf spoke again.

“Oh do tell us, your highness. Tell of what you can! I myself have ideas of the cause of your pain, but I do wish to know the truth. If naught else, give us a hint as to what caused this trouble for you.”

Another ripple of agreement swept the long table, and several of the elves began to guess.

“Were you captured by orcs?” , “Was it Dwarves?” , “Surely you did not encounter one of The Nine!”

Legolas stood once again, raising his hand for silence, but had to raise his voice as well before he was heard. “Friends, please! Do not force me to do what I should loathe to.” he turned pleading eyes on the elf who had been speaking. “Tell me, friend of my father, what is your name?”

“Mornaeg, your highness.”

“Then Mornaeg, I beg you. Make me speak of this no longer.”

But Mornaeg was not ready to drop his curiosity. He had gone to a desperate level. “If your highness will not give us any trace of what it was that he has encountered, then please. Tell us, my prince. A simple answer of yes or no will do. Was not the cause of this misadventure the forgotten plant of Bengwiil?”

This was the right, but the wrong thing to say. The room broke. Several elves began shouting, and angrily shoving Mornaeg back a step for the suggestion. Some looked at their companion with fear in their eyes. Some glanced suspiciously from Mornaeg to Legolas. But most rose out of their chairs and pressed to Legolas’ side, eyes wide and increasingly probing.

Legolas found himself being shoved back into his chair, and questions flew at him from all sides, faster than even his keen ears could hear them. He did his best to calm them with words, but too many spoke, and the few clipped sentences he managed were drowned-out by the buzzing crowd.

“Please!” He cried “Please, do not- I cannot say as of yet what- it isn’t the right time to-”

He felt a warm hand close on his shoulder, and he was suddenly lifted out of his chair, and onto his feet. He was being led gently through the crowd, held by both his shoulders. It was Aragorn.

“Gwiil, maer mellyhn! Ea na gwiil!” The human called as he steered his friend.

//peace, good friends! Be at peace!//

Aragorn continued to lead Legolas from the room, shouldering elves off of the weary prince. It looked as though it would be a smooth enough exit, but several more eager elves pushed in front of the companions, and tried to force Legolas back to the table, begging him to tell them all he knew of the Bengwiil. Aragorn could only shoulder them away again, trying his best to push Legolas through the crowd.

They finally reached the hall’s door, and with a last effort, Aragorn forced his friend through the door, and closed it behind him. Pressing his back to the tall gate, he called in his loudest voice, “Friends of Thranduil! Hear me!” A few were silenced by the commanding tone, though most continued to demand Legolas back. “If you love your prince, please. Go and rest! Put your questioning minds at ease until Legolas is ready, and *willing* to answer them. Do not, dear friends, do *not* disturb him. I beg you. You do not know what he’s been through, and if you did, you would surely be more understanding.”

This silenced even more elves, and several had a look of discomfort and even guilt on their faces. Aragorn stood a long moment, feeling a little awkward standing as authority amongst elves, when he was only a man. But the fact that he was indeed doing it for Legolas, blew all possibility of fear away.

“Please.” He repeated, and was able to speak quietly, and pleadingly now that so many had been silenced. “Give him the peace he needs, and do not put your own curiosity above his comfort. He *needs* to sort this out himself. Once he has, I promise you. You will know all you need know.” And with these last words, Aragorn turned, and left the Great Hall through the gigantic door. No one followed.

When Aragorn moved into the huge room on the other side of the door, he found Legolas standing there as well. He wasn’t doing anything, but his very posture suggested distress. Aragorn moved in front of his friend, and holding him at arm’s length, looked him in the eye. “Are you all right?”

Legolas only nodded and was silent a moment. “How could Mornaeg know? No one but my father knew of the- the Bengwiil.”

“I know not.” Aragorn let go of Legolas and paced to the wall behind him. After a moment of thought, he turned his tired mind back on his friend. Legolas was like-as-not too weary to think about this matter now. Aragorn had to stay aware of Legolas’ weary state at still being so close to the encounter with Bengwiil. Now that it had come up again so dramatically, it would be even harder for Legolas’ to forget. He was now reminded of something else as well. Even once he had forgotten his fears, the whole of Mirkwood would have to.

As if to tie into his thoughts, Legolas spoke. “I don’t want to tell them, Aragorn. I don’t want to relive those terrible memories as though they were cheery adventures. I don’t want there to be songs written of the Bengwiil, like it was naught but an evil villain in a child’s tale. It was indeed evil…and it hurt. Deeply.”

Aragorn knew several things he wanted to say. Reassurance that these terrible memories would fade. That they wouldn’t necessarily have to tell the whole truth of their adventure. That they wouldn’t *let* anyone make light of the horrible plant. But he knew all this was in vain. Optimism just wouldn’t do it right now.

Aragorn approached Legolas carefully, and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it with the reassurance he wished to speak. “Let’s go and rest.”

“Let’s.” Legolas sighed, and smiled over at Aragorn appreciatively. That was all he needed.

The two made their way across the great room, up the stone stairs, and into the corridors, towards their bedrooms. All the while, saying nothing, but still thinking about the most recent events. The elves’ reaction to Bengwiil’s name was peculiar, but not wholly unexpected. Even so, it was unsettling that they would still react so.

The friends finally reached Legolas’ bedroom door, and Aragorn followed him inside. “Are you not tired, Aragorn?” Legolas inquired, as he kicked off his shoes and flopped onto his large bed.

“Yes,” Aragorn smiled “but I wanted to take another look at those papers.”

“Why in Middle Earth would you want to do that?” Legolas sighed, un-tucking his blankets half-way, and climbing down underneath them.

“I don’t know, a whole day has gone by, I thought perhaps it might make more sense now, if only a little.” Aragorn opened Legolas’ drawer, and pulled out the stack of papers as he spoke. Flipping through them slowly, he kept a keen eye out for something, anything, that might make sense to him. Nothing.

“It’s all nonsense.” He sighed, flipping to the last page. “Terrible grammar, even worse punctuation. I don’t know. Perhaps the elf who wrote this was half asleep. Perhaps he fingers itched at night, so he scribbled whatever came to him. That is the only thing I can make out of this.” He threw the stack back into Legolas’ drawer and sighed again. “Maybe the former owner of that room was only five years old. Well, you know, the elf equivalent of-” Aragorn turned to Legolas and stopped mid-sentence. He shook his head. “Can’t even stay awake long enough for me to complete my sentence.”

Smiling fondly, Aragorn swiftly blew out the only lit candle, and made his way through the dark, to the door. Suddenly, his foot caught something, and almost threw him forward. Growling at the interference to his exit, he turned and looked down at the floor. It was the discarded pillow.

“If your floor were any more cluttered,” Aragorn growled “you could roll off your bed and not notice.”

Aragorn turned to the door.

“I heard that.” Legolas muttered from somewhere in his pillow.

“You were meant to.” Aragorn responded, grinning. “Maer fuin, Legolas.”

“Maer fuin.” Came the muffled reply.

“And clean this room tomorrow.” Aragorn added before going through the door.

“Yes, father.” Legolas responded petulantly, and rolled over towards the wall, turning his back on Aragorn. The human shook with silent laughter, and left the room.

It wasn’t a long journey up the stairs tonight. Aragorn’s heart had become lighter at Legolas’ sudden change of mood. He so hated seeing his normally lively friend sullen, and the transformation from latter to former was encouraging.

The minute Aragorn entered his room, he knew something was wrong. The wind blew angrily through his window, pushing the curtains far off the wall they hung from. Paper blew around his ankles, and as he looked around the unlit room, he saw the desk he’d found those papers in, had been turned over. The ink bottles were shattered, and red, green, and black ink spread in an ugly stain across the floor, spattering blank paper as it went. The feather quill was already drenched in ink.

Aragorn walked slowly, looking around for any other damage, besides what had been done to the writing desk. Nothing else had been touched.

He was just beginning to wonder what to do, when he felt two cold hands grab him by the shoulders. And one was holding a sharp, elven dagger.

Chapter 3

Pain Without Cause

Aragorn’s first impulse, to push away from this intruder, and get his bearings, was soon dashed, as he was pulled against the stranger’s chest, his arm twisted behind him, and the dagger at his throat.

“Where is it?!” Hissed the voice from behind him. The normally melodic and calming voice of an elf was stifled by the angry tone he used now.

Aragorn wouldn’t know what to answer if he could have, but as it was, the dagger was too close against his throat to speak. He felt himself being dragged back towards the big bed, and he struggled angrily against the grip which only tightened.

The dagger was suddenly thrown aside, and Aragorn had only a moment to wonder why. Just as suddenly as the dagger had flown, Aragorn was whirled around, and forced face-down onto the bed. He gauged on the heavy smell that emanated from the thick blankets that pressed over his face. In his whirling mind, he picked up the sound of the dagger being retrieved, and felt slender fingers reach into his hair.

In a sudden panic, Aragorn wrenched himself away, and ignoring the sharp pain in his head from jerking some of his hair out, he leapt over the bed, and ran around it to the door. Throwing the door open, he called as loud as he could, “Legolas! Legolas please h-” but he did not get any further. The elf, who had taken a moment to get his wits about him, was now behind the human, and aimed a swift kick at Aragorn’s side. The human doubled over, grabbing the doorpost for support as the air rushed from his lungs.

He tried to straighten, but another blow hit him in his other side. And then, as if to top everything off, he was grabbed by the shoulders and thrown back a pace, falling on his back, and losing the rest of his air.

The aggravated elf jerked the stunned ranger upright, and pushed him back onto the bed. This time, he felt his arms being jerked behind him, and a strip of leather was tied around his wrists. But he was too busy trying to pull oxygen into his aching chest and dizzy head to struggle. Before he could think to kick at the dark being, he felt straps being wrapped around his ankles as well, cutting off the circulation to his feet.

Once again, the slender fingers tangled themselves in his hair, this time closing very close to the human’s skull, so to avoid any other escapes. Aragorn felt his head being jerked up, and he was looking in to dark, green eyes. The stranger leered evilly, and pulled his dagger up again. His voice was low and almost pleased as he spoke.

“I know exactly how it was. Do not move, or you shall mess me up. I should be very angry if you did so.” And he lifted his dagger.

Aragorn closed his eyes as the silver blade came nearer and nearer to his face. He felt sick inside as cold mettle touch his cheek. Suddenly, a sharp, stinging pain shot down the side of his face, and he tasted blood. Then another sting, and another. Soon, he couldn’t tell one cut from another, and he lost count in his agony.

“Please.” He begged, his voice hoarse and frightened as a child’s. “Who are- w- why are you doing this?”

“As if you, a human, could ever understand.“ Came the flat replay. The elf let go of his face, and let it drop limply to the bed again. “Perfect.” He whispered breathlessly, and Aragorn could hear a smile in his words.

Then, the elf lifted Aragorn’s bound hands, and pulled his sleeve back. Aragorn felt another sharp sting as the dagger was dragged across the side of his wrists several times in secession. It felt as though the elf were trying to sharpen his dagger on Aragorn’s wrists.

Once that was done, the young ranger was jerked up onto his knees, and the elf pulled him against his chest. He clamped one hand over Aragorn’s mouth, pressing the human’s head against his shoulder. He then lifted the other hand, the one clutching the dagger, and held it above Aragorn’s shoulder.

“Try not to scream *too* loudly.” He jeered softly, pressing annoyingly close to Aragorn’s face. “It wouldn’t do to have your friend up here too soon.”

Suddenly, he drove the dagger into deep into Aragorn’s shoulder. The human held his breath, pressing back the urge to cry out. Wanting Legolas’ help, while unwilling to give into stranger’s expectations.

“Please.” He whispered desperately, trying to speak around the firm hand. “Please s-stop…”

The elf leered evilly, and ignored the human’s pleas. Then, in one, swift motion, he jerked the dagger violently down Aragorn’s arm until he struck the bone in the ranger’s wrist.

He couldn’t help it. Aragorn cried out in agony, and struggled against the elf’s grip. The thin hand clamped tighter over Aragorn’s mouth, and the dagger jerked ruthlessly out of his wrist. Aragorn couldn’t breathe through the pain, so he began to pant violently.

The hand around his mouth let go, and he slid limply down the elf’s chest. He lay gasping for breath a moment, and felt the figure above him wipe his weapon off on the young man’s pant leg.

“Catch your breath now, human. You have little time.” Aragorn was suddenly flipped over on his stomach again and he tried to breathe as best he could in the position. “Stay quiet, now. He screamed over this one the most.” The elf’s voice was low, and cruel, and Aragorn momentarily caught a note of something else. Bitterness.

The elf once again tangled his slender fingers in Aragorn’s hair, but this time, instead of jerking his head up, he pushed the human’s face into the thick blankets covering the huge bed.

Aragorn’s oxygen began to fade, and his starving lungs burned. He tried to lift his head, but was pressed too close to the bed. The musty smell gauged him again, and he couldn’t think straight.

All of a sudden, he knew why the elf was attempting to suffocate him. He cried out with the last of his breath as the evil dagger plunged once more, this time into his leg, just behind his knee. The weapon struck his kneecap, and the blow sent an earthquake of pain up Aragorn’s leg.

The human’s head became dizzy for lack of oxygen, and his thoughts seemed to swirl with the feeling. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t see. Black spots appeared in what was left of his vision, and all sound was forgotten.

As if morbidly satisfied, the elf let go of Aragorn’s hair, and the nearly suffocated human gasped for breath once more.

Aragorn lay, half-unconscious from the unbearable pain that shot through his weary body. Every once and awhile, he’d feel the evil dagger slice into his finger here, and several times into his ankle there. They left only minor cuts, but they burned like fire, though Aragorn was in too much pain to notice more.

Finally, the dark elf wiped his knife off, on Aragorn’s unhurt shoulder this time, and nodded as if pleased with a work of art. He then sheathed his weapon, and rolled Aragorn over on his back, so he could look him in the face.

“There, human. Does it hurt?” He leered, his dark eyes shining like emeralds. He ran his fingers brutally down Aragorn’s cut cheek. Aragorn hissed with pain, and jerked away. The elf’s smile widened. “Good. Perhaps we will meet again. I must go now. Namarie, fier. Foolish boy.”

//farewell, mortal/

And he disappeared from Aragorn’s sight.

It was awhile till the elf actually left. Aragorn heard him rustling about the room awhile longer, perhaps looking for whatever it was he thought Aragorn had had. But finally, the wounded human heard the curtains rustle, and knew the stranger had escaped out the window.

Pain ripped through Aragorn’s entire body. He couldn’t concentrate on any one injury, for there were too many. His lungs hurt from his moments without breath, and his throat was sore from the blood that had flown into his mouth from the cuts on his cheek. Even so, he was desperate. He wanted to call for help. But with these injuries, he could only plead in a hoarse whisper.

“Legolas. It hurts…it really hurts. Oh Legolas, where are you?”

**********

Legolas was awake in an instant. He was *sure* he’d heard someone calling him. His eyes focused, and he looked about his room. He watched the shadows on his wall, and listened carefully.

“Legolas! Please help me!”

There it was. Had he only imagined it? Was it his paranoid mind? His mind tore itself away from the supposed voices and suddenly realized something else. The shadows on his wall. There was a candle burning in his room.

Legolas rolled over, and jumped onto his knees, his hand flying to the bow and quiver hanging from his bedpost.

There was an elf sitting at his desk, with a feather quill in one hand, and an ink bottle in the other. He had been writing something by candlelight, but at Legolas’ sudden motion, dropped both items. “Gwiil, my prince! I meant no harm!”

Legolas dropped his bow and arrow to his bed, and didn’t hold back the look of surprise on his face. “Mornaeg?”

The elf bowed low, and was shaking all over. “I am very sorry, your highness. I was only- I thought I

should-”

“What is it, Mornaeg?” Legolas sighed, returning his bow and arrow to their proper place.

“I came to write an apology to you . For bringing up the Bengwiil. I meant no harm by it, you know. I was just so curious- anyway, I came to write an apology.”

Legolas creased his eyebrows in confusion. “Why did you not come and tell me yourself?”

“I thought that after all the trouble I had caused you, you wouldn’t listen to me if I came to apologize myself.”

“Well I am sorry I have put myself across as one who would not forgive easily.”

“Oh- no, my prince, I did not mean-”

“No, no, Mornaeg, it is well. I am sorry I became so upset over a mere mention of the Bengwiil. I just need time, that is all. Time to forget the horrible feelings that it caused me. Until eventually, all I will be able to remember is the facts. And I can tell them as facts only. No pain left to tell.”

Mornaeg nodded sympathetically. “And I am most sincerely sorry for bringing it up, and questioning you so. Very sorry indeed.” And his expression was so deep and honest, Legolas couldn’t help but believe he was indeed sorry.

The prince shook his head and smiled. “Forgiven. And upon my honor, I will tell you all I have to tell in time.”

“I know you will, highness.” Mornaeg half-smiled, and looked down at his cloths sheepishly. “What a mess I’ve made.” He groaned, trying to wipe the crimson ink from his pale blue tunic.

“Here.” Legolas handed him a ink-blotting cloth, and shrugged. “Sorry, it’s all I have.”

Mornaeg still looked grateful, and wiped away most of the deep red ink. Finally, he set the cloth down on Legolas’ desk, and smiled. “Well, I believe I heard someone calling you, so I should go.”

“You *heard* that?” Legolas inquired, looking suddenly eager.

Mornaeg looked confused. “Well, it was loud enough. I think it came from down the hall. I guess someone’s looking for you, though it seems odd this late, does it not?”

Legolas scrambled for his bow and quiver, swinging both over his shoulder. “It’s Aragorn. I know it is. He was calling for help. Please, Mornaeg , come with me.”

“Anything, your highness.” And the confused elf turned, and followed Legolas from his room.

The two made their way swiftly up the long staircase. Mornaeg didn’t mind it too much, but Legolas liked it about as much as Aragorn had. For it reminded him too of Gabil Gû ndu.

When they finally reached the door, it was open. Legolas strung his bow, and walked slowly into the dark bedroom. Paper swirled around the elves’ feet, and a large, red puddle was spreading over the floor. Legolas toed at it nervously, but saw it was only ink. Even so, it looked a little too much like blood for his comfort, and gave the already dark scene and eerie look.

Legolas slowly made his way across the inky floor, his eyes wide in the darkness, trying to catch any sign of movement. Then, he heard it.

A softy groan came from the huge bed in the room’s center. Legolas sprinted to the bed’s side, and his eyes went wide with horror at what he saw. Dropping his bow and arrow, he threw himself to his knees beside his bloody friend. “Aragorn!” He cried, scooping the human’s head up in his arms. “Aragorn.” He repeated quietly, and his voice cracked with pain at seeing his friend like this.

Aragorn’s eyes fluttered open, and fixed on the figure above him. “Legolas.” He whispered, smiling faintly. “I’m so glad you’re h- here-” He broke off into a coughing fit as his throat constricted. “An elf. He- he just attacked me. Thought I had something. He attacked. It hurts.”

“What has he done to you?!” Legolas demanded, and tears began to slide down his face, as his silver gaze swept over the many cuts and gashes on the young man’s body.

“It hurts Legolas.” Aragorn whispered brokenly, and looked so frightened and vulnerable, that it rent Legolas’ heart in two.

Legolas looked over towards Mornaeg. “Please, go get my father and all his healers. Noro!”

//hurry!//

The pale elf nodded, and tore off down the staircase again. Legolas gently flipped Aragorn over on his stomach, and wrestled angrily at the leather straps around his friend’s wrists. His fingers trembled as he worked, and the knots were slippery with blood. After a long struggle though, he managed to pull them away.

“The coward.” He hissed through his tears, as he worked at the straps on Aragorn’s ankles. “Attacking an unarmed human in the middle of the night. And for what purpose?”

“I know not.” Aragorn whispered back, as Legolas tore away the last of the straps, and flipped his friend over again. “I tried to call for you. I wanted to see you.”

“Oh Aragorn, forgive me. I was so slow to come. I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me when I heard you. Oh I should have been here!”

Aragorn lifted two, crimson-tinged fingers to Legolas’ lips, but was too weak to touch him. “Sh…” He whispered, letting his hand drop to the bed again. “Legolas, do not blame yourself this time. It could *not* have been helped. He was too sure of his plan. He knew what he was doing.”

“But why?” Legolas demanded, his voice still choked with tears. “Why did he attack you? Oh Aragorn, if you die I will never, *never* forgive myself!”

“Do not say such things. You are the only reason I am still here. I’m holding out for you. Hold on for me.”

“I will Aragorn, I will. I promise I will. I will never leave you, you have my word.” Legolas pulled Aragorn further towards him, laying the wounded human’s head in his lap. Reaching down to the bed underneath him, he tore a strip of the blanket away, and began to bind Aragorn’s cuts. He couldn’t help the tears that spilled down his face as he took in the unfair wounds.

Four cuts over his cheek, six across each wrist, three over his ankle, one, deep gash in his leg, and a huge run from his shoulder to his wrist. Here and there, there would a slice our jab on the hand, the back, or the side. And all for nothing. For something Aragorn didn’t have. It made Legolas’ blood boil.

When he began to bind the large run down Aragorn’s arm, the human’s breath hissed sharply, and he pulled away. “Matho foech.” Was all he could say, and he tried to steady his shaking fingers.

//I am sorry.//

Legolas had just finished tying the wound on Aragorn’s knee, when he heard footsteps coming up the staircase. Thranduil appeared in the doorway, accompanied by Morenaeg and three elven healers. They rushed to the bedside, and one of the healers, an ancient elf named Prestomin, knelt on the bed beside Legolas and Aragorn. Gently, he took the bloodied human from his miserable friend, and pulled him into his own lap. “Aragorn? Lasto beth nin.”

//hear my voice.//

Aragorn’s eyes fluttered open again. “I hear you.” He murmured back.

Prestomin nodded, and leaned a little closer to the human’s face, looking into his eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Terrible.” Came the miserable reply. “But I also begin to feel dizzy. Everything’s spinning…it’s dark, and I- I can’t see.” Aragorn suddenly began to pant for breath in panic. “I can’t see- Legolas!”

Legolas moved forward, and leaned over Aragorn. “I am here, my friend. Gwiil, maech. Maech.”

//peace. you are well. you are well//

Aragorn relaxed a bit at the words, but continued to pant steadily. Prestomin looked up at Thranduil gravely. “He has lost much blood. We must stop the blood flow as best we can.” He turned to the other healers. “Tirniel. Go, fetch me extra cloths and some water. I fear I have not brought enough of either. Tirniel, find me some Salab. We will need to dull the pain. Then, also bring me as much Nanegro as we have in store. It is the only thing we can heal these wounds with, without risking infection at this point.” The elves nodded, and disappeared down the staircase.

“Mornaeg, will you light a few candles?” Thranduil asked quietly, and the elf quickly complied.

Prestomin looked over at Legolas. “I will need you to keep him conscious. It is the only way we can keep his blood flowing quickly enough.” Legolas took a deep breath and nodded.

Prestomin turned to Thranduil. “Your majesty, might I suggest that you close the door? Even once we have used the Salab, it will not be painless to heal these wounds.”

Thranduil nodded, and Legolas felt his stomach churn. He couldn’t bare to hear his friend’s cries. He wanted to leave this terrible scene, but refused to abandon his friend. To calm his mind, he took several slow and deep breaths. One. Two. Three. Legolas stopped. Something had hit him like a wave of hot air. Something unnerving.

“It isn’t safe.” Prestomin, Thranduil, and Mornaeg looked at Legolas quizzically. His eyes were wide, and his face pale. “This room is not safe.” He said slowly, and his eyes went as if in slow motion, from Aragorn’s bloody form, to his father’s confused face. “Get him out of here!”

Chapter 4

Loathed to Leave, Scared to Stay

Legolas began to pull Aragorn off the huge bed, looking desperately to his companions for help.

“We cannot move him now, your highness.” Prestomin told him, gently, but firmly, and moved forward to take Aragorn from him. “I know you are worried for him, but we simply cannot-”

“No, you don’t understand. We must get out of this place. Now! We cannot linger here any longer!”

“Legolas!” Thranduil snapped, moving around the bed and putting a resolute hand on his son’s shoulder. “Legolas, calm yourself! It will not do to be acting so at such a time. Keep your head.”

“No, father, I am not afraid for my friend now, but for us all. Something in this room is all wrong. You *must* believe me!”

“Legolas, please.” Prestomin’s voice was getting slightly impatient. “This does not help. Sit down, and help your friend. We don’t have much time.”

A hoarse, but determined whisper came from the bed bellow. “Please. If Legolas says it is wrong, I do not wish to stay here. No matter what pain it causes me, I would like to be moved.” Aragorn’s pale blue vision pierced Prestomin’s, and the healer finally nodded.

“Very well then. I must warn you, though, I see no point in this endeavor.”

Legolas’ voice was low, and saddened when he answered. “Neither do I.”

Aragorn smiled an encouragement at Legolas, who couldn’t help returning the glance. And it was indeed encouraging to see the look on Aragorn’s face of all people. This gave Legolas courage. If Aragorn could be strong now, when he was worse off than any other, Legolas could as well.

With the help of his father and Mornaeg, Legolas managed to lift Aragorn into Prestomin’s lap. The elf carefully made his way off the bed. Slowly but surly, after many ‘Oh, watch his head!’ ‘s, they pulled Aragorn off the bed, and into a standing position.

The minute Aragorn’s feet touched the floor, he hissed with pain, and his wounded leg crumpled underneath him. But Prestomin hung on to him, and holding him securely around the chest, pulled him up high enough for the human to lay his head back on the strong elf’s shoulder. “Easy, easy.” He whispered, as the young ranger leaned against him.

Legolas looked up at Prestomin. “How are we ever to get him down the stairs?”

“Someone will have to hold his legs up. There is no way he can walk down the staircase.” Prestomin responded, shifting Aragorn’s weight more onto his own shoulder.

Legolas nodded, and knelt beside Aragorn’s wounded leg. Without a word, Thranduil did the same beside the human’s other leg. Prestomin made no argument, though it was scandalizing that the elfking would stoop low enough to assist a human. But Prestomin knew the king’s love for his son, which explained all he needed to know.

“On three.” Legolas told his father, giving him a grateful smile. “One, two,”

“Three!” Both said, and simultaneously, lifted Aragorn’s feet off the floor. Aragorn knew what the elves were doing for him, and tried not to hiss again when his injury was momentarily jarred. Legolas laid a comforting hand on the ranger’s knee, and smiled over at him in reassurance.

“Mornaeg, please grab my cloths and water basin.” Mornaeg nodded, and ran to grab the supplies. “Now, down the stairs.” Prestomin instructed “But gently. Gently.”

Slowly, and ever so gently, as the healer had directed, they made their way to the door, and then on down the staircase. One painful step at a time, they began to walk down the long flight.

“Legolas?” Aragorn’s tired voice came.

“Yes, Aragorn?” Legolas responded eagerly, trying to look over at him in the darkness.

“Does this not remind you of Gabil Gû ndu?”

Legolas smiled. “It does indeed, my friend. Though lacking many stairs.”

“Lucky.” Came the faintly wry reply, to which Legolas’ smile could only widen.

At length, they reached the bottom of the staircase, and then on down the hallway. “As close to my bedroom as you can, please.” Legolas asked quietly, and they managed to find an empty room five doors down.

The three elves gently laid Aragorn on the big bed, and Mornaeg silently closed the door. “Mornaeg, please go find Tirniel and Harain. Tell them where we are.” Mornaeg nodded obediently, and setting down Prestomin’s supplies, turned out of the door again.

Prestomin wetted several cloths, and looked up at Legolas. Legolas, still remembering his original instructions, nodded, and knelt beside Aragorn. “Stay with me, Aragorn.”

“I don’t think I’m going anywhere.” Came the weary reply. Aragorn’s chest barely rose and fell, and his face was blanched from blood loss.

“Try and stay awake.” Legolas told him softly, and lifted the human’s clammy hand as he spoke.

“Goodness, Legolas, this looks familiar.” Aragorn almost smiled. “Remember? This is just what happened that night in Rivendell. When my father withdrew the poison in you.” His voice was weak. So weak that he barely pronounced any of his syllables. But despite this sign of his frailty, Legolas managed to smile.

“And I pulled through, right?”

“And I suppose-” Aragorn broke off in a hiss as Prestomin cleaned the blood from his cheek. “I suppose you’re saying I shall then?” He finished, though his voice was strained from the pain.

“Of course you shall. Humans may be mortal, but you are too much like an elf.” Legolas squeezed his hand. “You are just too hard to kill.” Aragorn smiled, but only briefly, for it hurt his cheek.

Prestomin worked busily at Aragorn’s cuts and wounds. He started with the smaller ones, hoping to warm Aragorn up to the big ones. It didn’t work. The healer laid the wet cloth over Aragorn’s shoulder, and pressed gently. Aragorn’s breath left him with a hiss.

“Please don’t.” He whispered, laying a hand on Prestomin’s.

“I must, Aragorn, I have to clean these out.” Prestomin told him, and Legolas gently pulled the human’s hand away from Prestomin’s.

“Now would be a good time for Harain to come back.” Aragorn gritted, wanting desperately for the pain to be gone.

“I know Aragorn. Where is that elf?!” Prestomin looked up at Legolas. “You must go find him. I need those herbs now. His shoulder is already infected, and we need to dull the pain. We cannot risk unconsciousness.”

Legolas nodded, but a look of resistance was evident on his fair face. This look was not lost on his father, and the elfking spoke up as soon as he’d noticed it.

“I will find him.”

Prestomin looked surprised again, but nodded, not being one to argue with the king. “Yes you majesty. You may want to look in the callers. That is where the herbs are kept.” Thranduil nodded, and Legolas smiled at him in gratitude. A look that touched Thranduil more than any words could have.

Legolas caught the sweep of joy across his father’s face, but wouldn’t know it for what it was till much later, and never fully understand it. He simply watched his father go, a huge wave of appreciation sweeping over him. As much as he wanted to help, he would give anything to stay with Aragorn.

Prestomin tried once again to clean the cut in Aragorn’s shoulder, and the ranger jerked, and moved away. “Please, don’t. It hurts.” He reached up, and put his hand on Prestomin’s again.

“Aragorn,” Legolas told him, pulling his hand back again. “he needs to clean the wound. You know this. Let him work.”

But when Prestomin touched the cut with the cloth, and began to rub it against the torn flesh, Aragorn’s hand flew to the healer’s yet again, this time gripping it. “Stop!” He shouted, but Prestomin only tried to keep cleaning, doing his best to be gentle, but now just trying to get it all over with.

As the cloth plunged deeper into the cut, Aragorn began to try to wrestle Prestomin’s hand away. “No! Please stop! Please, Prestomin, please!”

“Aragorn, gwiil!” Legolas called firmly, and tried to pull the human’s hand back again. But Aragorn, blinded by pain, continued to try and wrench Prestomin’s hand and cloth away from his shoulder.

Finally, Legolas prevailed, and with one last effort, pulled Aragorn’s hand away from Prestomin’s. He clasped the shaking hand in between his own, and squeezed it in reassurance. “Larhink, Aragorn.”

//calm down, Aragorn.//

Aragorn tossed his head over the pillows, panting and moaning. “It hurts, Legolas. It hur- it hurts!”

“Sh…sh…Iston. Iston renaeg.”

//I know. I know it hurts.//

After what seemed like hours, Prestomin looked up and nodded. “I have cleaned it as best I can. It is still infected, and his leg is as well, I fear.”

Legolas nodded, and moved one hand from Aragorn’s, to the young man’s sweaty forehead. Prestomin looked at the human, and sighed, handing Legolas a cool cloth.

“There is little I can do, if your father does not get here with the herbs I need.”

Legolas only nodded again, and ran the cool cloth over Aragorn’s head, carefully avoiding the cuts on the side of his face. “Where could he be?” He finally asked, quietly.

“I know not. Perhaps we should go find him.”

But then, the door opened, and Mornaeg stepped in, with Harain behind.

“Where is Thranduil?” Prestomin demanded, standing up, and gratefully taking the bunches of herbs from the two elves.

“I know not.” Mornaeg looked confused. “Is he not here?”

“He went to find you. But no matter, the herbs are what I had need of.” Prestomin handed back the handful of Nanegro to Harain. “Here. Crush this in some water, and wet some cloths with it.” The elf nodded, and Prestomin turned to Mornaeg, handing him the bushel of Salab back to him as well. “Take some of my wet cloths, rub those into them.” Mornaeg also nodded, and went to grab some rags.

Legolas looked up at Prestomin as the elf sat down beside Aragorn again. “Will he be all right, Prestomin?”

The healer was silent a moment, then met Legolas silver gaze. When their eyes met, Prestomin knew instantly that Legolas would not take one of his choice optimistic answers. He would have to be unpleasantly frank with him. “He has lost much blood, Legolas. He may very well make it, but I cannot pretend that it is going well. He’s fading, Legolas. I can only heal his wounds, and from there…” Prestomin shook his head, and looked away. He couldn’t bare to see despair on an elf’s face. Especially an elf such as Legolas, who was a normally light-hearted elf. He didn’t deserve this.

Legolas looked away as well. He would not have listened to the reply had it been optimistic, he knew. But he didn’t want to know the truth either. He didn’t want any of this. He wanted his friend back with no problems. No difficulties. He wanted things the way they had been. Where he could have sorted things out in time. Not this. Certainly not this.

He dropped his gaze to Aragorn’s still form. The human was looking back at him as he did so, and a half-smile crept over the ranger’s young features. “Eail gosta anim, mellon nin.” He whispered softly.

//do not fear for me, my friend.//

Legolas tried to smile back, but couldn’t. “You’re going to make it, Aragorn. I know it. I’m holding on for you.”

Hours rolled by. Once Mornaeg had finished crushing the Salab into a rag, Prestomin had used it over Aragorn’s largest cuts, mercifully dulling the pain. Then, using the rags Harain had soaked in Nanegro, Prestomin began the long process of healing Aragorn’s wounds.

He cleaned the cuts, stopped the bleeding, and bound up the wounds as best he could. All the while, the two friends sat, holding tightly to each other’s hands. Legolas whispered constant encouragement to Aragorn, and when the Salab’s affects wore off, and there was nothing to stop the pain, Legolas laid down beside Aragorn on the bed, and sang quietly in elvish. The song soothed Aragorn’s frightened mind, and calmed his heart into beating at a normal rate, despite the pain.

Prestomin finally finished his work, and looked up at Legolas. “I have done all I can.”

Legolas stared up at the healer from the bed, and swallowed hard. “And?” Was all he said.

“He has lost so much blood, and his body is slowing down too much. He- he cannot make it through the night.” Prestomin shook his head, and looked away. “I am sorry Legolas.”

Legolas couldn’t believe what he heard. He refused to. Laying an arm over Aragorn’s chest, and gripping his shoulder on the other side, he began to sing again. But now, he sang to everyone in the dark room. To Aragorn, to keep him alive. To Prestomin, to show him what to do. To Harain and Mornaeg, to give them peace in this dark place. And even to himself. To keep his mind out of darkness, and his heart alive. Burning with the flame of hope that Aragorn had planted there years and years ago. This light that his dearest friend had always shown him, seemed to shine through the words as he continued to sing.

“Through Evernight he back was borne

On black and roaring waves that ran

O’er leagues unlit and foundered shores

That drowned before the Days began,

Until he heard on strands of pearl

Where end the world the music long,

Where ever-foaming billows roll

And yellow gold and jewels wan.”

Legolas was almost half-way through The Song of Eä rendil, when the door to the dark room flew open. It was Thranduil.

Standing behind the elfking, were two other elves. One was carrying a basin of water, and the other held a gray sack. The contents of which, none could see.

“Your majesty.” Prestomin whispered quietly, rising from his seat on the bed. “I am very sorry. I have done all I could. His blood isn’t flowing quick enough. He-”

Thranduil raised a hand for silence from the healer. “It is well, Prestomin. I have brought something that- that will help.” Legolas lifted his head from the bed a ways, and looked at his father. He was quite surprised by the look on the elf’s face. Thranduil looked very pleased, and yet- worried. Frightened almost.

Legolas let go of Aragorn, and sat up on the bed, smiling at his father. “Oh, father, if you can do anything, *anything* to help him-”

“I think I can, my son.” Thranduil smiled back at his son, but still looked hesitant. He turned to one of the elves behind him. “Fill that basin with hot water. Then- well, you know what to do.”

Legolas moved forward on the bed, still on his knees, looking at his father expectantly. Things were finally looking up. He *knew* he wouldn’t lose his friend. “What must I do, father? Tell me anything!”

At this, Thranduil went visibly pale, and he didn’t look at his son as he spoke. “You must leave now, Legolas.”

Legolas was taken aback only a moment, but then shook his head, almost smiling. “No it is well, father. I do not mind standing by. I think I can manage it, and I will not make a scene again.”

“No, Legolas, you don’t understand. You must leave.”

Legolas watched his father carefully. There was a strange look about him. A look the proud elfking almost never wore. A look of guilt.

“Father? I don’t-”

Thranduil’s head shot up, and his eyes flashed in frustration sparked by his guilt. “Leave, Legolas. Now.”

Legolas shook his head, and slumped to the bed again, wrapping his arms around his half-unconscious friend’s shoulders protectively. “I must stay here.” It seemed childish, even to himself to reject his father’s orders so overtly. But he couldn’t leave. He promised Aragorn he’d stay. His father just didn’t know that, and could never understand it.

“Legolas.” Thranduil’s voice was low, and firm. “Come. You must leave. You will know eventually, I promise you.”

Legolas’ grip tightened around Aragorn’s shoulders, and he rested his head closer to his friend’s. “I cannot leave, father. I don’t mean to be rebellious, but I simply cannot leave Aragorn. Not now. I promised I’d stay with him.”

Legolas lay beside Aragon a long moment, and thought that his argument had gotten by. But all of a sudden, he felt an warm hand clamp down on his shoulder. He turned his head, and found himself looking into his father’s eyes. “Come, Legolas.”

“Father I cannot-”

Thranduil, with a rage Legolas could not understand, wrenched his son from his friend, and stood him on his feet. Legolas needed a moment to take everything in, but it was a brief moment. Suddenly realizing what had happened, he attempted to get step past his father, but Thranduil gave him a push towards the door.

Aragorn, awoken by the noise, and the absence of Legolas’ song, opened his eyes, and was confused as he watched Thranduil push his son towards the door. “Legolas?” He tried to call, but his throat was too dry.

Legolas was at the doorway. When he tried to turn around, his father would only grip him tighter on the shoulders, and spin him around to the door again. Finally fed-up, Thranduil wrapped his arms around his son’s chest, and bodily pulled him out the door.

“Father please!” Legolas begged, as he was finally landed outside the doorway. Thranduil looked loathed to close the door in his son’s face, but began to shut it. Legolas’ mind whirled. He was frantic. He couldn’t leave Aragorn! What if he died and Legolas wasn’t there? How could he bare it?

As a last attempt, he pleaded his case before the door was shut. “Father how can you be so cruel? Let me stay with him!” Thranduil paused a moment, leaving the door still half ajar. Legolas continued in desperation. “Please, I don’t care about the risk. I don’t care about what I may see if I stay in that room. Just let me stay! Please! Believe me, it is more painful to stand out here, rather than being in there.”

Thranduil seemed to think about it. But only a moment. Slowly, the door began to slide shut, until it was almost closed. “I am sorry Legolas.” Was all he said.

“Tur-each daer al milui?!”

//how can you be so heartless?!//

Thranduil stepped out of the door at this. He looked only a moment at his son before his hand flew. Legolas flinched, and stood stunned, holding his stinging cheek. Thranduil looked frightened. Questioning why he had even struck his son. He stood staring as if lost for a long moment, and then turned away, the look of guilt on his face again.

The door closed, and Legolas shut his eyes to the click of the lock. There was silence in the room a long moment. All that could be heard was the tap of footsteps inside, and the sound of water being poured, and wrung out of cloth. Then…

“No…no you can’t. Don’t-don’t touch me. Don’t touch me! Legolas!”

Legolas threw himself at the door at Aragorn’s panicked voice. Pounding his fists against the thick wood in frustration, the elf tried to tell what they were doing inside.

“Legolas!” Aragorn’s voice was choked with panic. “Legolas where are you? Where are you?!”

“I am here, Aragorn. I’m right here. Gwiil, mellon nin! Garor!”

//peace, my friend! Hold on!//

“Legolas- they’re- they can’t do it! Don’t let them touch me, Legolas. Where are you?!”

“Aragorn!” Legolas slammed his fists against the door, until the side of his hand began to bleed. “Aragorn, hold on! Siach! I am here!”

Legolas pulled angrily at the door latch. “Father, please! Please father, I beg you, let me in. Let me be with Aragorn!”

But his cries, though easily heard in the room, were fully ignored. His mind whirled, and his limbs shook with panic. He was desperate to get in the room. To be there for his friend. He slid to the ground, and looked through the gap between door and floor. All he could only see several feet rushing about over the bedroom floor. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

Legolas stumbled away from the door, and scrambled to his feet, his senses swirling with the awful memory of when he nearly died in Rivendell. He fell against the stone wall with a crack, and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor.

The door in front of him jerked open, and Harain stood, with a worried look on his face. “Your highness? Your highness!”

Legolas tried to breathe, but was overcome by these dark memories that seemed as real as he was now.

“Your majesty! Your son, the prince has fallen!”

Legolas looked up at Harain’s panicked face for only a moment. The last thing he remembered was his cheek touching the cold, stone floor. Then…nothingness.

Chapter 5

Recovery?

“He just fell?”

“As best as I can understand it. When we heard that loud crack, Prestomin sent Harain to check what was wrong. The poor fool opened the door to check, and I suppose that was the main problem. Though, not even I could have imagined it would hit him so hard.”

“Nor I. But I think he will adjust…in time.”

“Yes. Yes, as do I.”

Legolas’ eyes opened so gradually, it took him a moment to realize they were no longer closed. This was his first clue that he hadn’t been dreaming. His eyes would be open, if he had. He didn’t look around, but instead concentrated on the voices above him.

“How will you tell him, your majesty?”

“I know not. I can only hope he will take it well.”

“…will you tell him, or- or do you wish me to?”

“No, no I should. It was my decision, I will take the blame for it.”

“But would it not be easier coming from me?”

“Well, I will be sure that you are present when I break it to him.”

“Fair enough, sir.”

There was silence awhile, and Legolas suddenly realized that someone was running fingers through his hair. He also got the feeling that someone was gazing at him.

“His breathing has quickened. I’m sure he will awake soon.”

“That must have been quite the fall.”

“Aye, your majesty, it must have indeed.”

“I only wish I didn’t know so well what was wrong.”

Silence again. The fingers in Legolas’ hair paused, and a sigh echoed from just above him.

“I know.”

Legolas blinked. Once he had done this, he felt more like being awake, and with a slight murmuring sound, rolled his head back a little. As he did so, he realized he was gazing at his father. And with a look of great surprise and relief, his father back at him. “Legolas? How are you feeling?”

Legolas blinked again, and like a crushing wave, memory flooded back into his mind. His heart sank. “Aragorn.” Was all he could say, and the loss of his best friend, the fact that he had died without Legolas being there, weighed so heavily on his heart, that he wished he were unconscious again.

“Yes?” Legolas jumped at the unexpected response that came from above him. He rolled over, and sitting on the bed beside him, was…

“Aragorn!”

“Well, who else here goes by that name?” The human teased, and released the golden strands of hair he’d been toying with.

“You- are alive!” It was all Legolas could think of to respond, as he pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“Of course I’m alive. You said I would live, Legolas.”

Legolas half-smiled. “But I suppose I did not truly believe it. And who could, after what you were put through last night?! When I left the room, I was sure-” Another memory of the previous night suddenly struck him, and he looked away from the human. “I have failed you, Aragorn. I was not there…and I- I should have been. ”

Legolas felt his chin being turned back to his friend’s gaze, and the eyes were kind, but firm. “You were as there for me as you could have possibly been. Your father has told me everything, Legolas, and you would have broken that door to be with me if you could have. You did not fail me. You were there. You were there.” Aragorn released the prince’s chin, and smiled. “So how do you feel?”

“Fine I believe.” Legolas pushed himself up into a sitting position. A sudden rush of nausea swept over him, and he slipped back towards the bed without realizing it.

“Easy, easy.” Aragorn reproved, catching Legolas mid-fall, and gently laying him back onto the bed. “You’ve been through something too.” And Aragorn vaguely indicated Legolas’ head.

Legolas reached up to the side of his head, and felt around the lump forming on it. He shook his head. “I can’t fathom why I just went out like that. I was looking under the door, so desperate to get to you, Aragorn, and I felt dizzy. I- I had sudden memories of…of Rivendell.” Legolas didn’t have to explain which memories of Rivendell they he had had. “And I stumbled into the wall, and tried to breathe. Harain came out of the room, and then…I think he called Father, and I- and I fell…oh, by the Valar, I don’t remember anything from there.”

Legolas looked up in time to see the tale end of Aragorn and Thranduil’s look-exchange.

“What?” He demanded when Aragorn looked down at him again.

“Nothing.” Aragorn told him quickly. “It’s just strange that this would happen so suddenly.”

Legolas nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off Aragorn. The human was hiding something. But what? And why?

“Do you want to try and rise again?” Aragorn inquired innocently, though Legolas’ suspicion was not lost on him.

Legolas sighed, and nodded, a half-smile creeping back over his face. “Forgive me, I guess I go a little out of my way to be ‘fine’ don’t I?”

“Yes,” Aragorn grinned “I suppose you do. Another thing you and I have in common, I fear.”

“But, with your assistance, perhaps I can get into a sitting position without nearly passing out.”

“Sounds good.”

“I must go and see to something.” Thranduil informed the friends, rising from his chair. “I am glad you are *both* well.”

“As am I, father.” Legolas smiled, and with one last nod, Thranduil walked swiftly out of the room.

Aragorn moved forward, flipping over onto his knees, and put one arm under Legolas’ back, and the other on his knee. The elf pushed himself off the bed, and began to rise. He made it halfway, before his vision clouded, and his head began to swirl. He reached out through the fog, and found Aragorn’s arm. The one that had been resting on his knee, and was now holding the elf around his chest to keep him steady. Legolas gripped the strong arm with all his might, and vaguely heard the human’s voice.

“Easy, Legolas. Slowly.” His vision cleared somewhat, and he realized he was sitting up. Once in this position, Legolas found that he felt much better.

“Thank you.” He sighed, as Aragorn let him go. He reached up to brush the wayward strands of hair out of his face, but his hand only got halfway. Something red, and glistening had caught his eye. Stopping mid-motion, Legolas inspected his hand. It was covered in blood.

He looked up at Aragorn, who was tying an extra strip of white cloth over the bandage already on his arm. Blood was seeping through, and Legolas suddenly remembered the horrid gash that the white cloth covered. And he knew why it was bleeding.

“Oh- Oh Aragorn, forgive me! I had forgotten your injuries, and I held onto your arm without thinking. Oh my friend, I am sorry.”

Aragorn looked up from his work, and shrugged. “It is quite all right, Legolas. I feel nothing.”

“Surely you do. You cannot fool me that easily, Aragorn. I know you are not well.”

“It is true, my cuts need time to heal. But seriously, Legolas. I do not say this to make you feel better for me. I feel nothing.”

Legolas didn’t know how to respond. The human’s blue gaze was honest, and so completely unconcerned. There was no pain hidden behind the stare. Legolas believed him. He couldn’t help but believe him. Aragorn truly felt *no* pain. But why did this fact in unnerve the elf’s mind so?

“Come, Legolas. Let us go to the Great Hall and have some breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Legolas sighed. “Have I been out *that* long?”

“Well, you were out awhile, yes. But when you were knocked out, it was nearly daylight. You were up most the night with me.” And for the first time since he’d awoken, Legolas saw human weakness in Aragorn. A look of embarrassment crossed the man’s face, and he looked away momentarily.

“Feel no embarrassment.” Legolas reproved, swinging his legs over the bedside. “It means nothing now.”

That seemed to cheer Aragorn, and he leapt off the bed, and swung around the bedpost, looking over at Legolas.

“Careful, my friend!” Legolas admonished, looking nervously at the human’s wounded leg.

Aragorn too looked down at his leg. It was beginning to bleed through it’s bandage as the one on his arm had. But when he looked up, he only shrugged again. “It does not hurt me.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t hurt you *later* Aragorn, unless you are careful.” Legolas hadn’t meant to be short with his friend, but he couldn’t help feeling frustrated at the human’s sudden, and uncharacteristic carelessness.

Aragorn looked slightly hurt. “Do you not trust me to take care of myself? Am I still that weak though I’ve healed so quickly? Do you yet not trust me despite all this?”

Legolas felt a twinge of guilt. He shook his head, immediately dismissing all doubt in his self-reproach. “Of course I trust you, Aragorn, forgive me. I only- I don’t know.” He did know, and he could have explained it, had he tried.

But Legolas didn’t want to try. He didn’t want to admit that his sudden distrust of Aragorn was due to an ominous feeling. It would only sound silly, and likely, invented. Aragorn wouldn’t believe him, Legolas knew. That too made him feel uneasy. Something about the human had changed, and the difference was obvious and discouraging. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, knowing that all of a sudden, Aragorn just wouldn’t believe him. He knew that a day ago he would have trusted whatever Legolas had said. But now, it was different. Now it had changed. And it frustrated Legolas not knowing what exactly had changed and why.

“Think nothing of it.” Aragorn sighed, smiling at Legolas again. “It is all past. All forgotten. We need not worry about it.”

“Aragorn?” Legolas couldn’t help it. He was desperate for this uneasy feeling to go away, and cease tormenting him. “Are you- all right?” He wanted to say normal but knew that if Aragorn had asked *him* that, he wouldn’t know what to answer either.

Aragorn’s smile only widened. “Of course! Never better. In fact, I’m more than all right. Why, Legolas?”

“I was just- I was only wondering. You don’t seem yourself.” Legolas hoped that he’d get a familiar response to his unease, but that hope was in vain.

Aragorn simply shrugged and swung around to Legolas’ side of the bed. “Well, I feel just fine, Legolas. No worries, okay?”

Legolas could only nod. He didn’t want to say what he was thinking.

“So…” Aragorn sat down beside Legolas on the bed. “You want to go have breakfast now?”

“Sure.” Aragorn must have missed the discouragement in the elf’s voice, for he patted him good-naturedly on the shoulder, and went swiftly to the door.

“Come then!” And slowly, the prince walked to the door, and Aragorn closed it behind them.

**********

“I am well, Morneag!” Aragorn laughed, as the anxious elf asked for the umpteenth time about the human’s health.

“I know, you have said that. I must say though. I am *very* interested in this sudden recovery. After his majesty treated you, I was still very worried.”

“Well, the king’s treatment has worked more than excellently, Mornaeg. Do not worry yourself.”

“What *was* the treatment?” Legolas demanded, looking imploringly at Mornaeg. But the elf only smiled at him briefly, and changed the subject abruptly.

“I have arranged it with Thranduil, Aragorn. You will be permitted to sleep in the room you are currently staying in. I don’t know why Legolas had such feelings about the room you were previously put in, but for whatever reason, we have moved you.”

“Thank you, Mornaeg. I too had a few problems in that room, and would prefer not to sleep in it for now. Though it *is* closer to Legolas’ room.”

“Indeed.” Mornaeg hesitated a moment, and then glanced over at Legolas. “So…will you be investigating who it was that attacked Aragorn like that?”

Legolas shook his head. “I am sure the culprit is long-gone by now. And besides, as long as my father shows no interest in an investigation, I can do little. Though, I *would* like to know *why* he attacked Aragorn. There seemed to be no cause for such action!”

“Indeed.” Aragorn sighed, but then brightened. “But, I’m sure it doesn’t matter. Whatever he was after, he didn’t get it, and I am still alive.”

Legolas only raised his eyebrows as Mornaeg changed the subject again.

The two talked awhile about various unimportant things, and Legolas remained silent. He couldn’t think of anything to say at present. His mind was too focused on his unanswered question. What had Thranduil done to heal Aragorn that quickly? That completely? Nothing, in all of Legolas’ knowledge of healing herbs, came to mind. Nothing could have possibly healed Aragorn so.

When Aragorn and Mornaeg were through speaking, Legolas decided that some fresh air might do his friend good. Maybe put him to right. So the two went to one of Legolas’ favorite balconies. It looked over the woods of Mirkwood, and was so high, that one could almost- *almost* -see the Misty Mountains in the distance.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Aragorn sighed, glancing over the woods.

Legolas smiled. This was the friend that he’d known. The one that could see beauty in everything around him. It was relieving to find familiarity in the human.

“It is.” He agreed, looking across the forest as well. “It’s so green. Though, that could be due to the fact that rain threatens us at this moment.” He glanced up at the dark clouds. “I do hope it holds off just a little-” Legolas turned to look at Aragorn. The human was still looking over the trees, and half-smiling, but his face had gone pale. As Legolas looked closer, he noticed that the human’s hands were shaking, and his knees as well. “Aragorn?”

The human glanced over at him, and a look of interest crossed his face. As if nothing were wrong he replied, “Yes, Legolas?”

“Are- are you well?”

“Indeed. Are you?” Aragorn’s question was normal enough. No tone of unrealistic happiness in it. Just plain, simple response.

“I am well. But- you look pale, Aragorn. Perhaps we should go inside.”

“I feel *well* Legolas. Do not worry for me.”

Legolas said no more. The man’s sudden change in tone made it clear he found the case closed. But he couldn’t help but worry, and didn’t bother to hide his frequent glances towards his friend.

The day rolled by without incident. Legolas did his best to assure himself that Aragorn was indeed ‘all right’, but uneasiness was determined to follow him. He couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong, or right, with Aragorn, and his mind refused to think of anything else.

That night, at dinner, none said a word about Bengwiil. Their pity for Legolas over nearly losing his friend, had lasted longer than the prince could have hoped, and they didn’t want to disturb him on the heels of such a catastrophe. Also, Aragorn’s words to them the other night had made quite an impact. All this put together made for a silent, but not necessarily peaceful meal.

The air was heavy with questions all were dieing to ask. Though the Bengwiil had been, for the most part, put aside, questions of that perilous night were still on the tongues of all the elves. Many had been awoken by Aragorn’s cries, and still many more had arrived in time to see their prince, unconscious on the stone floor. This left many answers to be desired. All answers, in fact, for all who were there that night, save Legolas, had sworn not to speak of it to others without Thranduil’s consent. And Legolas was unwilling to speak of it anyway.

Dinner slipped by silently. Legolas, not hungry anyway, arose from the table, and turned towards the Great Hall’s door. Aragorn stood from the table, and followed his friend to the door without a word.

Suddenly, the complete silence was split by someone rising from their chair. “Aragorn!”

The two friends stopped, and turned. “Yes?” Aragorn responded, not incuriously, but a little too preoccupied to be interested.

The elf looked a little nervous, and glanced around at his fellows, though was offered no assistance. “I- do you feel well now?”

“I do, thank you.”

“Oh…ah maer.”

//oh good.//

The elf sat hard in his seat again, looking slightly flushed. He obviously had wanted to ask more, but half-way lost his nerve.

He was relieved, however, when Aragorn came towards the table again, and leaned on the chair Legolas had been sitting in. “Worry not, dear friends. I am sorry I did not put your minds to rest earlier. I wish to assure you now, that I feel no pain. In fact, if it can be believed, I feel better than I have ever!”

The elves nodded, and all looked at him smiling. They were clearly glad by the good news, especially with the rumor of Bengwiil still in their minds.

Legolas couldn’t take this. He’d been hearing it all day, and finally had had enough. Aragorn didn’t hear him as he went swiftly out of the Great Hall, and only knew he was gone when he turned, and looked over his shoulder. “Legolas?” Aragorn’s heart sank.

**********

Legolas walked blindly down the corridor, not even noticing the sound of his footsteps. His mind was too full. Full of worry. Full of frustration. Confusion. He couldn’t make sense of any of it, and no one would help him…not even Aragorn.

It was this last aspect of his situation that drove Legolas from frustration to despair. Aragorn was the person he could always count on. And now he was so- different. He wasn’t himself, and yet he *was* well! Legolas had nearly lost him to death, and should be relieved and joyful to have him back. But he wasn’t. Though Aragorn was alive, he didn’t seem back.

Legolas made his steady way to the end of the hall, and went promptly into his bedroom. He was forced to jump out of his thoughtful trance, when he nearly tripped over a pillow in the doorway. Still in the doorway. He lifted the pillow Aragorn had rejected that night that seemed so long ago. Slowly, sadly, Legolas added it to the top of his pillow-tower. He stood a long moment, and stared at his bed.

Suddenly, he flopped onto his bed, his head and shoulders landing in the pile of pillows. He sighed, and rolled over. Determined to get some rest. Perhaps things would be better in the morning? He could only hope…

**********

His legs carried him towards a hill. He couldn’t stop. The giant mound loomed up in front of him, and his legs forced him to run to it’s top. He finally stopped, once gaining the peak, and wished he could turn around and go back. There were fires springing up everywhere. Fires that caught the dead trees, and set them ablaze.

Everything glowed red, and he couldn’t breathe for the smoke. It engulfed him, and he thought he might pass-out.

Finally, his legs took him down the hill. He raced amongst the burning trees, afraid to see what had caused this horrid fire, but somehow knowing what it was anyway.

He ran as fast as he could, though he was no longer in control of himself. He had reached the pale, white walls. He stretch out his arms, grasping the walls for support for his tired body. The walls crumbled beneath his touch. They hit the ground, and turned into black ash. He looked around to see if any saw him. None saw. And though there was no one about, he knew none cared either.

He raced up the steps, but terror struck his heart. He had to turn back! He knew what was in store for him at these stair’s top. But his legs took him unwillingly to that bedroom. *that* bedroom.

The door swung open, and he stepped in. There was a bed. There was someone lying in it. Dieing in it.

“Father!” He screamed, but couldn’t speak. All he could do was push closer to the bed, and kneel beside the elf lying there.

The elfking was dieing. “You- you do not know what you have done.” He fell back onto the bed again, and became limp.

“No!” Legolas cried without speaking, and he tried to back away. His father seemed to hold him there, though he was dead. Legolas struggled against the weight of the king, and tried to pull back again. The bed sank beneath him, and he was falling into it. Falling. Falling.

“Estel! Estel help me!” He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. Darkness crept around him.

“Estel! No, please! Us nin er! Us nin! No! No!”

//leave me alone! Leave me!//

Legolas sat bolt upright, drenched in cold sweat.

“Legolas!” An arm wrapped around his shoulders, and pulled him against a warm body. Legolas would have flinched, and probably grabbed for his bow, but he recognized the smell of the tunic his face was pressed against, and he relaxed some.

“Father.” He sighed, and closed his eyes. He was shaking all over, fear covering him from head to toe. The familiar nightmare was too much. After all that had happened with Aragorn this past day, the nightmare’s return overwhelmed him. At that moment, he didn’t think he had ever been more frightened in his life.

“Legolas? Legolas, what is it?” His father, though quick to hold his frightened son, was still confused. “I heard you cry out. I came as quickly as I could.”

“I’m glad you are here.” Legolas whispered, and relaxed further, reaching a hand up to grip his father’s arm. Thranduil ran a gentle hand down Legolas’ head, letting his fingers slide through the thin hair.

“What is wrong, Legolas?”

“I had- I had a dream.”

“A frightening one?”

“Yes.” Legolas didn’t feel ashamed. He was too shaken to be anything but relieved to see his father. His father that in his dream, he had lost. He was here. He was alive.

“Will you tell me of your dream, my son?”

“I don’t wish to…but perhaps-”

“Perhaps it would take away this horror if you spoke of it?”

“Yes, maybe.” Legolas nodded, and moving away from his father, sat back on his heals. “I dreamt I was walking through Mirkwood. There were fires everywhere. They burnt our home down. I approached the Halls, and they too was crumbling. I went up stairs, long stairs, and found a room. Someone was there. Dieing…” Legolas sat quietly and just breathed a moment. He didn’t look at his father, but across the room, trying to gain strength to keep talking. “It was *you* father. You were dieing. I tried to speak to you, but I couldn’t say anything. And then you began to sink into the bed below. You were so heavy, I couldn’t hold you up. And you spoke, saying, ‘you do-’”

“‘You do not know what you have done.’”

Legolas stopped. He looked up at his father, curiously. “How did you know?”

The elfking had a far-away look on his face, and he didn’t return his son’s gaze for a long while. Finally, he looked up, and there were unshed tears shining in his eyes. “I didn’t…” He lied, brushing away the signs of his grief with an angry hand.

Legolas clearly didn’t buy it, but he was sick of secrets. Sick of things being concealed from him. With a weary sigh, he rested his forehead against his father’s shoulder. “I don’t care about the dream anymore, father. It scared me, yes, but the worst part was only reawakening. When I am a awake, I keep thinking. All my thoughts land on Aragorn, and I just don’t care to think about him now.”

Thranduil threw the elf a hasty glance. “Why is that, Legolas?”

Again, Legolas sighed, this time raising a sweaty hand, and pressing it against his closed eyes. “It worries me so, being around him. He’s not himself…” Legolas didn’t want to discuss it, really. He felt like he was only repeating himself. Saying the same gloomy things over and over. “Father, I would be content,” Legolas pushed himself back on his heals again, so he could look the elfking in the face. “if only I could know how you saved Aragorn’s life.”

Thranduil’s blanch was visible, even in the darkness. “Legolas I-”

“I have a right to know. *please* father. Please tell me how you saved Aragorn.”

The elven father sighed, and the sound was heavy with sadness and, to Legolas’ apprehension, fear. Thranduil finally nodded, and only briefly met his son’s constant gaze.

“Legolas, we- no. It was I. I…I have healed your friend. But at a price.”

Legolas swallowed hard. Trying to prepare his ears and heart for the next words. He couldn’t have ever prepared them for what Thranduil said next.

“I took desperate measures, and…and I have fed Aragorn a leaf of Bengwiil.”

Chapter 6

Impossible Circumstances

If Legolas’ mouth went dry, he didn’t notice. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach, and for a moment he didn’t breathe. Thranduil sat beside him, completely silent after the revelation. He had known that Legolas wouldn’t take it well, and waited for his son to begin yelling. But when Legolas spoke, his voice was broken, and the sound ripped the elven father’s heart in two.

“Father? Tell me you have not.” Thranduil wanted to run from the room, but looked up to meet his son’s gaze. The look in Legolas’ eyes was heartrending.

“Legolas, I thought- he is well now!”

“He is not. He can’t be…” the door swung open at this, and father and son looked up. Aragorn stood in the doorway. His blue gaze went slowly from Thranduil’s pale completion, to Legolas large, and frightened eyes. He turned away at this last look, for he just couldn’t stand it.

“You have told him.” Was all he said, and he slowly closed the door behind him.

“I have.” Thranduil responded wearily, and looked a little relieved to have Aragorn with them. Surely Legolas would be more at ease once Aragorn explained everything. But his hopes were in vain.

“You…knew?” Legolas’ voice shook, and his silver eyes pierced Aragorn’s blue ones as the human approached the huge bed. “You knew. You let them use Bengwiil. After all we went through, Aragorn! After all that, you *let* them use Bengwiil on you?! Have you forgotten those horror-filled nights in Gabil Gû ndu? Have you?!”

“Legolas, please.” Aragorn sat down on the bed, slowly, never once taking his eyes off Legolas’. “I did not *let* them. They forced me to. But it *was* the only thing to do.” He added quickly, when Legolas’ sharp eyes hit his father. “I would have definitely died, had your father not given me Bengwiil, Legolas. You know this. It was the only thing that could be done.”

Legolas held his friends gaze a long moment, and then let go of it, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. “Then there is no hope. You are not back. My father has only bought you more time.”

“No, Legolas.” Aragorn reached for Legolas’ knee, but the gesture didn’t give the elf any comfort. “I *am* back. I am well.”

“You can’t be well.” Legolas’ voice was low and heavy with disappointment. “It can’t make you well, Aragorn. Bengwiil is no medicine. It is a poison.”

“You’ll see, Legolas. You’ll see I am well now. Perhaps I didn’t eat enough of it to affect me that much.”

“Minaeg, the first elf to eat this plant, he only ate one leaf, and it tormented him until his death, Aragorn. And you are a human! The affects will be, if anything, worse for this reason. Not better.”

The three were silent a moment before Aragorn spoke next. “I’ll prove it, Legolas. You will agree soon enough. I am well. Well, Legolas. Truly and permanently well.” Aragorn tried to put every ounce of reassurance and honesty he possessed into his words, but Legolas was clearly unmoved. He sat still as ice, a fixed expression of stony acceptance on his face.

Aragorn, giving up, rose from the bed, patting Legolas’ knee a few times before leaving. “Come, your majesty. Perhaps your son needs only some rest.”

“Yes, Aragorn, thank you.” Thranduil nodded to Aragorn, and smiled. The look was a little too fake-looking, though the elfking tried to look reassured. Anyone could tell, by looking at Legolas, that he hadn’t taken any of the comfort his father and friend offered him. Only the horrible truth.

Thranduil too rose from the bed, and leaned over to Legolas’ pointed ear. “He went through a lot that night, Legolas. It was not an easy thing for him to accept that he’d taken Bengwiil. He is better than before. You are making it harder on him to stay that way. You must control yourself, Legolas.” Thranduil hoped that the sharp tone would maybe get through to his son. If it did, it didn’t show on Legolas’ face that he could see.

Thranduil laid a brief hand on Aragorn’s shoulder as he left the dark room. Aragorn nodded a goodnight to him, and turned pale eyes back on Legolas. The elf still sat completely still except for the rise and fall of his chest.

“Legolas? Legolas, please don’t be angry with me. I- I didn’t want them to do it. That is why I started screaming for you. I was so frightened…but it’s over now. I see that. Perhaps-” Aragorn stared at Legolas his whole speech, but never once did the prince so much as blink. Frustration rose up inside of the human, and he couldn‘t contain it anymore. “So I cannot even speak with you now?! You are *so* sure that you know what is wrong. You are completely unwilling to look past your own fear and see that truth! All day I have tried to get through to you, to make you feel better. It is not I that has changed, but you. *you* are the one who is closed up in your frightening memories! I can’t talk to you, Legolas. Don’t you think that hurts me?!” Aragorn couldn’t take the unchanging look on his friend’s face anymore. “Goodnight.” He finished flatly, and turned from the room, closing the door loudly.

Legolas didn’t move for awhile. Both his father’s and his friend’s words had struck him too deep for it to show on the surface. He didn’t know what he’d looked like to them, but pain, fear and complete despairing disappointment had clouded his heart. He wasn’t thinking much of anything accept the simple truth. Aragorn was going to die, and the human didn’t even know it. And now, all Legolas could do was watch and wait for his friend to leave him.

His eyes began to sting, and he was forced to blink. A salty tear rolled down his cheek, sliding smoothly into the crease of his lips. He barely noticed the faint salty taste on his tongue, being too wrapped up in his thoughts.

He *wanted* to believe Aragorn. He wanted to think he was going to be fine. But he knew better. Bengwiil could only kill it’s victim. There was no way he could think of to save his friend. Unless…

Legolas mind whirled back unwillingly, but excitedly to that long-ago night in Rivendell. Elrond! Of course.

Brushing his tears hastily away, Legolas staggered out of bed, and ran down the hall. He pushed open the all-too familiar door, and ran into the room. “Aragorn?”

The human was already sitting on the edge of his bed, getting into his borrowed night-tunic. He slid the tunic the rest of the way over his head, and turned, surprised, to Legolas. “Legolas. What is it?” His eyes were expectant, and Legolas suddenly understood the cause of his unexpected outburst a few moments ago. The sudden frustration he’d felt seemed to wash away in expectation. Legolas realized that he was relieved to see his friend happy again. Truly happy.

“Aragorn.” Legolas moved to the bed, and leaned against on of it’s four posts. “Listen. I know how we can fix all of this. I will take you to your father. He can heal you, surely.”

“I don’t *need* to be healed, Legolas.” Legolas was surprised at Aragorn’s sudden sullenness. The human looked into his lap, and didn’t raise his voice above a grumble, but the elf tried to carry on with his plan.

“My father has bought you some more time. It should be enough time to make it through Mirkwood, over the Misty Mountains, and to Rivendell again. It will work, Aragorn.”

“But as I’ve said, I don’t need to, Legolas. Why bother?”

“It would ease my mind at the least.” Legolas sighed, looking at the back of Aragorn’s head pleadingly. There was a long silence, before Legolas received his answer.

“No.”

Legolas couldn’t believe his ears. “What?”

“I will not be dragged back to my home, my father and brothers, all because *you* are getting worried over me. What would he do anyway? Take one look at me, say I am indeed better? All that for nothing.”

“Is my peace nothing, Aragorn?” Legolas didn’t want to speak of such things, but couldn’t help the automatic question. His tired heart seemed to push the words out of his mouth. Aragorn finally looked up, and his gaze was torn between shame at his quick words, and determination to stay by them. But he did not answer, and only looked away again.

Finally, he spoke, but still said nothing of Legolas’ comment. “I am well now, Legolas. You must believe me. Just trust me, my friend. Just trust me, please?” His voice was finally calm and more like the tone Legolas recognized in him.

But the prince couldn’t take this phrase over and over. He was tired of hearing “I am well, Legolas.” How could he believe it? He knew just too much about Bengwiil to take even his best friend at his word.

Leaning his head against the bedpost, he sighed and closed his eyes. “It is all wrong, Aragorn. Can you not feel it? You cannot possibly-”

“I am *well* Legolas!” Legolas opened his eyes again, and touched Aragorn’s angry gaze with his own tired one. “Why must I keep saying this? Do you not believe me?”

Legolas shook his head slowly, and studied his feet awhile. “Aragorn, don’t you think I *want* to believe you? Don’t you think I want to believe you are indeed well? But I cannot. I can’t because I know what Bengwiil can do. I know it too well, Aragorn.” He looked up again, gazing hard at Aragorn. “It is not I that must believe you, my friend, but you must believe me now. This plant has not healed you. It will do you no good.”

“Is there any way, whatsoever I can convince you otherwise, Legolas?” Aragorn’s voice was tired, and sounded as frustrated as Legolas felt.

“Go to Elrond, Aragorn.”

Aragorn held his friend’s gaze a long moment, and for that moment, Legolas thought that maybe he was actually going to agree. But he then turned away. “No, Legolas. I will not go back to Rivendell.”

Legolas nodded, and the lump growing in his throat began to hurt. He couldn’t stay in here any longer. It was too much for one evening. It had been too much hours ago when he had laid down to sleep, but now it seemed overwhelming to the point that he had to get away.

He went quickly to the door, and swung it open, but stopped. He turned to Aragorn again, desperate to get through. “If you die, I am going to have to stand by and know that I could do something about it. Don’t you understand this? You *are* going to die!” Legolas couldn’t hold back the tears in his voice, and his almost chocked on his last words. “You are going to leave me here with nothing but a head-full of bitter memories. You’re going to die, Aragorn. You’re going t-” His throat seemed to close-up, and he turned, and fled down the hallway.

Legolas flopped hard onto his bed, and buried his face in his arms. He couldn’t take this! Since the day they’d left to hunt in Mirkwood what seemed like eons ago, everything had gone wrong. And it had taken them here. Here where Aragorn would die. He just couldn’t take it anymore. And slowly, tear after tear slid down the elf’s face, and spattered the mattress bellow with salty watermarks.

**********

“I’m sorry, Legolas, I’m sorry! I did not mean it. Any of it. I’m sorry.” Aragorn dried his eyes on his sleeve and tried to steady his shaky breath. “I-I’ll go with you. I will go to Rivendell with you, Legolas, I will.” The human finally decided it was silly to lie here, apologizing to his pillow rather than his hurting friend. Swallowing his pride with a deep breath, he pushed himself off the bed. He didn’t know why he’d said all that to Legolas anyway. He didn’t mind going back to his father *that* much. Not really.

For a moment, the fleeting thought that Bengwiil *had* in fact altered his mind, flashed through his thoughts. But he up this suspicion away for now.

Aragorn’s head whirled, and a sudden nausea overtook him. He stumbled numbly back onto the bed, and laid down. Perhaps he had cried himself sick. Though, he hadn’t cried that long…at any rate, he would tell Legolas of his decision in the morning. And with a slightly lighter heart, Aragorn stared into the darkness of his room, and thought hard over what Legolas had said about the Bengwiil. Until sleep came.

His friend was not so fortunate. Legolas lay awake for hours, weeping until he was too tired to even whisper to himself anymore. He lay, looking out at the night-sky, wishing that the clouds weren’t covering the canopy of stars. Slowly, his weary mind came to a conclusion. He would leave. He had to leave. He’d argued with himself for hours enough over whether to stay or go. He wanted desperately to stay by Aragorn to the end, but knew he would never be able to stand being beside him while he lived the rest of his days ignorance of his fate.

Legolas nodded, and buried his face in his arms again. He would go to Rivendell early the next morning. Perhaps he could tell Elrond of his son’s illness, and the father could come there in time to say goodbye. But it would be too late to save him then, and Legolas knew it.

So this was it. He would never see Aragorn again.

This was his final thought, accompanied by the last words Legolas could remember speaking that night. “It‘s not fair, Aragorn. You deserved better. You would have been great, son of Isildur, I know. You would have…I know…Iston…”