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…”

Chapter 7

Falling Again

Legolas ran a steady hand down Lint’s forehead. “Suilad, Lint.” He whispered kindly, and the white horse jerked his head in response. “I’ll be back in a moment.” The prince promised, draping his cloak over the horse’s back, and running his fingers down the white main one last time, before leaving. He turned and left the stables, walking swiftly down the stone hallway to Aragorn’s room. To say goodbye.

Legolas hadn’t made it to the upstairs corridor before his father approached him swiftly from the end of the hall. “Legolas!”

The king’s son turned, and watched his father, surprised at the look of fear on his face. “What is it, father?”

“Legolas, I- I am sorry. Here, come with me.” Legolas felt his heart stop. Aragorn had died during the night. And Legolas had done nothing! He should have forced the human to Rivendell. He may have had a chance!

These thoughts filled Legolas’ mind to the brim, as his father led him down the hall, and around the next corner. They were headed for the Healer’s Room. The young elf lost feeling his fingers as they approached the Healer’s Room door. Thranduil pushed it open swiftly, and led the way inside.

Legolas moved beside the bed Thranduil stopped at. But it was not Aragorn lying in it. The elf lying there had a bandage covering most of his head, but Legolas recognized him none-the-less.

“Raustal!” He fell to his knees beside the wounded elf, groping for the bandaged hand at the same time. Mornaeg too was there, kneeling on the other side of Raustal’s bed, as was another friend of the wounded elf‘s, Fenan. But Legolas didn’t notice either of them.

“How did this happen?” The prince demanded quietly, looking over the many wounds covering his childhood friend’s body.

“Well, I- it happened on the hunting trip a few nights ago. A company of orcs. He- Tirniel tells me he may not make it.”

Legolas‘ breath caught in his throat. “Why were they hunting so late anyway? “

“I- sent them, Legolas. It is why I was delayed in returning when I left to find the herbs for Aragorn. They arrived just that night, and both Tirniel and I had to tend to several. I believe most will make it, but Raustal…”

Legolas waited a long moment, trying to figure out what had driven his father to send the hunters out so late. Finally, he brought his mind to ask the obvious question. “Why did you send them in the first place?”

“I sent them to get something. I sent them for- well to...the Bengwiil I gave Aragorn, Legolas. I sent them to find it.”

Legolas was yet again momentarily silenced by his father’s comment. “But- I thought you had kept some from the days when Bengwiil grew in abundance.” Thranduil shook his head mutely, and forced Legolas to carry on in his confusion. “Where did you possibly find it? You had it all destroyed when Minaeg died!”

“But you of all people should know it is not all gone.”

Legolas looked hard at his father awhile. Then the horrible truth struck him. “You went to the cave Bodruith spoke of. The cave he got the Bengwiil to poison me from.” Thranduil only nodded. “Your own people. Your own kinsmen. You sent them deep into Mirkwood, nearly killed Raustal to fetch Bengwiil?”

“It saved Aragorn’s life, Legolas!”

“But you did not know that it would!“ Legolas pushed himself into a standing position, facing his father, fire in his silver eyes. “You sent them the night before Aragorn was attacked. You did not send for it to save him, you sent for it for you! You wanted the Bengwiil back!” He looked away for a moment, staring down at his wounded friend again. Yet another friend hurt over this horrific plant, and several bad decisions. Decisions his father had made. He sighed, and shook his head, looking over his shoulder. Thranduil hated the look despair and fear on his face. “Father, what have you done?!”

Legolas’ feet turned automatically, and he felt himself fleeing a hurting scene again. It was all-too familiar, turning down the hall, and running from his fear and pain.

He turned to towards a flight of stone stairs. Stairs leading to the corridor he’d been preparing to go up, before Thranduil had taken him aside to show him that nightmarish scene. He wanted to say goodbye to Aragorn before he left still, but now, more than ever, he wanted to get away from his home. The simple reason range in his ears as he ran to Aragorn’s door. “It’s too much.. It is just too much.”

Legolas slowed his pace as he reached the bedroom door. Trying to steady his breath as well, he turned pushed on the door, and stepped in. Aragorn was still asleep, lying with his arm draped over his closed eyes. Legolas sighed, and sat down on the bed gently.

“Aragorn, I’m leaving. I- *have* to go. But I wanted to say goodbye.” Legolas’ elven voice was so smooth and quiet that not even he could hear himself very well. Aragorn would never wake-up to his voice. But somewhere deep down, Legolas didn’t want him to anyway. He didn’t want to say goodbye, face-to-face. His weary heart and soul had taken too many blows this past week, and couldn’t take anymore. It was hard enough leaving, without his best friend’s pleas in his mind as he rode away. As it was, he could hear the likely answer ringing in his head.

Legolas shook his head, tears already clouding his vision.

“I must, Aragorn. If you will not go with me, I must go alone. I cannot stay here.”

Legolas had enough. It was time to say goodbye. Quietly, he brushed his tears away, and turned from his sleeping friend. “Namàrië, Estel.” He whispered so silently, the familiar nick-name was choked out of the sentence, and drowned by tears. He walked as though in a dream towards the door, and reached out to open it again.

“Legolas? Legolas…” Aragorn’s eyes fluttered open as he drew his arm away from them. His pale blue vision struck his retreating friend’s back. “Legolas? What is wrong?”

For a moment, Legolas didn’t know whether to stop and turn around, or simply quicken his pace, and race out of the door. The latter was what he wanted to do, but his conscience turned him around instead. His friend deserved an answer, seeing it was the last time they would speak to each other.

“I am leaving, Aragorn.” Legolas told the human simply, looking hard into his eyes.

“Leaving…w- where are you going?” Aragorn looked both confused and worried.

“I- am going to Rivendell. I cannot stand staying here to watch you- to watch all this. I can’t take this anymore, Aragorn, I simply can’t. I am very sorry that I didn’t stay with you. Namàrië, idra mellon nin.”

//farewell, my dear friend.//

Legolas turned, and swung the door open again. A loud *thud* came from behind him as Aragorn’s feet hit the floor, and a hand gripped his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks again.

“Legolas, don’t! Please don’t-”

Legolas shook his head vehemently. It was exactly as he feared. “Aragorn, this is hard, all right? This may seem easy, but it isn’t. Let me go in peace.” He pushed Aragorn’s hand off his shoulder, and kept his pace.

“No, Legolas! Let me go! I will go with you!”

Legolas stopped, and barely dared to breathe. Turning slowly, he spotted a look of panic on his friend’s face. “What?”

“I will go, Legolas. Let me go with you.” Aragorn’s eyes were excited, and seemed to be probing for a clue of what Legolas was thinking. “To Rivendell.” He added for clarity.

Legolas shook his head slowly. “Aragorn, are you sure- but I thought- you said…”

“I know, Legolas, I know I said all that last night, but I meant none of it, I really didn’t. And I want to go with you, if it would set your mind at rest.”

Legolas stared blankly at his friend a long time, and suddenly realized his look of surprise could easily be mistaken for disbelief, and quickly said, “Of course! Of course, Aragorn, of course you can come. What, did you think I *wanted* to go into Mirkwood without my best archer?”

And Aragorn couldn’t help laughing along with Legolas, as the prince stepped quickly to him, and embraced him tightly. “Thank you, Aragorn, oh thank. You have no idea how much-”

“I believe I do.” Aragorn smiled, and held Legolas at arm’s-length. “Now, will you maybe saddle Horthor for me while I dress?”

Legolas nodded, and feeling ten-times lighter than he had moments ago, he ran down the flight of stone steps, and towards the stables.

The elf prince was elated all the way to the Horthor’s stall. He’d gone so suddenly, it seemed, from despair to ecstasy, he almost couldn’t bare it, though it was much easier to handle than the misery he’d felt not five minutes ago.

He quickly saddled Aragorn’s dark horse, and clapped it happily on the back. “Dartha nef anim, Horthor.”

//wait here for me, Horthor.//

He whispered into the horse’s perked ear. “Things are finally looking up. I shall be back with your master shortly.” And with that, he took off towards Aragorn’s room again.

He had just entered the Great Hall, when he heard *thudump! thudump! thudump! CRACK!* the sound echoed around the huge hall, as Legolas’ pace quickened, and he ran to the staircase leading to the upper corridor.

He only had to reach the doorway of the room where the stairs were based, for his keen elven eyes caught the loud noise’s cause. “Aragorn!” He cried, running even faster. The stair case came down from the upper floor, and ended with a landing, and off the left side of landing, the stairs continued the rest of the way to the floor below. It was on this landing that Legolas had spotted the dark heap he knew must be his friend.

“Aragorn!” He cried again, as he reached the stairs, and ran up the first flight to the landing. He fell to his knees, and turned his friend over on his back. “Aragorn, speak to me. Are you all right?’ The human blinked slowly, and focused on the elf above him.

“I- tripped.”

“I see that. Are you all right?”

The human glowered faintly. “Do I look all right?“ Legolas shook his head in laughter, as he slowly supported the stunned human into a sitting position. Aragorn seemed to shake the stars out of his head by blinking rapidly, and finally he looked Legolas in the face again. “My head hurts, though.”

“It does not surprise me, my friend. And I think you dented the floor.” The friends exchanged a grin, though Aragorn’s was slightly more rueful than his friend’s. “Can you stand?”

Aragorn nodded, and the two slowly rose. “Come.” The achy human sighed. “We need to get to Rivendell, right?”

“Correct.” Legolas smiled, and the two turned down the second flight of stairs. They made it to the floor without incident, so Legolas felt confident letting go of his friend at the foot of the stairs. “Come.” He smiled, and began across the long room towards the Great Hall.

Aragorn stood stock-still for a long moment, watching his friend’s back. He took a step forward, but it was a crooked step. He seemed to be standing on the side of his foot, and it threw him of balance. Staggering to the side, he tried to stand straight. The floor tipped back, and he couldn’t walk up it. It was too steep. He couldn’t get to Legolas!

Trying once more to walk, he stepped forward again, but the floor was practically vertical now, and he slipped, and staggered again. The walls around him swam, and there was no longer a ceiling, it seemed. His sight was suddenly swallowed-up in black.

“Legolas!” He managed to cry in a hoarse whisper, before his knees gave way. But Aragorn didn’t feel another stone impact in his skull. He had fallen, but didn’t find himself face-down on the floor, but rather a few inches above it. His mind cleared enough for him to realize that he was being laid on the floor, and rolled over on his back.

“Aragorn? Lasto beth nin, tolo dan. Tolo dan, Aragorn.”

//Aragorn? Hear my voice, come back. Come back, Aragorn.//

His eyes finally focused, and little surprise, he found Legolas kneeling over him again, his eyes wide with anxiety. “I did not slip this time, Legolas.”

“No. No, you did not.” Legolas sighed, and leaned away from his friend, as the human pushed himself off the floor again.

“Legolas, what is *happening*? What is wrong with me! I cannot fathom what the problem is.”

“I can.” Legolas’ voice was low, and beyond disappointment. “It is Bengwiil, Aragorn. It has already started hurting you. I am too late.”

“No, no you are not too late. We can still go to Rivendell.”

“Aragorn,” His friend pinned him with a look of reproof. “You know as well as I do that you are in no condition to ride to Rivendell.”

Aragorn thought a moment, then shook his head, meeting his friend’s gaze with a determined one of his own. “Well, I am going to try.” And without another word, he rose to his feet, and started across the room again.

Legolas shook his head in wonder, and a whisper of hope echoed in his mind, as he stood up, and followed the young ranger across the room. Once again, he found himself wanting to believe that Aragorn was well, but his mind knew better. Still, perhaps they would make it to Rivendell…before it was indeed too late.

Aragorn felt Legolas stand up behind him, and begin to follow him across the room. He *was* going to Rivendell. He would ease his friend’s mind if it killed him! Which, he realized darkly, considering how nauseated he was feeling even now, it just might. But he was determined to get to Rivendell, even though he knew just how terrible he felt. He would take it one step at a time. One foot before the next. He’d make it. He was in control of himself, and could force his body to make it.

Aragorn’s mind was still caught up in these thoughts of determination, when the floor began to tilt again. No! I will not fall again… he though desperately. But he didn’t have as much control of his body as he would like, and he felt himself swaying. Everything became dark again, and he knew his consciousness was slipping.

“Here, grab his other arm. And easy, easy…”

Aragorn awoke to find himself being supported to the stone staircase again. One arm was draped around Legolas’ shoulders, but the other elf supporting him he didn’t recognize at first. “Legolas?” Aragorn eyed the staircase. “No, I am going to Rivendell with you!”

“No, Aragorn, I’m taking you back to your room. You are not well!”

“I will make it, Legolas, let go!” Aragorn tried to plant his feet into the stone beneath him, and started pulling his arms away from the elves on either side of him. He managed to wrench his left arm from the strange elf beside him, but Legolas held on tight to his right arm, pinning the unwilling human’s hand against his chest, and therefore keeping his arm around the elf’s shoulder.

Aragorn tried to pull away from his friend again, but felt a fresh wave of nausea come over him, and his knees buckled again. Legolas moved in front of him, supporting the collapsed human against his chest. “Easy, Aragorn. Ea na gwiil mellon nin. Mornaeg, grab his other arm.”

//be at peace my friend//

The young elf moved up to Aragorn again, and wrapped his arm around the human’s waist, draping his arm around his shoulders again. Legolas did the same, and the two began to walk towards the stairs again.

“You are not well, Aragorn, and this time, you cannot argue. The evidence is before you. Except it, and allow me to help you.” Legolas’ voice was gentle, but resolute. Aragorn only nodded, feeling too sick to respond.

The three mounted the stone steps one at a time. Aragorn groaned after awhile, and Legolas’ eyes snapped over to him. “What is wrong?”

The human sighed. “I am tired of being reminded of Gabil Gû ndu.”

Despite the situation, Legolas smiled. “As am I. But the tables have turned, have they not? For I believe that *you* were the one dragging *me* up the stairs.”

“Indeed, though you did not put up such a fight as I have.”

Legolas just smiled again, and gave Aragorn’s hand a squeeze. “Worry not, my friend. It will be over soon enough.”

Silence ensued awhile, while the elves walked Aragorn up the stairs.

“I’m hurting you.” Aragorn’s voice came at length.

Once again, Legolas’ eyes shot to Aragorn‘s face. “What?”

“I’m hurting you, Legolas. I can see the pain in your eyes. It pains you to help me up these stairs.”

Legolas shook his head. “Aragorn, don’t worry, I am fine.”

“You cannot fool me, my friend. I am hurting you.” And after the human looked away from his friend’s face, Legolas knew there was no convincing him otherwise, though he couldn’t help wondering. What had brought *that* on?

They had finally reached the top of the stairs, when Legolas felt his feet slip out form under him. Fortunately, he caught himself before falling, and used Aragorn to pull himself up. “Forgive me, I must have-” Legolas studied the floor he’d slipped on a moment. “Aragorn, did you spill water on the floor?”

“I don’t believe so.”

Legolas shook his head, and straightened. “Well, I think this is why you fell down the stairs, the entire floor up here is covered in water! Well no matter. Watch your step, Mornaeg.”

The elf nodded, and the two managed to make it over the huge puddle, even with their burden. They finally reached Aragorn’s room, and laid him down on his bed. Legolas swung Aragorn’s legs over onto the mattress, and sighed. “There. You should be better after some rest.”

Aragorn looked deep into his friend’s a moment. “I am so sorry. I *did* mean to go with you to Rivendell. And I shall still.”

“Of course you shall, Aragorn, worry not. You likely just got a concussion and need some rest. I will be up to check on you shortly.”

“Hantach, Legolas. And I am so sorry I hurt you. So many times…”

//thank you//

Legolas just shook his head. “Rest, Aragorn. Rest. I will be with you soon. I‘ll always be right here.”

And the friends exchanged a special smile that Mornaeg was unfortunate enough to miss. Legolas turned from the dark room, Mornaeg close behind him.

Aragorn rolled over on his side, and looked out his window, where the sun had begun to rise. Unconsciously, he began to pick up on Legolas and Mornaeg’s conversation as they stood outside his door.

“Thank you for helping me, Mornaeg. I could not have gotten him up the stairs without you.”

“It was my pleasure, your highness. When I heard the crash of him falling down the stairs, I was awakened, and later, I heard you speaking, and thought I should come help. I am glad I did.”

“As am I. Though, I feel the danger is not passed.”

“He will be well, your highness. He will. Perhaps if you could- tell me more of the Bengwiil, I would understand better what he-”

“Mornaeg, I do not wish to talk about it! Please. Do not force me to speak of Bengwiil any longer.”

“Yes, your highness, forgive me. I only- I am curious that is all.”

“I understand, my friend, and you are not alone in that curiosity. But for now, I do not plan to speak of it. It has caused too much pain…”

“I understand. I mean, first you, then Raustal, now this. I am very sorry, my prince.”

“I know, Mornaeg. Thank you.”

Aragorn listened to their footsteps and conversation become quieter. He continued to watch the sky become rosy as the sun ascended, though his thoughts were in Rivendell instead of here in Mirkwood. He *had* to get to his father. Not just for Legolas’ peace, but for his own. He saw it now. How could he have not before? He had to get to his father, or Legolas would be proven correct in his original assumptions.

Chapter 8

Relapse and Remorse

“Come on, Aragorn, drink it *all*.” Tirniel’s tone was as to a child as Aragorn finished the mud-colored tea, with a grimace.

“You know, Tirniel, I was under the impression that this was supposed to make me *better*. But, no offense meant, you understand, I think I’m feeling a little sicker.”

Legolas couldn’t help laughing in spite of himself. “It’s not funny, Legolas.” Aragorn groaned good-naturedly, lying amongst his pillows again. Tirniel set the teacup aside, and smiled over at the human.

“Well, it should help. And, you should be better within a day or two.” Smiling again, he began out of the room, but Legolas was quicker and stopped him in the doorway.

“How soon can we ride to Rivendell?”

“As I said, a day or two. Or, whenever Aragorn is better and a day. We cannot risk him getting sick again.”

“But- but that could be three days, maybe more!”

“What is your hurry, your highness? He will be well soon enough.”

“He will not be well until Lord Elrond has *said* he is well. We must make all haste to Rivendell.” Legolas lowered his tone. “We cannot risk the Bengwiil any longer.”

“Indeed, your highness, are you still on about that? It has healed him, not-”

“I know this plant more than any other, Tirniel, and I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t second-guess my judgment. He is not well, and this is only the beginning of it.” Legolas motioned to Aragorn lying in the four-poster behind them.

“He is only sick. Human’s *get* sick once and awhile, it is just their way. Trust me, Legolas, this is just a-”

“Even if he is only sick now, I *know* he will be worse later.”

Tirniel shook his head and sighed. “Very well, your highness. It is your friend, your decision.”

“No, it is *his* decision, and he sides with me.” Legolas sighed, and laid a hand on the healer’s shoulder. “Thank you for your help, Tirniel. If you would, will you inform my father of what has been on? And then tell him I plan to ride to Rivendell when possible.”

Tirniel studied Legolas a long moment. “And you will not tell him.” Legolas only shook his head mutely. “Because of Raustal?” The healer murmured.

“Will you tell him?” Legolas asked shortly, obviously not wanting to get into this conversation.

“I will, my prince.”

“Hantach.” Legolas smiled faintly, and let Tirniel go.

//thank you//

“Rest well, Aragorn.” The healer called softly before leaving. Aragorn only nodded, and shut his eyes at the nausea caused by such a quick movement.

Legolas watched the human toss sickeningly this way and that a moment. Aragorn seemed to finally grip himself, and opened his eyes. He saw Legolas staring sadly at him, and shook his head, slowly this time. “I will be well soon enough, Legolas. I *shall* go with you to Rivendell. I promise.”

Legolas only nodded and looked down at the floor. “Aragorn,” He said at length “I am afraid that this is only the beginning. If it is indeed the Bengwiil- which the timing is too coincidental to be simply illness -if it is Bengwiil that tortures your body, it can only get worse from here.” He sighed, and finally met Aragorn’s gaze. “I hate to be pessimistic, but I cannot deny what I know for certain to be true.”

Aragorn only watched his friend for awhile. Finally he spoke, and when he did, his voice was free of pain. “I will make it, Legolas. I have no intension of leaving you alone. I will *make* my body heal, if I must. I will not give up. Don’t give up either, Legolas. There is hope.”

Legolas smiled, looking down at the floor for the second time. “Estel. Estel indeed, and your half-father named you well. Very well, Aragorn.” Legolas looked up again, still smiling. “I will not give up as long as you do not give up.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Aragorn sighed, and leaned against his many pillows. “Now, I believe I should give my body a chance to heal itself, before I force it.” Legolas nodded.

“And Tirniel will have my head, if he finds me in here, still talking to you.” Legolas smiled once more, and walked to the doorway. “Maer fuin, mellon nin. I will be back in awhile to check on you again.”

//good night, my friend.//

And the door shut quietly behind Legolas as Aragorn rolled over, and concentrated on sleeping.

**********

Aragorn’s legs hurt. He’d been walking for hours and hours. The dank smell of underground was making him feel ill. But only one thing mattered now; Legolas. Aragorn held his friend tighter, closer to his chest, in a protective gesture. It was all his fault…all his fault…

As he lifted Legolas closer, he saw the cut on his neck; a result of him getting dragged for nearly five miles. Aragorn shook his head. He should not have touched Legolas! This would never have happened, if Aragorn had not grown careless and touched his friend’s skin. ‘…when you touch my skin, I feel you striking me…’ How could he have gone touched him anyway?!

Gently, his fingers brushed the horrid cut on the young prince’s neck. Legolas suddenly jerked, and as if in a spasm, began to twitch and groan. Aragorn yanked his hand back, and tried to get a better grip on the struggling elf, but Legolas continued to jerk and moan, gasping for breath.

“Now *you’re* trying to kill him, eh human?” Cruel laughter shook the walls around Aragorn and the struggling Legolas. Aragorn pulled his friend closer to him.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered brokenly, chocked by tears once again. Legolas, of course, did not respond, and continued to moan, and twitch.

“Good job, human. You will follow your ancestors. You will hate the elves as we do.” Binwen’s voice cut like steel through the miserable human’s heart. Aragorn tried to ignore him, but the same words flew through his mind as well.

“No…No…” Aragorn couldn’t override the angry words in his head. He’d hurt his best friend…again…

“No! No! No I didn’t mean to! I didn’t want to! I didn’t try to! He lives! I have not killed him! I will not hurt him!”

“Aragorn! Aragorn, ea na gwiil, mellon nin, larhink!”

//be at peace, my friend, calm down!//

Aragorn felt himself being held in a tight, and comforting embrace. “L-Legolas…”

“Na nefach, mellon nin. Na nefach.”

//I am here, my friend. I am here.//

Aragorn was shaking all over, and his sickness made his condition worse. “Legolas. Legolas, I am sorry. I am so sorry. Forgive me, my friend. Forgive me please…I am sorry.”

Legolas shook his head, looking down at his friend, confused. “Aragorn what is it? Sorry for what?”

“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I will never hurt you again, I promise. I promise, Legolas, I promise. Forgive me…”

“Aragorn. Aragorn, larhink. There is nothing to forgive.” Legolas pressed his cheek against the human’s sleep-tousled hair on the crown of his head, wrapping his arms tighter around Aragorn’s shoulders, and slowly rocking from side to side.

Aragorn relaxed, recognizing the way Elrond had comforted him when he was a small boy. And he didn’t mind being treated like a little boy now, by his best friend. Legolas’ efforts were so earnest and kind, that Aragorn almost felt like he *was* back in Rivendell with his father.

“I am sorry.” Aragorn whispered again, so quietly that Legolas would not have been able to hear him, had he not had keen elven ears.

“Do not be sorry, Aragorn. You have *not* hurt me. You have not hurt me, my friend.”

“In the tunnel…in the woods…in the pit…I hurt you Legolas, I touched you and hurt you.”

Legolas was quiet a moment, recalling all the nightmarish moments of those days. The days when he had been infected with Bengwiil. Then, he shook his head, banishing these memories as well. “You did not hurt me, Aragorn. You only helped me.”

“I touched you, and it hurt…”

“Aragorn.” Legolas pulled the young ranger away from him a little, so he could look him in the eye. “You trust me, do you not?” Aragorn only nodded. “Good. Then hear me, and believe me. You did not hurt me. You have never hurt me. And you never shall hurt me.”

Aragorn’s chest heaved, and he watched Legolas a long moment. His eyes were incredulous as he spoke next. “What about that time I went hunting, and you were standing *right* behind the stag, and I-”

“Well, *that* was an exception.” Legolas couldn’t hold back his smile, which Aragorn first equaled, and then surpassed. Then Legolas began to laugh, and Aragorn as well.

The human doubled over, and leaned his head against Legolas’ chest again with a groan. “I hate being sick.”

Legolas smiled. “I know. You’ll be better soon enough.”

“And then off to Rivendell, right?”

Legolas nodded. “Off to Rivendell.”

“Good.” Aragorn sat up, and smiled once more. “Thank you, Legolas. I’m sorry, I overreacted.”

“Aragorn.” Legolas gripped both his shoulders, and looked directly into his eyes. “You must *stop* apologizing for everything! I hereby forbid you to apologize for *anything* for the rest of your days!”

And the friends shared a few moments of friendly laughter as the sun began to slide over to the West, and prepared to set. And for just a moment, the room was lit by something brighter than sunlight. Something that lasted until Legolas left the room, and Aragorn rolled over, and fell asleep once more.

**********

He couldn’t take this stench any longer, but continued to mix the green liquid together. It had been his decision, and he intended to follow through with it. He *would* make it work!

He felt for a heartbeat in the body before him. It was too fast. Much too fast! He soaked a rag in the green water, and began to bathe the struggling elf’s head. The patient screamed, and tried to shove his hand away. He heard a gasp. Looking up, he saw a pair of huge, frightened silver eyes. No. No, he mustn’t see this!

“Go, and do not allow your eyes to witness this.”

“But- what is happening to him? Can I-”

“You cannot help.” He tried to be gentle. “He is going to be just-” He ran to the bed when heard another gasp of pain. “It is all right, my friend. You will be fine.”

The gasping elf only shook his head slowly. “Namarie, idher mellon nin. I am sorry-I…I leave you alone…” //farewell my dearest friend.//

And the trembling body slackened. No.

“He is dead.” He whirled about. “He is dead! Dead! And it is because of you. You do not know what you have done!”

“I- I am sorry…”

“Leave! Now, go!”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Adda-”

“I said leave me! Go! Go!”

He watched the retreating back, and regretted his words. But his grieve-stricken heart refused to call the elf back, and he turned. He was dead. He killed him! He killed him!

Thranduil’s eyes snapped open, and he didn’t have to remember why. He would have liked to *think* that it was merely a dream- a nightmare, more like -but the memory was too vivid to be mistaken for anything else. “Oh…” He whispered into the night. “I am sorry…I did not mean to, fion nin…”

//my son.//

Chapter 9

Father and Son

Legolas left his room, a faint smile upon his lips. Walking silently down the hall, he yet again entered Aragorn’s room. It was dark, but faintly lit by the hint of sunrise. Legolas’ gaze shifted to the window, and watched as the blue-tinted clouds moved about, and prepared to let the sun rise. He smile once again, and looked down at Aragorn, who was still lying in the huge bed.

The human’s eyes were open, and he too was looking out the window. Perhaps he had not noticed his friend in the room, for he didn’t raise his vision to the elf.

Legolas’ smile widened. “I know, I was just here an hour ago, but I couldn’t help it. Every other minute, just when I think I shall actually fall asleep, I think of you. And then, I rise from my bed, come down the hall, and am determined to check on you…again.” He smiled once more and walked towards the bed. Aragorn didn’t make a sound, besides his rather loud breathing.

Legolas didn’t find this out of place, so he sat down on the end of the bed. “So how do you feel? Better, I hope, for I have been impatient through this night to leave for Rivendell.” There was no response, save the continual breathing. “Aragorn? Are you all right?”

Legolas rose from the end of the bed, and started walking to Aragorn’s side, listening closely to the noisy breathing. It didn’t quite sound right. Almost congested, it seemed. “Aragorn?” Legolas murmured again, as he reached his friend’s side, and knelt down to his level. “Aragorn?” He asked for the third time, and finally the human looked at him.

Aragorn’s face was completely pale, and he shook all over. Legolas realized in an instant that his breathing had not been merely loud, but labored. The human couldn’t breathe.

“Aragorn!” Legolas jumped to his feet, and sat down on the bed beside his friend. “Mornaeg!” He shouted, heaving his gasping friend’s head into his lap, in an attempt to ease his breathing. “Mornaeg!”

The young elf came running into the doorway, his eyes wide, and expectant. “What is it, your highness?”

“Aragorn. He’s- look.” Legolas shifted his weight beneath the panting human, and continued at a fast pace. “Go. Fetch my father, and Tirniel. Tell Tirniel he will need Nanegro and likely Salab. Tell my father to allow him any other herbs he deems necessary. Haitha, na noro!”

//go, and hurry!//

Mornaeg nodded, and ran off down the hall, leaving Legolas and his rasping companion alone in the dimly-lit room. “Aragorn? Aragorn, calm down.” Legolas instructed, as the human’s panicked mind tried to force more air out of his lungs. “Just breathe. Just breathe.”

“I- I- I- don’t want t-to breathe…it h-h-hurts.” Aragorn gasped, still trying to gulp air into his starved lungs.

“I know. I know it hurts, Aragorn. Just hang on.” Legolas felt all over his friend’s body, and soon found the source of the human’s painful condition. His heart was beating much, much too fast, and sending waves of adrenaline through the sick man’s body. All this put together made it hard for him to breathe without great pain.

Legolas squeezed his eyes shut, and pulled Aragorn closer to him. This was the work of Bengwiil to be sure, and it cut him to the heart to see it.

“Just breathe, Aragorn.” Was all he could say. “Just breathe.” He couldn’t get the phrase out his mind, for it was all he could think of that might save his friend. To keep him alive until Tirniel got there. Where *was* he?!

Legolas found that his guidance to Aragorn was echoing around in his mind as well. “Just breathe, Legolas. You must keep your head, and keep Aragorn breathing as well. You cannot lose him-not now- so just keep him breathing. Just breathe. Breathe. Breathe…”

When the bedroom door came flying open once again, Legolas was startled out of his dazed thoughts, and found himself looking with relief upon Mornaeg, Tirniel and one other unfamiliar healer.

“Thank goodness.” Legolas sighed, smiling weakly at Tirniel. “His heart-rate is too fast, and he is having trouble breathing. His entire body is being tormented by Bengwiil, I have no doubt in my mind of that. Can you- will you help him? And please, tell me how I am to help, for you cannot make me do otherwise.”

“We have- have figured out how to help him.” Tirniel said quietly, and Legolas didn’t like how he wouldn’t meet the prince’s eyes.

“Tirniel, do not lie to me. What is wrong-” Legolas’ voice trailed off as he noticed the other healer walking silently around the bed, carrying a bundle of something wrapped in brown cloth, and a bowl of water. The room went unexplainably dark, and Legolas’ mind reeled. He knew what was wrapped up in that brown cloth. He knew.

“Bengwiil.” Legolas shook his head slowly, and pulled Aragorn closer to him. “I will not let you give him Bengwiil again. Not this time.”

Tirniel’s tone was not unfriendly, but still completely grave. “Your highness, your father has given us specific instructions. Either you must go out, or we will force you out. These are the only choices we are to give you.”

Legolas couldn’t believe his ears. Not again. Not this again. But he knew there was no two ways about it. He pressed his forehead against the top of Aragorn’s head, and whispered softly so only the young ranger could hear. “I have to go, Aragorn, but I will be back. I will be here if you need me, all right?”

“Le- egolas? W-w-where-er are you going?”

“Just outside. Oh Aragorn, I’m sorry. I cannot avoid it.” He pulled the human against his chest, and gave him a squeeze of reassurance. “Ea benifred, Estel. I will not let them hurt you. I *will* not let them hurt you.” //be without fear, Estel//

Legolas felt a slender hand on his shoulder. “Legolas, do not make me.” Tirniel’s voice was half-pleading, and his sincerity was pronounced by the fact that he *never* called the prince by his first name.

Legolas slid out from under Aragorn, laying the human down on the bed gently. He knelt beside the bed a long while, and whispered some incoherent elvish to his friend. Finally, he rose to his feet, and nodded to Tirniel. “You must understand that though I go willingly, I by no means approve of what you are doing to my friend. *again*.”

The sharp words seemed to cut the healer deep, and he tried to find words to express this. But all he could say was, “It is your father who commands this.”

Legolas’ eyes flashed, though he tried to hide his sudden anger. He then shook his head wordlessly, and began towards the doorway.

“You may not want to stay *too* close to the door, your highness.” Tirniel advised. “The simple smell of Bengwiil wafting under the door was enough to render you unconscious last time.”

“I am aware of that, Tirniel. But I have no intention of staying by the door.”

“Then- then where are you-”

“I must go have a talk.” Legolas responded flatly, and looked down at Aragorn one last time, a look of deep pain in his eyes. The aggrieved look was replaced by one of anger when he met Tirniel’s gaze again. “With my father.” He finished, and went swiftly from the dark room.

***********

All the way down each corridor, past each door, up each stair, Legolas wondered what he was doing. Even once he reached his father’s bedroom door, he didn’t know what he planned to say. But pushing it open, he walked purposefully into the room, with the air of one who knows *exactly* where he is bound and why.

The first thing he saw when he reached the interior of the room, was his father’s back. The elf was sitting on his bed, looking out the dark window. He was whispering. Talking to someone.

“He will not understand, I know. But it *was* the only way, and you believe me, do you not?…I know. I know you do. I miss you, you know. But I am glad you are back…though, I suppose…” There was silence awhile in which the only sound was Thranduil’s heavy breath, and the slight creak of Legolas’ feet over the wood floor. But Thranduil was too absorbed to notice his son’s entry.

“You *must* be back…I saw…I saw you…did I not? What if he is right, meltha? What if he is right, and this- this thing is wrong. I *need* you to be back. I *need* you…”

Legolas continued to approach his rambling father, feeling more than a little uneasy at the strange conversation he was having. Especially since when Legolas grew closer, he could see there was no one else in the room.

The king shook suddenly, and pitched forward slightly. His body shook with sobs, and he buried his face in his hands. “Where are you, meltha? Where *are* you?! Come back! Come back to me!”

Legolas felt completely confused, and though his heart had been angered and rebellious coming here, he felt suddenly sympathetic and ashamed of his moment of anger. “Father?” He spoke kindly, and his soft voice came so smoothly up from silence that it did not startle the king. Thranduil turned, and saw his son over his shoulder.

“Legolas…” He said in an strange tone, turning away again.

Legolas crawled the rest of the way over the bed, and sat down beside his father, looking over at him with deep concern etched on his face. “What is it? And do not tell me ‘nothing’ for I know better.”

Thranduil shook his head blankly. “I gave your friend more Bengwiil, didn’t I.” He responded in a tone as blank as his face.

“Yes.” Legolas sighed. “Yes you did.”

“I am sorry. Is he going to die?”

“I- I hope not.” Legolas studied his father with more confusion than compassion now. These strange questions seemed just too frank. “Father, are you feeling well?”

“No.” Came the vacant answer. “Why are you here, Legolas?”

“Well, several reasons. I’m wondering why you are using Bengwiil again, why you are so distant, why- why you have not even *tried* to search for Aragorn’s attacker.”

“He is likely long-gone from here, Legolas. There is no reason to interrogate every elf in these Halls all for that.”

“But you have not even *tried* to look, nor have you shown any emotion towards the matter. Does it not anger you that one of your people have attacked an innocent man under your roof? And you have done nothing.”

“Well,” Thranduil murmured at length, as though he hadn’t heard a word his son had spoken. “At least your friend is well.”

“Not yet.” Legolas answered sighing again, and suddenly remembered the horrible scene that was likely taking place beneath his feet. “But I think- I know he will be. He will make it.”

“So you agree now.” Thranduil whirled around, and looked directly at Legolas for once. “You agree!”

“I- what?”

“You agree that the Bengwiil heals! It heals! Then I have something to tell you, Legolas. I have-”

“Father, father.” Legolas sprang to his feet. “The Bengwiil does nothing but harm! You *know* I believe this. I shall *never* change my mind. Never! The only reason my friend will make it is because Aragorn is *strong*. Despite all you have put him through, he will make it. For awhile. Then he and I will make all speed for Rivendell where Lord Elrond will *truly* heal him. I have no intention of resorting to Bengwiil willingly. And I wish you had never-”

Thranduil shot to his feet almost as quickly as Legolas had. “Be silent!”

Legolas bit back the last of his sentence and simply stared at his father a long moment.

When Thranduil spoke again, his voice was shaking with rage. “You have *no* right to come and speak to me like this, Legolas. I am your father, and the king of Mirkwood. You will not speak to me thus.”

Legolas shook his head, closing his eyes against his father‘s angry stare. “I ask your forgiveness for my disrespect. But that is *all* I can apologize for.” Legolas opened his eyes again, but now his own gase seemed to pierce his father’s.

“Father, you are right. I am wrong to come to you speak thus. I should not have lost my temper. But who else is going inform you of these wrongs? You have left everyone thinking Bengwiil is a healing plant again. Where will it lead us? To another Minaeg. Someone is going to die again, and then they will all realize-again- that Bengwiil does no good. But too late. This elf will be dead, and we will fear Bengwiil for another eon. Then you will ‘need’ it once more, and all will begin again. That is not worth the life of one of your people, father.”

Legolas had run out of things to say, and the words he’d spoken so far didn’t seem to have sunken in anyway. He was tired. So tired. Turning from his father, he walked towards the door.

“It is Aragorn, isn’t it?” Legolas stopped at his father’s words, turning to look over his shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

Thranduil was looking pale and distressed. “Aragorn is getting killed by this Bengwiil, and so you automatically hate it. For Aragorn is special is he not?”

“Father, what are you talking about?”

“You are letting your emotions cloud your vision, Legolas! Just because *you* think it is killing Aragorn, and because *you* had an overdose of it, you say Bengwiil is evil. That does not mean it is. Let it go, and look at the truth as it *is*!”

“Father, it is possible that I simply had an overdose, and that Aragorn’s only sick. That *may* be true, though I doubt it more than anything. But. You cannot explain away Minaeg. You know he died, and you know it was Bengwiil. You will never change my mind about this plant, father. Never.”

Legolas didn’t want to be here anymore. Grabbing a small, silver key off of his father’s side table, he left the room. Thranduil watched his son turn, and leave the room. He couldn’t stand it! Not again. Not now. Again. “Oh, Legolas.” He whispered, sinking onto the bed again. “I wanted to tell you...”

***********

Legolas made his quick way to Aragorn’s room again, bits and pieces of his conversation with Thranduil ringing through his head. He didn’t want to remember any of it. He was so tired of arguing his case. Of saying “Bengwiil does no good!” No wonder none would listen to him. It all sounded like repetition, and somehow didn’t carry enough meaning anymore.

The prince finally reached Aragorn’s door, and not caring what he’d find inside, thrust the silver key into the lock, and turned it.

The room was no longer dark, for the sun had risen half-way into the sky. In the pink lighting, Legolas saw Aragorn lying motionless in the bed before him. “Aragorn-” He began, and expecting the worst rushed to the bed. Leaning over his friend, he was going to ask Tirniel, who was standing on the other side of the bed, how he was, but at that moment, the human opened his eyes. The first thing they fixed on was Legolas, and he smiled.

“I hope you did not brake the door down.”

Legolas smiled back relief flooding through him. “No, I used a key.”

“Well,” Aragorn sighed. “I knew you didn’t wait for them to *let* you in.”

“Lucky guess.”

“Don’t be so optimistic.” The two seemed to have a composition of who’s smile could broaden the most for a moment. Then Legolas looked up at Tirniel. “How long till he can ride to Rivendell?”

Tirniel studied Aragorn close, and then nodded. “Maybe a day?”

Legolas nodded back, and sighed. “We’ll go home soon, all right, Aragorn? Assuming that you still want to go.”

Aragorn shrugged. “I’m not one to argue with an elf who has arrows hanging from his bed.”

“I won’t murder you in your sleep, Aragorn.” Legolas promised in mock-seriousness.

“No, I am afraid of you murdering me in *your* sleep!”

“You have *no* faith in my archery skills.” Legolas jibbed, sitting back on his heals.

“No, but you have no faith in mine, so I must find *some* way to get even.”

“Perhaps when you are out of bed, my friend.”

Aragon nodded, smiling. “Fair enough.”

Legolas smiled back, and slowly turned from Aragorn to Mornaeg who was standing behind him, and nodded to the door. “Come, let us leave Aragorn to rest. The healers will take care of him.”

“That we will.” Tirniel promised as the two left silently, Legolas leaving Aragorn a nod of encouragement first. As they closed the door behind them, Legolas and Mornaeg heard the soft whispers of Tirniel telling Aragorn how much rest he would need, and how he needed lots of water et cetera.

Legolas looked over at Mornaeg as the two walked down the hallway. “So what happened in my absence?”

Mornaeg tilted his head to the side in thought. “He had trouble breathing as he had previously, and then we administered…his treatment.” Mornaeg was obviously hesitant to name the plant he *knew* the prince hated so.

“Go on, my friend.” Legolas told him gently, understanding the hesitation.

“Well after that, Aragorn started calling for you, and then completely slackened. He went so still, we thought he had- had slipped into shadow.” Legolas was suddenly relieved he had not been there, knowing what seeing Aragorn like that would have done to him. “Then, Tirniel reported his heart was still beating, normally now, and his breathing was normal. You came in, and awoke him, and you know the rest.”

Legolas nodded. “Thank you. I am glad he is momentarily well. Well enough to reach Rivendell, at least.”

“Why are you to ride to Rivendell?”

“I am going to take him to Lord Elrond. He, I am sure, can heal Aragorn. He is a good healer, and wiser than even Prestomin.”

“But- will it not harm Aragorn more to ride over the Misty Mountains?”

“If so, we’ve nothing to lose. He will die, of that I am sure, if we leave him hear unattended. The Bengwiil is in his bloodstream, as I am sure you know.”

“Well- yes, but I thought that this was to heal him, not harm him.”

“And you are not the first to believe this. I had thought when, long ago, another elf died from Bengwiil, that would stop this belief for good. But alas, it has not.”

“I have heard tales of tragedy in these Halls, but I never quite understood them. But the story of the elf wounded hunting is true, then. And so is the moral I have heard along with this tale, I assume. You can die from Bengwiil.”

“Yes, indeed you can. And Aragorn will, unless I get him to Lord Elrond.”

Mornaeg stared hard at Legolas. “You seem to know much about this plant, highness.”

“Indeed, for I myself have been infected with it, as you well know.”

“I must confess, I do. That is why I asked you that night- I thought I would bring this healing plant back. But I was wrong. So wrong.”

“Do not blame yourself.” Legolas sighed, and leaned against the hall’s stone wall.

“Will- will you not tell me what you know about Bengwiil?”

Legolas studied Mornaeg a moment. “No, my friend. You do not wish to know more than you must about this accursed herb. Trust me on this. And I do not wish to speak of it anyway.”

Mornaeg nodded as though he completely understood, though a look of almost irritation crossed his face. But too quickly for Legolas to see it.

“Well Mornaeg, I think I shall- read awhile. I will see you later?”

Mornaeg only nodded, and Legolas turned swiftly towards his room, and closed the door behind him. He sat down on his bed, and from his side table, pulled the old, musty papers Aragorn had found. Scanning the pages one by one, he tried to decipher what it said, but couldn’t read more than a few words her and there. At one point, he thought he’d translated a whole sentence, but it made no sense.

And the writing became so illegible that he couldn’t translate anymore. None of it seemed to make any sense, though it seemed uncannily familiar. Once again, he pulled the sketch of the elf out, and studied it. It too seemed familiar. Looking closely up and down it, he realized something strange. The shadow of the leaf below was slightly green. He drew the paper even closer to his face, and tried to get a good look at it.

Legolas’ body tensed completely, and he couldn’t breathe. His mind had gone far away, it seemed, and all spun and swam around him. He vaguely felt Aragorn’s hands tightened over his own in comfort and reassurance. But somewhere in the back of his mind, Legolas knew. His brain was losing oxygen, and he didn’t have long. He was dieing…dieing…dieing…

Legolas jerked himself upright, and realized that he was on the floor. The elf’s picture was crumpled and lying a few feet away as though he’d thrown it. He didn’t remember doing anything. He didn’t remember falling on the floor. All he remembered was…that night. That night he had nearly died in Rivendell.

Legolas pulled himself up onto the bed again, and laid down on one of his many pillows. Why? Why was he constantly reminded of this? What was happening to him? And why was it happening? Why…

Chapter 10

Danger, Declaration, Dream

“Legolas. Legolas!”

Legolas jerked slightly. “Hm?” He responded, rolling over, and finding Aragorn above him. “Aragorn!” He sat bolt upright, nearly smacking Aragorn in the jaw.

“No, Elrohir. Whom did you expect?” The human’s eyes twinkled with merriment.

“Well.” Legolas smiled. “I guess you are feeling better.”

“Yes, and perhaps you are ill.” Aragorn furrowed his eyebrows in concern. “Elves do not normally sleep in the daytime, Legolas, are you well?”

“Yes, I- well I had a little memory recollection again. It shook me up a bit, so I climbed into bed, and I must have fallen asleep.”

“Did you have more memories of Rivendell?” Aragorn asked quietly. Legolas nodded. “Well, worry not. We shall be *going* to Rivendell soon. Perhaps my father can help you with *your* problem as well.”

Legolas nodded again. “Yes, yes perhaps. Thank you Aragorn, I had not thought of that. I am eager for any help I can receive concerning those memories. Your father, I am sure, will be able to understand them almost as well as you.”

“Indeed.” Aragorn smiled. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

“Exhalant point!” Legolas leapt off the bed, and grabbed his bow and arrows. “Let us collect some provisions, and then be off!”

Aragorn turned to the door. “I shall grab my things and meet you in the stables.”

“No!” Aragorn was startled by the sudden exclamation and stopped. “I am not letting you out of my sight until we are on our horses, and riding to Rivendell.”

Aragorn only smiled again, and shrugged. “It matters not to me, Legolas. Whatever puts your mind at ease.”

So the two of them went swiftly about the halls and rooms gathering this and that until they were finally packed. The companions were walking through the Great Hall towards the stables, when Legolas spotted Mornaeg. “Mornaeg, my friend!” He called, and the elf came to him swiftly. “Will you tell my father that we are leaving? I had informed Tirniel of it earlier, but he may have forgotten now.”

“You- you are going?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Then let me go with you!”

Legolas looked with a puzzled eye at the elf. “Why, Mornaeg?”

“I- I have long desired to abide in the House of Elrond. Besides, what if Aragorn gets worse? Or you will be delayed in Rivendell? I would be your messenger.”

Legolas shook his head. “No, Mornaeg. I am sorry, but this is a journey Aragorn and I must make alone. Do you understand this?”

Mornaeg nodded, but once again it was apparent the he did *not* in fact understand, nor did he accept it. But he moved away from Legolas, and went to deliver his message.

“A good fellow, though at times it is hard to believe he is older than I.” Legolas shook his head, smiling distantly, and turned back to Aragorn. “Onto Rivendell.”

The two companions climbed on their horses, Aragorn a little unsteadily, due to his still-bandaged arm and leg. The friends finally rode off into the afternoon sun, ready for the long journey ahead of them.

Unexpectedly, a loud *THHHONT!* came from above, and Aragorn’s horse began to pitch. “Gwiil Horthor! Larhink!” Aragorn commanded, but was unable to hold onto the bucking horse with his arm bandaged.

//be still!//

This did not escape Legolas’ notice, and the elf steadied his own horse, and then sprang down towards Horthor. Dodging the alarmed horse’s pounding hooves, Legolas managed to grab onto the thrashing reins and hold the horse at bay. Aragorn was breathing hard, trying to steady himself. Legolas moved up beside him, still holding the reins in his right hand. “Are you all right?” He asked quietly.

“Are you as tired of saving my neck as I *think* you are?” Aragorn sighed, leaning back in his saddle, and looking down at Legolas.

The prince was smiling. “No. I’m paying you back for *everything* you did for me but a fortnight ago. It is my turn to save you, Aragorn. Do not be ashamed as I was when you helped me.”

The human tried to nod, and stared at Horthor’s dark mane, though he was really looking somewhere much farther away. Legolas left him a moment, and moved around behind the horse. It did not take him long to figure out what had frightened the beast so. Swiftly but gently, Legolas pulled a tiny barb from the horse’s hindquarters and inspected it.

“It is a Salab Dart. An elven weapon.” He told his friend, moving around the side of the horse again.

Aragorn’s mind returned to the present again, and he looked down at the weapon. “Elven? Just who wouldn’t want us to leave Mirkwood, pray tell?”

“I have no idea.”

“Perhaps Mor-” Another *THHHONT!* sliced the air, but this time Legolas felt a sting in his shoulder, and he was forced to drop the reins and barb as a painful numbness spread all the way from his shoulder to his fingertips. Yet another barb cut through the open air, now burying itself in Horthor’s neck.

The beast screamed and began to pitch again. Aragorn clung onto it’s mane for dear life, but the horse had gone wild, and moved so fast. Legolas, holding his limp right arm against his chest with his left hand, moved around beside the horse again, and tried to shoulder him to a halt. But Horthor swung away from the elf, and shook his head furiously, trying to rid himself of the stinging barb in his neck.

This shake was just too much, and Aragorn’s grip slipped. Holding on with his knees only, he tried to find a way to swing off the horse without further injuring his leg. Legolas made his way carefully to a place where he may be able to help his friend off the bucking animal.

*THHHONT!* Legolas felt his right leg give out beneath him and a sharp pain shot from his knee to his ankle. Rolling away from Horthor, he tried to push himself to his hands and knees.

Aragorn was still trying to calm the horse by words, keeping up a constant series of “Gwiil! Larhink!”

//peace! Be still!//

When Legolas fell beside the horse, and beyond Aragorn’s vision, the human panicked, knowing how fatal it may be if Legolas was caught amongst Horthor’s pounding hooves.

This moment of panic was at the completely wrong time, and with a sudden jolt from Horthor, Aragorn felt himself slip, and half fall, half slide off of the great horse’s back. His shoulders hit the ground first, and soon afterwards, his head smacked the hard earth. Everything around him grew blurry.

“Aragorn look out!” Legolas’ warning was not too helpful to a man who couldn’t see straight, and even the elf knew that. Aragorn had been thrown more-or-less over the Horthor’s thrashing head, and the human was now lying helpless on the ground before the stamping horse’s hooves.

Legolas couldn’t feel his right leg or arm anymore, so he simply pushed himself up on his left hand and knee, and crawled as best he could towards the stomping beast. Not quite knowing what to do, but understanding the urgency of the situation, Legolas pulled himself to Horthor’s side, and without thinking, rolled beneath the great beast. Horthor reared to avoid the elf, frightened by creature suddenly right beneath him. The hooves landed on either side of Legolas, and the prince’s eyes widened at the narrow escape from a fatal blow.

“Gwiil, Horthor! Ea na gwiil, idrer.”

//peace, Horthor! Be at peace, dear one.//

The horse continued to toss his head from side to side, but Aragorn’s words calmed him enough to keep his feet on the ground. Legolas pulled himself out from underneath the horse, and managed to kneel on his good knee before the animal.

“There you go, Aragorn, keep going.”

“Gwiil, idrer. Ea na gwiil, maech. Meach, ea na gwiil.”

//peace, dear one. Be at peace, you are well. You are well, be at peace.//

Aragorn’s soft voice continued, and Horthor managed to stand still for a few moments. Those moments were enough.

Legolas wrapped his left arm around the horse’s neck, and with all his strength, hoisted himself off his knees, around the horse’s neck, and onto his dark back. Before Horthor could react, Legolas pulled the tiny barb from his neck, and threw it on the ground.

“Maech, Horthor. Ea na gwiil, maech.” He intoned with Aragorn until the horse was calm, and finally stood still.

Legolas sighed, and laid his head against Horthor’s neck. “Mae pant, sadroner.” He told the horse. “Mae pant.” //well done, faithful one. Well done.//

Aragorn picked himself the rest of the way off the ground, breathing heavily. “That was close.”

“Indeed.” Legolas sighed, closing his eyes, and lifting his face to the sky. “But it is well now. It is-” His eyes snapped open. “Aragorn, climb on Lint. We must get indoors, lest we find this intruder is still with us, and after our lives.”

Aragorn nodded, and limped to Legolas’ horse, climbing up swiftly, and steering him one-handed towards the Halls of Thranduil again. Legolas did the same, also one-handed, and the two made their way back inside.

Once in the stables again, Aragorn turned to Legolas. “What exactly happened back there?”

“It appears that someone, some *elf* as a matter of fact, was in one of those trees along the road. Apparently this someone doesn’t want us leaving Mirkwood.”

Aragorn nodded. “I’ve a pretty safe guess who as well.” Legolas raised his eyebrows in question. “Mornaeg.”

“Mornaeg, why?”

“Well, he was eager enough to not get left behind, and clearly not happy when it appeared he would be. Besides, I tried to suggest it earlier, and that was when the second volley of darts came. I think he is our only lead at this point.”

Legolas listened to Aragorn’s theory, and finally nodded. “Well, I will talk to him. See what I may be able to figure out. I believe he is the kind of elf who would admit to this, if only because he still wishes to join us.”

Aragorn shrugged. “Just don’t scare him, I wouldn’t want to lose him before we can find out if it was him.”

“Yes, I know.”

“We *could* find out for sure who it was, if we go out and look, you know.”

Legolas stared out at the thick group of trees by the road, and shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to go against someone who had the advantage of being hidden from our eyes by the trees, and who has paralyzing darts as well. Besides, if he was an elf, I’m sure he is long gone.”

Aragorn sighed agreement. “I suppose our best chance is to ask Mornaeg then. Though- though if it *is* him, it is possible that he was the one who attacked me.”

“I…yes, I suppose that is a possibility, but not very likely. I mean- would you not recognize him, seeing him so soon after that night?”

“I didn’t exactly get a good look at him. It could be anyone in these halls I’ve seen millions of times, and I would not know it. I am afraid we have to depend on evidence.”

Legolas nodded again, but this time his head sank somewhat. “Legolas?” Aragorn climbed down, with a little difficulty, from Lint, letting the horse into its stable, and coming to stand beside Horthor. “Legolas, what is wrong?”

“The-these barbs.” Legolas groaned, leaning further forward, trying to support his slowly numbing body with his left arm.

“I cannot reach you up there.” Aragorn told him, wrapping and arm around the elf’s waist. “Come, I’ll help you down.”

Legolas would have nodded, but the muscles in his neck seemed to have gone numb as well, and he only murmured something like “Hurwhy” that was meant to be all right.

Aragorn managed to support Legolas slowly to the ground. Fortunately, Legolas’ one good arm and leg made up for Aragorn’s bad ones, and they eventually had him sitting on the ground beside Horthor’s stable. Aragorn murmured something to the horse, and he turned and trotted obediently into his stable.

Aragorn fiddled one-handed with the blood-stained shoulder of his companion. Finally, he felt the tiny dart, more than half-buried in the elf’s shoulder. Gripping it tightly between his thumb and forefinger, he jerked it out of Legolas’ flesh, and examined it carefully.

“The- honly nice thing ‘bout numbing pois’n.” Legolas mumbled, unable to help slurring due to his numb tongue. “Yo’ can’t feel an’thing.”

Aragorn smiled, and put the dart aside, moving towards Legolas’ leg instead. Digging around the torn knee in the elf’s leggings, he found the second dart, and extracted it as well. “Feeling should come back soon enough.” He promised his friend, smiling again.

“W‘ll, that *will* be fun.” Legolas groaned, letting his head rest against the stable wall. He was silent a few minutes, while his tongue gradually loosened up, and he finally decided to talk again. When he did, he found his voice fine. “You should go rest.”

Aragorn looked up from the dart he was still inspecting. “I am fine, Legolas.”

“I know that, but perhaps we should not push you if we don’t have to. Just go and lie down awhile.”

“I think-”

“Don’t think I *haven’t* seen you rubbing your temples over and over.” Legolas cut in, gesturing with his good hand to Aragorn’s head. “You fell off a rampaging horse, Aragorn. You should rest in case you have a concussion again. Remember, when you fell down the stairs you became much worse. I do not wish to risk you trying to make a long journey with me, and not-”

“All right, mellon nin! Ea benifred. I shall rest.”

//my friend! Be without fear.//

Aragorn gave Legolas’ knee a playful push, and Legolas grinned back, satisfied.

“You go rest, and when I’ve all my feeling back, I shall go speak with Mornaeg.”

Aragorn nodded. “See you in awhile then.”

Legolas returned the affirmation, and lay his head back again. “See you in awhile.”

**********

Legolas, testing his leg still, walked to the Great Hall, and soon found Mornaeg amongst the many elves standing or sitting there. “Mornaeg?”

The elf stood from his seat, and at seeing Legolas, grew much brighter. “Your highness! You are back so soon?”

“I must speak with you, my friend.”

Mornaeg nodded. “Of course, of course. Here, let use go elsewhere.”

The two went swiftly into the corridor beyond the Great Hall’s doors. Once there, Mornaeg turned expectantly. “What is it? And please, why *are* you back already?”

Legolas sighed. “We were attacked after scarcely making it down the road. Someone in the trees shot Salab Darts at us, and we barely got out of there with our lives, not to mention limbs.”

Mornaeg’s eyes were uncommonly wide as he listened. “You mean to tell me that an *elf* tried to shoot you and Aragorn?”

“Yes, Mornaeg. And I also-” Legolas stopped. Now, standing before Mornaeg’s so sincerely bewildered face, and thinking of the two reasons that Aragorn and he suspected this elf, Legolas began to wonder if his mind had been numb as well, when he’d agreed to question Mornaeg. But they had no other leads, and he could only hope that Mornaeg would not be too hurt if he was wrong.

“I also have reason to believe that- that it was you, Mornaeg.” Legolas felt stupid through every word, but tried to sound unconvinced, trying to assure the elf before him that it was a speculation, and a speculation *only*.

Mornaeg stared at Legolas blankly a long moment. “Your highness, I-”

Legolas caught something in his eyes that he could scarcely believe, but easily interpret. “Do not lie to me, Mornaeg. Please.” He knew though, whether the elf admitted to it or not, Legolas knew the truth.

“Yes, highness. It was I.”

Legolas nodded with a disappointed sigh. “Why?”

“I- I had not meant to nearly kill you two, but I- thought if I delayed you long enough, you would allow me to join you.”

“Mornaeg, I still do not understand why you *wish* to go so much.”

“I want to help you. Both of you. I wanted to make up for everything. For bringing up Bengwiil before everyone, and therefore putting you through such pain. For- for spilling the water on the staircase.”

“You did that? On purpose?!”

“Well, again I had not meant for him to fall so hard, to be hurt so badly. Why do you think I was so close at hand afterwards?”

Now, Legolas really *couldn’t* believe his ears. “You nearly killed him!”

“I did not mean-”

“Tell me, did you attack him? Are *you* the one who tried to kill him in his room? The one who started this *whole* ordeal? Are you Mornaeg? Are you a murderer?!”

“No, your highness, please! It was not I, I can *prove* it was not I!”

“All right then, prove it! And it had better be believable, Mornaeg, for I am quite close to talking to my father about you!”

“No please! I can prove it. When you awoke to Aragorn calling for help, I was in your room writing you an apology letter. Then, you ran upstairs, I behind you, and even Aragorn reported this intruder had retreated out the window! I swear to you, prince Legolas, I did *not* attack your friend! I never meant to hurt him in the least. I didn’t!”

Legolas was silent, his jaw locked, his eyes set. He was not about to believe so easily, but the evidence pointed to it quite clearly. Besides, he realized once his anger had subsided somewhat, the attacker would be long gone by now.

“I believe you, Mornaeg.” He said finally in a softly tired voice. “I am very sorry. I- I just cannot stand that someone has gotten away with causing so much pain to someone so innocent. Aragorn did nothing to deserve the agony he’s been through.”

“Iston.” Mornaeg agreed in a voice almost as tired. “Iston umir.”

//I know he did not.//

Legolas sighed again, and let a kind hand fall on the shaken elf’s shoulder, and looked deep into his still-frightened eyes. “Aragorn and I go alone, all right? Worry not about making anything up to us. Indeed, it would be more helpful if you did not.”

At this, Mornaeg almost smiled, and nodded.

Legolas smiled back, as though to a small child, though Mornaeg’s years surpassed his by much. “I must go and think awhile. Rest and refresh my mind. Go and tell Aragorn I shall be awhile, will you? Unless he be asleep, in which case, do not disturb him.”

“Yes, your highness. This I can do without hurting anyone, I trust.”

Legolas turned, and walked towards one of the stone balconies to get some fresh air. Mornaeg also turned, and walked to the stairs to find Aragorn.

*********

Fire and smoke blew all around him. He didn’t know where he was going. He was following someone, but could see no one. Finally he approached a long, stone outcropping. Walking slowly, he squinted in the hot air and smoke to see what he was walking towards.

Finally, a small, shadow of a figure appeared before him. This figure was strangely familiar, and its eyes pierced his own like the flames around them.

For awhile, the only sound was the loud *BOOM!* of the earth beneath them, and the occasional whistle of the wind outside. Then, a voice came from the figure. “Cast it into the fire!” The sound echoed off the walls, off the ground, off the ceiling. It seemed to be batted back and forth among the playful flames, and was as blurred as the smoke hanging in the air.

He didn’t know what the stranger meant. Do what? What was he asking? Whatever it was, the stranger was so desperate, of course he would do it! A powerful darkness was set heavily on his mind, heart and soul. He felt loaded down, and yet liked it. It was a good feeling. Though unbearably frightening, amazingly refreshing. He had nothing to worry about. The world was here. Right between his fingers. Right, between, his fingers…

He looked down into his hand, and lifted the object there before his face. It shone like the sun, and sent a breeze of its own wafting into his face. Cast *this* into the fire? Was that it? But why?

He stared blankly at it a long moment, and then nodded. Of course. Only a lump of gold, and he knew what it could do. It *was* evil, he could feel it rushing through him as he stared at it. It *should* be destroyed.

He felt his feet moving rather swiftly towards the stranger. But then, “Haaaaaraaaaagooorrrn…” His feet became like lead. But no. How could he destroy it? It called him. It came to him. It spoke to him. It was his. It was his own. His own. All his own…

“Destroy it!” The echo bounced off everything again, but was no longer blurry. The instructions were clear. And they were right. But…

”Haaaaaaaaraagooooooorrrnnn!” He felt his hand close tightly over the object. It was his. His own. His jewel. His right. His hope. His life. His love. His precious prize.

“No.” His voice sounded dead even in his own ears. He turned. And he began to walk away.

The voice that rent the air was pleading. Desperate. And heartrending. “Estel!”

“Father!” Aragorn looked around him. Not again. The dream had returned to haunt him once again. It *was* only a dream, but no. It was real. Or had been, years and years ago. And though this was not the first time he’d dreamt this, he couldn’t help asking his unanswered question. Over and over he had asked himself. Why? Why had he been standing in Isildur’s place? What had brought it about?

Aragorn pushed himself shakily to a sitting position. His breath leapt into his lungs, and his heart skipped a beat as cold metal pressed just under his chin.

“Hello again,” A sneering voice came from just over his shoulder. “Did you miss me?”

Chapter 11

Your Fear, Legolas

Aragorn tried hard not to breathe. Slowly, he moved back, away from the dagger enough to say, “What do you want of me?”

“Nothing that you cannot give with little pain.”

“Then you have not returned to kill me?”

“No. I never *meant* to kill you. If I had wanted to kill you, that dagger would have made a plunge for your heart rather than your shoulder. Believe me, human, everything is still going according to plan.”

“I would be happy for you, if perhaps your dagger was not at my throat. But anyway, you have not answered my question. What do you want?”

“Well,” The taunting voice continued. “you did not answer my question either. Did you miss me, or did you not?”

“No.” Aragorn responded flatly. “I cannot say in truth that I did.”

“My, my.” The elf clucked his disapproval. “You have grown much braver since our last encounter. As I recall, last we met, you were screaming in pain, and begging for mercy. Were you not?”

Aragorn glared over his shoulder, though he could not see the elf. Biting back his anger, he gritted out, “I ask again, what do you want?”

“Information.” At this, the stranger finally moved around the bed so Aragorn could see him, carefully keeping his dagger at the human’s throat. “About Bengwiil.”

Aragorn stared. “I don’t *know* anything about Bengwiil. All I know is that it has healed me. I know it has saved my life, but Legolas does not believe so. That is *all* I know.”

“You have seen no visions? You have had no dreams? You have felt no unexplainable worries or fears?”

Aragorn grew silent. He had in fact, over the last few days, been feeling each of these. “I- I cannot say.”

‘Which is as good as yes, human. What had it felt like? What have you seen? What have you felt?”

“Well, if I *have* felt something, I am not exactly planning on sharing it all with you, am I?!” Aragorn felt suddenly angered by this stranger. He had touched a nerve that hadn’t been hit yet. Realized something that Aragorn hoped no one would realize.

“What do you fear, human?” The voice became smooth as silk, dark as midnight, and yet so incredibly sincere. “What do you fear?”

Aragorn sat a long moment, staring blankly into the elf’s dark green eyes. What *did* he fear? But he knew. He knew. “Nothing.”

“Liar!” The dagger shot forward, just barley missing Aragorn’s throat, and biting into the bed’s headboard instead. “What do you fear?!’ He demanded again, his face now just inches away from Aragorn’s.

“I- I don’t know.”

“You lie! What do you fear, human? What do you see, dream, feel, hate, love, long for, dread? What, fier er? Tell me everything. Everything!” //mortal one?//

“No!” Aragorn backed away from the crazed elf, until he was nearly off the other end of the bed. “No, I shall tell you nothing!”

The stranger was quivering with rage, and began to crawl across the bed slowly. Aragorn’s heart shook with fear. His eyes shot from the crazed elf’s face to the dagger the evil being had wrenched from the headboard, and now held in his hand.

“Don’t move.” He said darkly, and Aragorn realized he couldn’t out of fear. It reminded him so, so strongly of that night. The night he‘d been attacked by this same, ruthless creature. The elf was practically on top of him before he backed away again.

*THUD!* It took a few moments for Aragorn to realize he’d fallen off the bed, and onto the wood floor. These few moments were enough for the elf, who leapt of the bed after the human, and landed catlike on the floor beside him. With one, quick thrust, he drove the dagger through the shoulder of Aragorn’s shirt, striking the wood beneath it, and therefore pinning Aragorn to the floor.

The elf then unsheathed a second dagger, and pointed it at Aragorn’s throat. “Tell me” He said darkly, breathing heavily. “everything.”

“I- can’t-” Aragorn gasped, trying a dry cough.

“What do you mean, *can’t*?” The elf demanded, and though he tried to hide it, there was a note of unease in his words.

“I can’t breathe- your dagger…” Aragorn broke off into a half-cough, constricted by the weapon pressed against his windpipe. The elf, reluctantly, pulled the dagger away a little. “I- I- the Bengwiil!” Aragorn cried. “I can’t see! I can’t breathe!” He broke off coughing and sputtering.

“Wh- what do you feel?” The elf seemed on the one hand, very interested, but Aragorn was surprised to hear concern in his voice.

“I- I can’t breathe! H- help me up, please! I must stand, I can’t breathe!”

The elf, surprisingly enough, complied, and pulled the dagger from Aragorn’s sleeve. He heaved him to his feet, and sat him down on the bed. “What do you feel?” He asked again, looking Aragorn directly in the eye.

“I- feel hot. I feel- I feel dizzy. I see…see…”

“*what* do you see?!”

“Don’t you see it? Can’t you sense it? There. Just there. It is at the door. I can feel it.” Aragorn’s voice took a mysteriously terrified tone, as he stared wide-eyed at the closed oak door.

The stranger turned and looked at the door as well, his face a picture of confusion. It was enough. Dropping his whole act, Aragorn shoved his knees into the elf’s chest, throwing the stranger hard onto the floor. Aragorn leapt up, and managed to snatch one of the daggers.

“Don’t move.” He threatened, pointing the dagger towards the elf‘s chest. “I plan to find out *just* who you are-”

The elf plainly didn’t like that idea, and threw a well-planned kick at Aragorn’s hand, causing him to drop the dagger. Unfortunately for the elf, Aragorn lunged forward at the same moment, causing the discarded dagger to spin off toward the elf rather than the floor.

The intruder gasped in pain as the blade sliced his upper arm. Angrily, he kicked Aragorn back from him, and grabbed the dagger, throwing it hard. With a *K-KANG!* it skittered across the wood floor, and under the bed. The elf was quick to his feet, in typical elven reflexes. Seeing in an instant that he wouldn’t stand a chance against an armed elf in such close quarters, Aragorn made a break for the door.

He was at the door, and pushing it open, when he felt a hard *CRACK*. Spots danced in front of his eyes, and he didn’t even realize he’d hit the floor, until he opened his eyes.

“Nice try.” The voice above him sneered, though he could hear the elf was breathless. “I underestimated you, human. But I am afraid our pleasantries end here. I will learn all I need to in time. But you will never see me again. I promise you that. No, not I.” He smiled cruelly, and Aragorn was suddenly jerked to his feet. “Namarie for the last time. Amarth layaa gwaur thlim, toi os-uuvagol osach.”

//woe to your filthy race, if they are as foolish as you.//

Once again, he cracked Aragorn over the back of the head with his dagger hilt, but hard as he could this time. Aragorn was unconscious before he hit the wood floor, and all he could remember hearing was the loud *BANG* of the door, and a young elf’s voice, “Who are- what have you- Legolas!”

**********

“No.” He was closing his hand. He was walking away. He was turning from his father. He was taking his prize. All his. His own. But no. No, he *promised* not to follow this road! He would not take the Ring. He would *not*!

“Haaaaaaaaaaaarrraaaaagoooooorrnnnnn…” It *was* his. He didn’t care anymore! He *deserved* this Ring. He was the heir of Isildur, and *deserved* his treasure. It called him. It calmed him. And it was his. His own. His love. Hi pr-

“Estel!”

“No! No!” Aragorn’s eyes snapped open, and someone touched his forehead gently with a cool cloth. “No. No. Father, no. I am so sorry. I’m sorry adda. No, take it. Take it from me…”

“Aragorn?”

Aragorn ceased his breathless ranting long enough to realize who was speaking to him. “Legolas.”

“I am here. What is wrong, my friend? Why do you speak of such things? *what* do you speak of?”

“I- a dream.”

“I can see that, what dream? What happened?”

“I was- I was Isildur. I held the One Ring. The Ring forged by Sauron himself. I was standing at the cracks of Mount Doom, and…and my father was there. H- he told me to throw the Ring into the fire. He ordered it destroyed. I wanted to, I wanted to desperately. But it called me. It spoke to me. It…was precious to me.” Aragorn shook all over, and pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Careful.” Legolas warned, helping his friend up. “You have a fair-sized bruise on your head.”

Aragorn could feel *that* the moment he tried to push himself up. But pressing a hand against the back of his throbbing head, he continued as though Legolas had made no comment. “I hated it, Legolas. I hated that I clutched the One Ring and turned from my father. I *hated* myself!”

“Aragorn, shh…ea na gwiil, naer maur.”

//be at peace, it was only a dream.//

“Iston. But I cannot help this feeling deep inside me. Somehow, I *did* have the Ring. I *was* holding it in my hand. You know, in a dream you cannot feel anything, but this I felt. I felt its evil, and loved and hated it. But now I love nothing about it. I loathe it. I can’t stand *thinking* about it…”

Legolas shook his head. “No matter how real it seemed, it was merely a dream. Only a dream, Estel, remember that.” Aragorn nodded, and smiled gratefully. It was just like something his father would say, down to the nick-name ‘Estel’. But, on further thought, perhaps that had been the prince’s intent.

“So.” Legolas sighed, putting the cool rag aside, and looking closely at Aragorn. “Are you all right? What *happened*?”

“Oh!” Aragorn rolled his eyes at himself, not even realizing that Legolas had *no* clue what had happened. Like-as-not, he came into the room and found Aragorn flat on the floor with no explanation whatsoever! “Well, Legolas, we were wrong about the elf being long gone. He came back.”

“Th- the one that tried to kill you?”

“Yes, except he told me he had never meant to kill me, and that everything was ‘going according to plan’.”

Legolas’ face portrayed exactly what Aragorn had felt when he heard those words. Apprehension. “Mornaeg, I sent him to come up and check on you, said he came in and found a black-clad elf standing over you. He panicked and called for me, but by the time I had heard him and come running, despite what Mornaeg did to stop the elf, this intruder escaped out the window. Unfortunately, the elf managed to injure Mornaeg and knock him out as well, so we don’t have a clear idea of what he looks like.”

“I seem to vaguely remember Mornaeg entering before I was fully unconscious…“ Aragorn mused. “But not as clearly as I remember my conversation with this intruder.” Aragorn explained the entire exchange as best as he could remember it, leaving out a few of the elf’s taunts here and there. Embarrassed by the impact they had made on him.

By the time he quoted the elf’s last words to him, Legolas’ eyes were slits, and his lips tight across his teeth. Aragorn knew this was a sure sign that his friend was nothing short of furious. Legolas stared hard at the bed a long time, trying to contain himself. Finally, he spoke.

“What business did he have, coming back, interrogating you, taunting you, attempting to hurt you again, knocking you out and disappearing? What kind of a point a is he trying to make?!”

“Haro dad, Legolas, na larhink.”

//sit down, Legolas, and be still.//

Aragorn commanded softly, for the elf had risen to his feet in his anger. Legolas, though heated, slowly obeyed. “I just don’t understand.” He sighed, shaking his head slightly.

“Neither do I.” Aragorn agreed, his voice still soft. “But it is not this mysterious elf that I worry about…”

Legolas watched his friend keenly, and it did not take long for him to realize what Aragorn meant. “It *was* only a dream, Estel. Worry not. Please. You drive yourself too hard, thinking of such problems. You need rest.”

“No, Legolas. I must speak to you now, about this dream.”

Legolas nodded. “If you wish. And *only* if you wish.”

“I do.” Aragorn took a deep breath, and stared hard at Legolas. “I have been having this dream long. Since the first evening after I was given Bengwiil. Every night it is clearer, longer, truer. Now, this night, I could see everything, feel everything. I knew everything. I knew that the Ring was evil, and I turned away anyway.” Aragorn shook himself, and returned to the original point of this conversation. “Long have I wondered what has been causing these dreams. Then, when that elf came back, he said something that confused me, and yet suddenly made sense.”

“What?” Was all Legolas could say.

“He kept asking if I felt anything, saw anything, dreamt anything. Then, he asked, ‘What do you fear?’ and I realized. From the beginning he’d been demanding information about Bengwiil, though I could give him none. So even now, he must have been looking for information on the plant. And I began to wonder, only vaguely at first, what my fear had to do with Bengwiil? And- and I think I understand now.”

Legolas shook his head in bewilderment. “Understand what, Aragorn? For I do *not* understand.”

“Your fear, Legolas. What do you fear?”

Legolas was silent a moment. His mind flew back through his long years, trying to seek out what his greatest fear was. Finally, he lighted on it. “Bengwiil.”

“Why?” Aragorn’s face was impassive, but Legolas could see his wheels turning rapidly. The human *knew* he was onto something.

“Because of what it did to me.” Legolas said simply. “It took away beauty, joy, you, and nearly me, in death.”

“Then what you are *truly* afraid of is losing all you love. That is why you dreamt of your father dieing, that is why all beauty disappeared from your sight, that is why you saw me striking you. Bengwiil is no supernatural plant, but merely poison. Poison that flows into your very mind, finds your greatest fear, and sends it crashing down on you.”

Legolas was silent a long moment. “Oh.” He breathed, leaning back on the bed a bit. “By the Valar, Aragorn, I never dreamt of such a thing. I never imagined-”

“Neither did I.” Aragorn admitted. “As it is, I could very well be wrong, for none have told me but a little of Bengwiil. And that little is credited only to my father, who explained some basics after he saved you in Rivendell. In other words, my theory could be quite wrong.”

“But if so, it is the most plausible misconception I have ever heard. It does not make sense only to my mind, but to my heart. Somehow, Aragorn, I think you are right. I think that that just may be what Bengwiil is.” Legolas, for the first time ever, looked excited about something Bengwiil-related. “I see it now. If we could only better understand Bengwiil, perhaps we could keep others from using it further. Perhaps we could *prove* Bengwiil is all wrong, do you suppose?”

Aragorn shrugged. “I can’t say I’ve had time to think of it that far.”

“No, but it *does* make sense. For once, something having to do with Bengwiil makes sense! Aragorn, if I could learn more about Bengwiil, I could understand the infection I had with it. I could understand *your* infection with it. I could help you, and perhaps banish these horrid memories that still haunt me. If only I could *understand* Bengwiil, I would no longer fear it. I know I would not.” Legolas paused a moment, and thought. Trying to start his comprehension of Bengwiil by understanding what he had even *said* just now.

After a long moment, he raised his eyes to Aragorn’s. The human looked pleased that his friend had been so thrilled by the new information. But his eyes held an undercurrent of still-remaining pain.

“I am sorry, Aragorn, forgive me.” Legolas sighed, and nearly smiled. “It has been long since I’ve found cause to be excited. But I think you still had something to say.”

“I did.” Aragorn smiled. “But do not apologize for your excitement. I must confess, I could not have hoped for a better reaction. I didn’t know *what* you would feel, me bringing Bengwiil and its evils back to the surface and all. But- well, I suppose…I don’t quite know how to proceed.”

Legolas smiled penitently. “Have I slowed your pace? Forgive me, I’ve cut you off mid-stride.”

“No, it’s not you. I would have had to halt at this point anyway.” Aragorn shook his head. “I- I think I understand what it is that is wrong with me. Why I feel nauseated constantly, for one.”

Legolas squinted slightly. “Well, you’ve been hit over the head several times, that is likely part of it.”

“But this kind of nausea has tormented me for a long time. Also, I believe I know why I keep collapsing, why I see you st- w-why I see things, and now even why I dream these dreams.”

“Then please, tell me my friend, for long have I been desperate to know what is wrong.” Legolas pretended not to notice Aragorn’s hesitation half-way through. Questions as to what he’d *meant* to say could wait.

“You know how, when you were infected with Bengwiil, your worst fears came ‘true’? Well, that is what is wrong with me as well.”

Legolas shook his head. “And- what are you afraid of, Aragorn?”

Aragorn bit his lip, and looked into his lap. Legolas could see reluctance and shame written all over the young man’s face. Finally, he lifted his eyes to the elf’s again, and when he did, there was fear in them, but also a look of resolution. A determination to be strong. “Me.”

Chapter 12

Darkening Shadows

Most would be staring blankly at Aragorn as though to demand “Why?” right now, but Legolas knew. When Aragorn said he was afraid of himself, he knew exactly what the human meant.

“Aragorn.” He sighed. “I- I do not know what to say. Your father has told you many times-”

“I know, Legolas, I know what he has told me. I know everyone says I should not act so over my mere heritage. That I am descended from Isildur, not Isildur. My brothers have even shown me my family tree. ‘But Estel, there are forty men between you and Isildur, at the least! It is sure that his weakness is not your own.’ All this, and so much more I have heard since the day my father told me who I was. I need no reminders from you, Legolas.”

Legolas fell silent as Aragorn’s voice grew angry. He knew this had always been something the human had always struggled with, though he’d never grown this angry over it before. A battle of fear and doubt was obviously taking place in his heart and mind, and doubtless the Bengwiil was doing the whole situation no favors. Legolas knew he need not interfere, but Aragorn awaited a response.

“I only tell you what you need know.”

“I already know this, Legolas! I already know! Do you have any *idea* how hard it is to admit you are afraid of yourself? And when I do, for I *thought* you would be understanding, I am met with criticism!”

Legolas shook his head. “Aragorn, I do *not* criticize you. I have not said a *word* to imply censure of any kind. I don‘t care who your ancestors are. You know I don‘t care. I would *never* criticize you for your heritage.”

Aragorn backed away from his friend. “I can see it though. You believe I wouldn’t destroy it. You know I am just like him. If I had the Ring, Legolas, would I destroy it?!”

Legolas shook his again, quicker this time, in desperation. “It’s not you! Aragorn, it is Bengwiil making you feel, see, think, say such things. You *know* it is not true! You *know* you are stronger than Isildur.”

Aragorn’s voice carried on, a crazed tone hiding it from recognition. “If I were given the Ring, I would not destroy it. I would keep it. I would use it. And it would betray me as it did Isildur, and I would end a coward and a slave to evil!”

“Aragorn, stop! Do not say such things! Hauta!”

//stop!//

“I would not die, but perhaps become an evil servant as the Nine. I would roam the land, I would frighten all as they do, and when you heard my scream, you would hate me. As you hate me now!”

“No. Stop this madness, speak no more of the Ring, Isildur, or *anything* evil or laden with shadow. It does the soul no good to dwell on what is evil.”

“It would take me, Legolas, and you would hate me. You would. As you do now. I can see it in your eyes, that you can’t stand me. You can’t bare being beside me.”

“It is not so.”

“You want to run, you want to hide, you want to leave me. I can see it.”

“No.”

“You despise me. You hate me. You loathe me. You detest me.”

“No! No stop, Aragorn, stop! Hauta, mellon nin!”

“You hate me. You hate me.”

Legolas leapt across the bed, and grabbed Aragorn’s hands tightly, pulling him forward, and forcing him to look the elf in the eye. “Aragorn. I do not hate you. I am your friend. You are my friend. You are. You can defeat the lies Bengwiil is telling you! You can fight it, Aragorn, you are strong enough to fight it!”

Aragorn’s eyes were cold and vacant. “You hate me, Legolas. You do. Iston neach.”

//I know you do.//

“You are my friend.”

“You hate me.”

“You are my friend!”

“Leave me!” Aragorn pushed Legolas away from him, but the elf was quicker, and grabbed the human again, this time by the shoulders.

“Aragorn listen to me!”

“No! No, leave me in peace! I can’t stand it, leave me! Do not touch me, Legolas, I can’t stand it!”

Legolas slowly let go of the human, and sat back on his heals. “Aragorn-”

“Just go.” Aragorn half-hid his face in the pillows behind him. “Go away, Legolas.”

Legolas felt himself climbing off the bed, and walking backwards towards the door. “I shall be back, Aragorn. When the Bengwiil relaxes its hold on your mind.” With a heart heavy with discouragement, Legolas turned, and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

*********

All the pages were in order, even though that fool of a prince had stolen half of them. It did not matter, for they were back where they belonged. Even the most precious of them. The picture.

Long, slender fingers caressed the ink drawing of the elf, the fingertips taking special pleasure in brushing the green-brown leaf at the paper’s foot. A leaf-shadow there was no more, and its replacement was extremely pleasing to the dark green eyes gazing at it.

Everything was almost exactly as it should have been. And the differences *made* no difference. The time was right, and in the darkness, and stranger smiled.

**********

Legolas thought he was going insane. He’d been wandering, perfectly miserable, around the Halls of his father, for a little over a half-hour. Going aimlessly from room to room, hall to hall, stair to stair, he thought of Aragorn’s angry words over and over. He knew the human had meant none of them, and none had been particularly strong or painful, but just hearing such at tone from his friend of friends was enough to depress anyone.

But Legolas been wandering and dwelling on these thoughts far too long. His own words continued to echo in his mind, while he wandered. “It does the soul not good to dwell on what is evil.“ And he knew those words had not been spoken only to convince Aragorn, for they *were* true, though Legolas didn’t want to heed them.

It was time to check-in on Aragorn again. If he’d gotten so bad that he was yelling angry words at his best friend, and not realizing it, Legolas was sure he needed help soon. How had they put of the journey to Rivendell so long? Legolas supposed that he hadn’t wanted to take Aragorn in this condition, and blindly believe that there *was* another condition that he could bring his friend in. But Aragorn wasn’t going to improve until the Bengwiil was out of his system.

Legolas made his way easily to his friend’s room. He’d now memorized the trip so well, that he could barely remember the way to his own room. His feet seemed to move automatically to Aragorn’s door.

He stepped slowly but purposefully into the dark room once more. He could see the sun beginning to set in the distance. Aragorn had been in the room a good portion of two days, he realized, and more than ever wished to ride to Rivendell with him.

Aragorn was lying on his bed, his face half-buried in the mountain of pillows at the bed’s headboard. He hadn’t moved since Legolas left.

“Aragorn?” Legolas’ voice came softly, but abruptly due to sudden worry. The human jerked out of surprise, and turned his head shakily towards his friend.

“Legolas.” He breathed, and to the elf’s surprise, he then leapt across the bed, tightly embracing the prince. Legolas automatically wrapped his own arms around the human. “Legolas, I am sorry. Please, please forgive me. I didn’t mean any of it. *any* of it. I’m sorry, so, so sorry.”

“Sh…” Legolas soothed, too relieved to see his friend back to relatively normal to remain hurt.

“I know you’re my friend, and I *know* you don’t hate me, Legolas.”

“No. No, Aragorn, I don’t. I never shall.” Legolas released the young ranger, and held him at arms length. “And your dream?”

Aragorn shook his head. “My ancestors and their mistakes, my life and it’s future…that is something I shall have to work out. It will take time.”

“I know. It always takes time. But you will conquer it, Aragorn. Iston nach.”

//I know you will.//

Aragorn half-smiled, and squeezed Legolas’ hand in thanks. He quickly jerked his hand back, and pressed his fingers to his temples. “The Bengwiil.” He gritted out, his breath heavy. “It keeps coming back, tormenting my senses.”

Legolas nodded. “I remember what it feels like. But it will pass.” He rubbed his friend’s shoulder reassuringly, and tried to smile.

Aragorn continued to breathe hard, while Legolas massaged his shoulder. But slowly, his breath became quicker and quicker until Legolas realized he was gasping.

The human began to shake his head from side to side, over and over, faster and faster. Gradually, his whole body began to shake, and he sank weekly to the bed. “Legolas.” He whispered for no apparent reason. It seemed to be the only thing his mind could cling to.

Then his shaking stopped. Completely stopped. “Aragorn. Aragorn?” Legolas shook his friend frantically. “Aragorn, can you hear me?”

“Hm.” Came the muffled response, as the young man rolled over, and looked up at his worried friend. “It’s gone.”

“That was *much* worse than before.” Legolas guessed. “I could see it in your eyes, Aragorn. You’ve never felt it before.”

Aragorn nodded slowly. “It’s taking over, Legolas, I can feel it now. I- don’t think we shall make it to Rivendell.”

“Of course we will, Aragorn, you just need-”

“Rest? Treatment? Time?” Aragorn laughed humorlessly. “No. Legolas, I can see now. You w-”

The door swung open with a creak, and both friends looked up. Tirniel stood there, and gazed with a concerned eye upon Aragorn. “Are you all right, Aragorn?”

“No.” Aragorn’s voice was as dead and hollow as it had been in his dream. Tirniel slowly tore his confused eyes away from Aragorn, to the elf beside him.

“Your highness, Mornaeg wishes to speak with you. In the Great Hall.” Legolas looked quickly from Tirniel to Aragorn, and then back to Tirniel. The reluctance was evident. “He said it must not be delayed.” The healer added, looking apprehensively at the prince.

“Go, Legolas.” Aragorn spoke softly from the bed. “Tirniel is here, and perhaps he can assist me. Don’t worry about me.”

Legolas finally nodded. He felt slightly irritated as he slowly got up, and walked towards the door. Likely, Mornaeg wanted to apologize properly for his actions that afternoon, and as much as Legolas was eager for friendship to be restored between them, he wasn’t keen on leaving his best Aragorn for an apology.

He pushed the door open, but turned and spoke before walking through it. “Don’t go anywhere, Aragorn.” And the anxiety in his eyes made his hidden meaning clear even to Tirniel.

“I won’t.” Aragorn promised, smiling sadly. “I’ll wait for you.”

Satisfied, or as satisfied as one could be in this kind of situation, Legolas left the room. His mind was a flood of questions and answers. He needed to get away from *everything* for awhile, he felt. He was beginning to feel so entirely overloaded, with one thing after another. He wondered if this crisis would *ever* be over.

He made his way swiftly to the Great Hall. When he reached it, it took him a moment to realize anyone was there. Then, he finally noticed Mornaeg rising from one of the seats across the titanic hall. Legolas expected to hear a torrent of apologies, and explanations, or perhaps he even had something *else* he’d done to make Legolas and his friend’s already dreadful situation worse, and wished to admit it.

Legolas was surprised, however, when he stood there for a full sixty seconds, and the elf didn’t speak. “You wished to see me.” Legolas was forced to state the obvious, when Mornaeg continued to be silent.

“I did.” Came the curt reply. Terse though it was, there was an suggestion of complete delight, as he stood there in absolute silence.

“What did you want to tell me, Mornaeg?” Silence. Legolas, now getting completely frustrated, added “Because Aragorn is getting worse, and I should like to be with him. So will you tell me what it is you wanted?”

“I want what I have right here. You. Me. Alone. Aragorn is upstairs, growing sicker and sicker. He will not last long, will he?”

Legolas stared hard at the elf who was now walking slowly towards him. He’d never seen him act like this! “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t need to know. You’ll find out soon enough. But for now, I want to just explain a few things. Things that once told, you will wish you’d known years ago, and yet had never known. Believe me, though, you must hear it all.”

Legolas shook his head. “You are making no sense.”

“I am making the only sense there has been since Bengwiil was introduced to our fortunate race. Since my kinsmen learned early on how horrible, and magnificent it can be. Since I lost the only thing I had left in this mortal world.”

Legolas realized he was backing away from the elf who was beginning to look crazed. “Mornaeg-” He stumbled around for words. “Who *are* you?”

Mornaeg looked straight at Legolas in a way the prince had never seen him look before. A way he’d never seen *anyone* look before. “You know who I am, Lindo. I am Mornaeg, son of Esedar. Minaeg’s brother.”

Legolas’ eyes grew wide. “Minaeg’s brother? Minaeg, the-”

“The elf first poisoned by Bengwiil, Lindo, yes. Your memory surpasses your father’s. For he did not recognize me.”

Legolas shook his head. “But- why are you telling me this *now*?”

“That is not what I’ve called you here for. Oh, no. There is much more than this to speak of. Much, much more.”

Legolas sighed. “Well I am sure that you have much to tell me, and if that includes more about Bengwiil, I am more than interested, but I must return to Aragorn.” Legolas turned, and began to head for the great, oak doors.

“Of course, if he makes it through the Bengwiil, if you take him to Rivendell, and let Lord Elrond heal him, he will still have all those dagger wounds to deal with. That one in the leg was especially was agonizing, and once the Bengwiil wears off, there isn’t Salab enough to dull the pain.”

Legolas halted. A cold, sick feeling gripped his heart. He turned slowly around, and faced the elf behind him. “Mornaeg. It- i-it was you?”

Mornaeg only smiled a cold smile, and his dark green eyes shone.

Chapter 13

Erfier

Silence fell once again between the elves in the Great Hall. Legolas sat down hard on one of the many chairs filling the large hall.

“I can’t believe it.” Was all he could say after awhile.

“You may as well. There is nothing else to believe, that is reality. Yes, Lindo, I attacked Aragorn.”

“But- you already cleared yourself of that. You were in my room when I heard Aragorn cry out!”

Mornaeg snorted softly. “I merely imitated him. I was surprised you so easily fell for it. After attacking him, I came down the stairs, mimicked his call for help, and snuck into your room. And you, of course, thought I’d been in there awhile. I changed into one of my spare tunics, already in my room, of course, and the spilt red ink-bottle I was ‘writing your apology note with’. It was a perfect excuse for the red stains on my hands. Stains caused by your friend’s blood rather than ink.”

“But why?” Legolas’ voice was quiet and hurt, barely above a whisper.

“Why.” Mornaeg shook his head, and sank into a chair as well. “Many nights have I wondered how I would answer that very question, should it be asked of me. Very well, Lindo, I shall tell you why.” Mornaeg took a deep breath, and looked across the hall, towards the east wall. But he wasn’t looking at the wall, but somewhere else. A completely different place, situation, and moment. “Several years ago, my brother and I, as well as several other elves, went on a hunting trip into Mirkwood. By some misfortune that I still don’t quite understand, we were tracked by a pack wolves. That night, at our encampment, the wolves attacked.

“We did our best to fight them off, but one, the one that must have been the leader of the pack, managed to lock his teeth around my brother, Minaeg’s, shoulder, and began to drag him into the underbrush. I shot several arrows at the beast, but he was too fast, and disappeared into the woods. So I chased him.

“I ran through the forest for what seemed like hours, though it was but twenty minutes. I finally found where the animal had decided to lie down and enjoy his ‘meal’. I shot an arrow directly into his chest, but in his stunned pain, he lurched forward, landing on top of Minaeg, and digging his teeth into my brother’s leg. His bight sank deep, so deep into his knee, and Minaeg cried out with a scream unlike any I’ve heard. And I never care to hear anything like it again.” Mornaeg paused a moment, shuddering at his vivid memory, and then continued. “I kept up the fight with the wolf, shooting arrow after arrow into his evil hide, and then finally attacking him with my dagger. But every time I tried to approach my brother, the horrid animal would lunge forward, slashing Minaeg’s flesh with his claws again.

“At last, I managed to thrust my dagger into the wolf’s throat, and he lay dead before me. Reaching my brother, I found him barely alive. He tried to speak, but the blood from the runs on his cheek chocked him. He *couldn’t* speak- he cou…” Mornaeg swallowed hard, trying to keep his tale moving. “I trekked through the forest, dragging my wounded brother with me the whole way, and at long last, found our hunting party again. We all made our way back to these halls as quickly as possible.

“Upon reaching the Halls, we tried to burn Bengwiil for Minaeg to dull the pain, but it did not work. So we- we fed him a leaf of the plant instead. And he rested in peace that night.

“But as I’m sure you know from Bodruith, that dwarfen lord you met in Gabil Gû ndu, the peace did not last. But an hour later, he was not himself. After awhile, I couldn’t stand being near him. I couldn’t bare seeing my brother’s vacant eyes staring at me whenever I tried to speak to him. He kept shouting that I looked upon him in anger, and he would hide his eyes from me. And many times, he could neither see nor hear me.

“And then, a fortnight after his Bengwiil dose, he died. Alone. Believing that all, even his own brother, had turned against him. He died so confused, so alone…” Mornaeg shook his head, and looked down at the floor.

Legolas didn’t know what to say, and so for awhile he said nothing. Then, he rose from his seat, and walked towards Morneag. “Why Aragorn?” His voice was firm and wounded.

“Because I wanted to see it. After I gave up on my brother, I couldn’t bare anything. So I began to burn Bengwiil constantly, trying to rid my heart and soul of this pain. I would remain in my tower-room for hours and hours, burning leaf after leaf. I remember nothing of those days. Once your father outlawed all Bengwiil, I had nothing to dull the pain in my heart, and I could think of nothing but my brother for years. Finally, I began to dwell on Minaeg on purpose. I didn’t try to forget, but fought to remember, and it was the only thing that eased my pain. As long as I dwelt on it, I could bare it. So for years I have been desperate to find any information of what happened in the last days of my brother’s life.

“I would stay up in my room, and write for hours on end about all I could think of regarding the Bengwiil. These writings were the ones your friend found. I would write for so long, I’d start to write unintentional rhymes, or I would write so fast, I’d miss words constantly until not even I could understand my writings.

“My most beloved of these pages, though, was the ink drawing of my brother. When I came to my room, or the room I had suggested Thranduil lend to Aragorn, I found the pages missing. I had intended for your friend to stay in my room, for I needed somewhere secluded to attack him when the time came. But I had not expected him to raid my writing desk. So when I attacked him, I tried desperately to discover what he’d done with it, but he would not tell me. Or perhaps in his panicked state, he didn’t know what I meant.”

Legolas shook his head. “I still don’t understand. Why Aragorn? Even with his infection of Bengwiil, he doesn’t understand it. Why would you choose a mortal boy for your filthy experiment? He knew nothing!”

“He didn’t have to. My intent was not to understand Bengwiil better, oh no. I wanted to *see* my brother’s last days, all the horrors intact. You, Lindo, are me, and your friend is Minaeg. Everything has gone according to plan. Down to every detail. Every slash on your human friend’s body is identical to the ones caused by that foul wolf on my brother. The rip down his shoulder from getting dragged through the woods. The gash in his leg from the wolf’s frantic attacks. Every scratch, cut and scar is exactly as they were on Minaeg.”

Legolas’ blood boiled at this. “You did all this just to *see* that misery all over? What madness is this! Why, Mornaeg? Why did you spring your disgusting experiment on my friend and I?!”

“My plot was nearly ruined, when you tried to make a break for Rivendell. But the Salab darts stopped you well enough, thank goodness. And then your friend became sicker, exactly as he should have. Though, he would not speak to me, and I had to hit over the head again.” The elf made a glum sigh. “It made an extra bruise that wasn’t upon Minaeg’s head.”

Legolas shot to his feet, furious. “Why? Why, Mornaeg, why?! Why have you done this to us? Why Aragorn? I will take no more of your filthy madness, so tell me why!”

“It is a pity he struggled so when I attacked him. The cut in his shoulder was not meant to run *that* deep. But oh well. He really screamed then. A scream that nearly surpassed my brother’s. And that satisfied me at least. Your friend can really scream, when put through enough pain, Lindo.”

In a lightning motion, Legolas’ bow was strung, and the arrow pointed unmistakably at Mornaeg’s heart. “If you dare make so light of Aragorn’s agony again…”

“What will you do. Shoot me?” Morneag’s laughter was neither humorous nor pleasant. “You will not kill me, Lindo. It doesn’t run in your blood.”

“Stop calling me Lindo! I don’t know *why* you do it, but I cannot stand it!” Legolas stood, chest heaving for a few moments. “Why.” He said finally, his voice dangerously quiet.

“Why what?” Mornaeg asked audaciously.

“Why Aragorn and I. You have a reason, Mornaeg, and shall go nowhere until I hear it.”

Mornaeg did not hesitate, but for once he didn’t looked pleased with his words. “Because it is *your* fault, Lindo, that I was not there when my brother died! By the time I heard of his death, his body was already cold. I never got to say goodbye, Lindo, and it is all because of you.”

Legolas shook his head. “I don’t know *what* you are talking about!”

“Well,” Mornaeg’s eyes were as cold as his tone. “Perhaps you should ask your father.”

The two elves were once again silenced. Legolas walked forward a step, a new question in his head. He didn’t know *what* Mornaeg was trying to say with that last comment, and didn’t want to know right now. “Why are you telling me all this? You have basically revealed what a serpent and a coward you are. My father will have you exiled from these Halls, yea even Mirkwood , that is sure!”

“As if I care now. For everything is still going exactly as I planned.”

“What do you mean?” Legolas asked quietly, uncertainty leaking into his words.

Mornaeg shook his head. “Lindo, Lindo, Lindo.” Legolas gritted his teeth. “Have you heard *nothing* I have said? Distracted by hurt that had haunted me for days and nights, I was not there when my brother died.”

Legolas felt suddenly ill inside, and a pure terror suddenly flooded his mind. “Mornaeg, umach-”

“Say what you like of me, Lindo, but you are wasting time as we speak.”

At the moment, the pounding of footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. Legolas turned to see Tirniel’s assistant healer running down the stone stairs towards him. “Your highness! Come quickly! Aragorn-”

Legolas whole body went numb, and a cold sweat overtook him. The healer didn’t have the courage to finish his sentence, so he only added, “Noro!” and ran back up the stairs.

//hurry!//

Legolas shot a look of pure fury and anguish at Mornaeg before loosening his bow, and running after the healer. Legolas’ naturally nimble feet went twice as fast, and he nearly passed Tirniel’s assistant up. He reached the bedroom door, still shaking with fear, and entered swiftly.

Tirniel was standing beside the bed, bathing Aragorn’s forehead with a wet cloth. Thranduil stood by, and when he saw Legolas come running into the room, he was forced to look away.

Legolas didn’t know what the look was on his own face, but if it was anywhere near what he was feeling, it must have been heartbreaking to see. The prince rushed to the bedside, for what seemed like the umpteenth time this day. Sinking to his knees, and dropping his weapons beside him, he grabbed frantically for Aragorn’s hand in the growing darkness.

“Aragorn?” He whispered shakily, trying to figure out whether he was still conscious or not.

“Legolas.” Aragorn’s voice was so low, and so weak, but Legolas was relieve to hear it none-the-less.

“I’m here, mellon nin. Teera sinome.”

//right here.//

Legolas tried to clear his mind. Tried to believe that Mornaeg had been wrong about his predictions. Aragorn couldn’t die. He *couldn’t* die!

Tirniel leaned over towards Legolas. “Try to keep him awake. If he falls into unconsciousness, he will not stand a chance. We must keep his body awake…or it will fail.”

Legolas swallowed hard and nodded.

“I can’t see you.” Aragorn told his friend softly. “I wish I could see you once more.”

“Do not say these things, Aragorn. Please. I need you here with me, and I will not lose you. You can make it, you are strong.”

Aragorn smiled sadly. “I can’t Legolas. I can’t be strong for you as you were for me. That night you nearly died of Bengwiil, you pulled through. But you are an elf, Legolas. We have been friends for so long, I guess we lost track of this fact, but it still remains. You are an elf, but I am only man, Legolas. Erwe, erfier.” Aragorn shook his head, with a slight shrug, as if in apology. “Only man, only mortal.”

“I don’t care, Aragorn. You *know* I don’t care. Would you be a dwarf, I would not care. You are my *friend*. You, in of yourself. I- it matters not *what* you are, I care only for *who* you are. You know this.”

“I know, Legolas. But it does not alter the fact that I am mortal. I am not as strong as you. I cannot pull through for you as you did for me.”

“You *are* as strong-”

“No, no I’m not. Legolas, listen. When you were infected with Bengwiil, you knew, somewhere in the back of your confused mind, you *knew* that what you saw wasn’t real. You *knew* you had to know comfort. I didn’t understand what was wrong until it was upon me. The Bengwiil completely tricked my mind to the point that I believed myself healed. Completely healed. But you were right, Legolas. And my deceived mind has carried me here. This I know at the least. You were right…I” Aragorn’s body tensed, and his breath quickened with the Bengwiil-caused headache. He gritted his teeth as the spasm passed, and sighed in exhaustion. “You were right…and I am going to die.”

“No, Aragorn, no. I was *not* right. I was wrong, so wrong. You will make it.” Legolas whispered desperately, squeezing Aragorn’s hand in the dark, and using the other hand to rub the suffering ranger’s shoulder. “Take courage, and remember the hope you were named for, Estel.”

Aragorn smiled again. “I cannot see you, Legolas. But I know what you look like. I can see your face in my mind’s eye. That look of determination you often wear. Never give up on that, Legolas. Never.”

Legolas shook his head. These sounded too much like last words to him. “Aragorn, don’t go. I- I don’t want to lose you.” Legolas could remember a day not that long ago when Aragorn had said those same words to him. But Legolas had made it, though things had been so dark. Aragorn would make it. He *had* to. He had to…

Aragorn was obviously remembering the same thing, and stared in Legolas’ direction with a look of deepest sympathy. He was about to speak again, when the door swung open, and Mornaeg stepped in.

Legolas rose slowly from the bedside, his eyes slits, and his lips tight across his teeth. “Leave here, wretched snake! You have *no* right to stand in this room after what you’ve done.”

Mornaeg raised an impudent eyebrow. “But, Lindo, I wanted to write everything down.” He raised an ink-quill and several pieces of parchment. “I want to remember exactly what my brother’s cold, lifeless body felt like.”

“Be gone, Mornaeg! Leave!” Legolas stood and watched as Mornaeg completely ignored his command, and instead took an extra step into the room, and began scratching down details on his parchment. In an instant, the arrow was notched and aimed. Legolas didn’t have to think before letting it go.

Mornaeg screeched in pain, and fell to the floor, gripping his knee which had an arrow protruding just above it. “Remove him.” Legolas said flatly to Tirniel’s assistant. The elf nodded shortly, and hauled Mornaeg out of the room, closing the door swiftly behind him.

Legolas returned to Aragorn’s side, and to his horror, found that the human’s eyes were closed. “Aragorn!”

The young man’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked around blankly. He still couldn’t see anything. “Legolas, I am falling.”

Legolas’ throat closed up almost completely. “No.” Was all he could say, through his tear-chocked voice.

“I have to go, Legolas. I want to stay, but I- I can feel it…I am falling, and I- am so sorry…”

“No, don’t leave me, Aragorn, please. Don’t leave me.”

“I don’t want to, my friend. I don’t want to leave you. I don’t.” Aragorn clenched his eyes shut for a moment, swallowing hard. “Legolas?” He said finally. “Promise me this…this. Do not despair for me. I don’t want you to die of a broken heart. You des- deserve better. Do not despair. Please.”

“I shall try.” Legolas whispered, feeling a salty tear slide down his face, and he grabbed both his friend’s hands.

“But don’t forget me, Legolas. Don’t forget me. I am leaving, but estel remains. Hold onto hope, and do not forget me. Don’t f- forget me…don’t…Legolas…” Aragorn’s eyes shut, and slid into unconsciousness.

“His pulse is fading…“ Tirniel’s eyes shut, and he shook his head. “He will not awake. Hiro îth ab 'wanath”

“No!” Legolas leaned over his friend, and unable to hold the tears back any longer, he collapsed on Aragorn’s chest, and sobbed. “No, Aragorn, please! Come back! Come back. Friendship does not waver at a wind.”

“Fion...” Thranduil walked towards him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

//son///

Legolas shook his head bitterly, and tried to keep whispering. “And a friendship like ours lasts forever.”

“Legolas, stop.”

“Forever, like an everlasting- everlasting candle. Aragorn, keep the candle burning. Please, Estel. Come back. Come back! C- come…”

“Legolas.” Thranduil said not harshly, but firmly. Legolas looked up, his silver eyes flooded with unshed tears. “I am sorry, my son.”

Legolas’ heart fell. Everything around him went blank. All he could see, think or feel was Aragorn. Aragorn. “Aragorn.” He whispered, and climbed up onto the bed beside his friend. He wrapped his arms around the human’s shoulders, and cried softly. The most bitter tears he had ever cried.

Thranduil left his son’s side, and walked up beside Tirniel. “Will you send a messenger to Rivendell?”

“Of course, your majesty. What shall I have him say?”

Thranduil cast one last look at his weeping son, and his still friend. “Inform Lord Elrond that his son, Aragorn…is dead.”

And for the rest of that night, the only sound in the dark room was a brokenhearted prince weeping and gently singing a song between tears.

“The Road goes e-ever on…and on. Down f-from the- the door where it began…Now…Now far away the road is go-gone, and I must f-follow if I can…”