Post by Móreadhiel on Jun 13, 2006 16:21:45 GMT -5
Aragorn moved slightly beside the elf and sighed, glancing at the horizon. Legolas smiled inwardly, knowing what the human was doing. He was checking the time in the tried-and-true method of looking at the sun. Not moving his head at all, he let his eyes flick up at the human. Aragorn rose, stretching sore muscles, and began preparing a meal. As he worked, he talked to himself in a quiet string of Elvish. Legolas listened, vastly amused by the human’s litany.
“Stupid, Aragorn, very stupid...let the best friendship you’ve ever had slip...stupid, stupid, stupid...”
“That is one more stupid that I would use, personally.”
Aragorn literally jumped about a foot into the air, spinning and dropping his water skin. His wild eyes caught on Legolas. The prince was propped up on his good arm, grinning at the human in that way that always made Aragorn’s self-defense instincts work over-time. “Legolas!” The man gasped, clapping his hand over his heart dramatically. “Don’t do that to me!”
“Sorry.” Legolas said, his grin indicating that he wasn’t really. Tipping his head to one side, the elf inhaled deeply, his eyes half-closed. “Mutton?” he asked, opening his eyes again.
“Yes,” Aragorn replied, picking up the water skin as he tried to calm his breathing. “Mutton with onions and potatoes.”
“Yum,” Legolas commented, sitting up carefully and cupping his hands in his lap.
Aragorn hesitated for a moment. It was easy to berate himself when he believed Legolas to be asleep, but now that the elf was awake and looking at him with those trusting blue eyes, it was much harder to begin what he wanted to say. “Legolas, I-” he began.
Legolas shook his head firmly, cutting the man off. “I know what you want to say,” he said, his expression becoming more serious. “But you do not need to. The blame is not yours to bear. Let it go.”
“But it is my fault, Legolas,” Aragorn said softly, suddenly unable to look the elf in the eye. “I provoked that stupid fight. And if we had been working together, you would not have been hurt.” His grey eyes were drawn to the bandage that encircled Legolas’ shoulder.
“Perhaps,” Legolas agreed, staring at the crown of the man’s head. “But it might have been fired at me, missed and killed you. That-” his voice choked off as he looked away, blinking rapidly. Even the thought of Aragorn dying was too much for him. Regaining control, he continued, “I do not blame you for what happened. Will you forgive my hasty words?”
Aragorn’s eyes flicked up to meet the elf’s and held them for a long moment, searching for any sign of guile. At last he choked out, “Only if you will forgive my words and actions.”
Legolas reached out with his left hand and gripped the man’s right shoulder firmly, ignoring the shock of pain. “Of course,” he replied as Aragorn reciprocated the action, his calloused hand rough against Legolas’ smooth skin.
They remained thus for a few moments, staring into each other’s eyes, until Aragorn tipped his head to one side and sniffed. “Ai, the mutton!” he cried, turning quickly back to the meal. Luckily, it wasn’t badly scorched. The human pulled the meat off the fire, accompanied by Legolas’ soft, melodic laughter as the elf readied the plates for the food.
~~~~~~~~~~
The reunited friends remained in that campsite for several more days, giving Legolas a chance to regain his strength and heal up a bit. When Legolas could shoot with only a twinge of pain—though his shoulder wound remained worryingly unhealed—they continued on their journey.
It was a journey of some three days to the head of the valley; three days filled with laughter, talk and stargazing. At the head, they set up a temporary camp and remained there for a few days. Aragorn set himself the task of checking the water depth and the effects of erosion on the river itself as Legolas wandered the woods about the river, checking to make sure all the foliage was growing well. All appeared to be well, so they started back for Rivendell proper.
“You know,” Aragorn commented the evening after they started back for Rivendell as he watched the stars pop out one by one, “we will be the last ones reporting back.”
Legolas smiled and winced in one motion as he considered that. “Your father will have our heads for worrying him so badly,” he remarked, turning his head to see his friend better. In the darkness, Legolas’ natural glow radiated about him, making his eyes shimmer as he grinned conspiratorially at Aragorn.
“Plus you getting hurt,” Aragorn pointed out. He paused before asking, “How is the shoulder, by the way?”
Legolas flexed his shoulder. In truth, he had looked at it earlier and was deeply concerned. Usually, his healing processes would have at least sealed the wound by now. But the wound was nearly as fresh as the day he had gotten it. It didn’t hurt much, but it was strange. He hadn’t told Aragorn; that was all he needed, more mothering by an over-worried ranger. “It still stings a bit,” he admitted after a moment. “I think there was a bit of poison that was not purged by your foul mixture.” He paused, still moving his arm and shoulder. “I can hold it at bay until we reach your father,” he finished after a moment, satisfied by what he felt.
Aragorn scowled. “Not the best idea, but what other choice do we have? I used the last of my poison-purging herbs on you, and if the taint resisted that purge...” he didn’t bother finishing that sentence; they both knew what he was going to say.
Legolas nodded. “Worry not,” he tried to reassure his friend, “I will tell you if I start feeling worse.” Legolas knew that Aragorn still, at least in the back of his mind, blamed himself for Legolas’ injury and subsequent poisoning. The elf didn’t blame the ranger, but that didn’t seem to change Aragorn’s perspective on it.
Aragorn snorted as he pulled his blanket about himself. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” he remarked before falling asleep.
As the journey progressed, Legolas began to feel odd, not exactly wrong-odd—just odd-odd. He could not pin the feeling down any better than that.
Aragorn noticed his friend’s odd expression about noon the third day out from the head. “What’s wrong, Legolas?” he asked, concerned.
Legolas shook his head absently as if he were going to deny that anything was wrong. “I cannot be sure,” he replied after a moment. “Something is not...right. But what it is, I do not know.”
Aragorn paused mid-stride and looked at Legolas for a long moment. “Is the not-right thing within or without you?” he asked, his tone gentle.
“Again, I cannot tell.” Legolas pursed his lips. “I-I just feel odd.” He shook his head. “Let us continue.”
Aragorn wasn’t sure about the wisdom of that, but he kept his peace and trusted his friend’s judgment. That, as it turned out, was a mistake.
As they continued on that day and the next, Legolas felt his body failing, no matter what he did to bolster it. Contrary to his promise, he made no mention of it to Aragorn.
Aragorn actually found out the secret by accident late the fourth afternoon. Legolas had found that he could only focus his attention on two, maybe three things at a time. He had chosen to focus on walking, thinking and listening for trouble beyond them.
Aragorn asked Legolas, “When do you want to stop?”
Because Legolas was thoroughly focused on his chosen three actions, he didn’t hear Aragorn at all and kept walking.
Aragorn frowned. “Legolas?”
Still no answer.
Aragorn strode forward, matching Legolas’ speed, and grabbed the elf’s shoulders, dragging him to a stop.
Legolas blinked, his focus broken. “Aragorn?”
“Are you all right?” Aragorn demanded, still holding onto his friend’s slender shoulders.
“I am fine,” Legolas said somewhat snappishly as he tried to break free from Aragorn’s grip. To the elf’s surprise, he couldn’t break the human’s hold. Pain flashed across his fair features, showing Aragorn what the elf wasn’t saying.
“No, you’re not,” Aragorn said softly. He could feel a slight involuntary shudder spasm through Legolas’ muscles as his friend tried again to break free.
Legolas sighed, bowing his head. “No, I am not fine,” he admitted. “The battle against the poison is not going as well as I had hoped. But there is naught I can do save get to your father as quickly as possible.”
Aragorn released his friend carefully. “Then let us continue, and with all possible speed.”
Legolas nodded his agreement and set his chin stubbornly. He liked life; he didn’t want to lose it to something as stupid as poison.
Aragorn kept a much closer eye on his elven friend during the next day...and what he saw was not good. Legolas stumbled more and more often as the day progressed, and pain flashed across his face when he thought Aragorn wasn’t watching. Occasionally, his hand would stray to his shoulder involuntarily.
At last, they reached a point where Aragorn, even with his weak mortal eyes, could see the Last Homely House plainly. Legolas, of course, could see it just as well, even through his wavering vision. Relief rose in the elf’s heart, overwhelming the shields he had placed around the poison. The poison, angry at being held back for so long, raged through Legolas’ body, taking it by storm. The prince gasped in agony, his hand flying to his heart as he crumpled.
Aragorn knew that they would never make it in time on foot; the elf was too far-gone.
“No! Come on, Legolas! You need to make it just a bit father,” the man encouraged, grabbing Legolas by the shoulders and pulling the elf to his feet.
“A-A-Aragorn...” the prince gasped, fighting not to scream in agony as Aragorn’s hand covered the still-open wound. “I-I-I c-cannot...”
“You can, Legolas,” the ranger interrupted. “And you shall!” Lifting Legolas’ right arm, Aragorn pushed his shoulder under the elf’s arm and began half-helping, half-carrying him toward the Last Homely House.
At first, Legolas thought the poison was making him hear things that were not there as he fought to keep his feet under him and help Aragorn. But as time progressed, bringing him step by painful step closer to Rivendell proper, he heard the sounds of hoof beats clattering closer and closer. “E-estel,” he managed, his thoughts only managing to focus on his native language. “R-roch a-anglenna.” A horse approaches.
Aragorn swore in several languages as he looked down the path, trying to decide what to do in a hurry. Quickly, he helped Legolas over to a tree and leaned the limp prince against it. Unsheathing his sword, he stood guard over his friend. The thought never occurred to him that it might be help, or at worst, someone who meant no harm to either of the friends. His protective instinct, fully riled by Legolas’ condition, urged him to protect Legolas at all costs.
The hoof beats raced toward them, and Aragorn shifted position as he saw the horse round the corner. With a wild, despairing shout, he charged the horse, sword swinging.
A cry rang from the rider as the horse ground to a halt. “Estel! Estel, daro!” Stop!
Aragorn froze in his tracks as the rider’s words and language registered. Only his family and Legolas used his childhood name anymore, and a foe wouldn’t use the fair tongue. He looked up at the rider’s face...and recognized Elladan, his oldest brother. With a cry of relief, the ranger dropped his sword and rushed to his brother.
Elladan swung gracefully down from his black horse in time to catch his little brother in a firm hug. “Ada was so worried,” the older twin whispered in the ranger’s ear, trying to speak with his ribcage being crushed. “He sent Elrohir and I out this morning to look for you; Elrohir went south, just in case your inner compass failed.” Elladan caught sight of Legolas over his brother’s shoulder and frowned. “What happened to Legolas?” he asked, pulling away from his little brother.
“We ran into a pack of orcs, and Legolas was shot with a poisoned arrow. I got most of the poisons out, but I didn’t have the herbs required to do a full purge.” Aragorn managed to condense the painful events of the last week or so into two sentences; he wondered absently how he managed to do that.
Elladan’s lips pursed into a worried line, as he looked the shaking prince over carefully. He was an experienced healer, and he knew that Legolas’ window of help was closing rapidly. “Help me get him onto my horse,” the dark-haired elf ordered tersely.
Aragorn didn’t pause to ask questions. He ran to where Legolas was and gently hauled him to his feet. Elladan helped support the limp prince as the trio headed for Elladan’s horse.
It took a bit of effort to heave Legolas onto the horse, but once he was there, Elladan jumped on behind him and pulled the poisoned elf into his firm, yet gentle hold. “Come as quickly as you can, Estel. Unless I am greatly mistaken, Legolas will be asking for you as soon as he is coherent,” Elladan said, faint glimmers of humor showing through the deadly seriousness.
“I will do so,” Aragorn promised. “Si nor celeg a u-tiria dan.” Now ride swiftly and don’t look back.
Elladan nodded curtly and urged his horse into a headlong gallop, leaving Aragorn in the dust. Keeping his balance whilst holding onto Legolas was tricky work, but the elder twin was a master of the art of horse riding, so he managed to pull it off.
Luckily for Legolas, it was a short trip back to Rivendell on horseback. Within three hours, Elladan was pounding across the stone bridge and into the front yard of Rivendell, scattering startled and angry elves in every direction. Spinning his horse to a halt, Elladan shouted to a younger elf, “Get my father! Hurry!”
The boy nodded, his dark eyes wide as he took in the limp prince, and ran for the staircase. Elladan dismounted, Legolas in his arms. Grunting with effort, he shifted the unconscious elf to a better carrying position and headed for the stairs. Just as his foot touched the bottom stair, he came face-to-face with Lord Elrond, his clothes and hair mused from his headlong dash down the steps. The two healers quickly carried Legolas to Elrond’s healing room, where he could be better tended to.
Aragorn arrived a few hours behind Elladan, panting with the effort of running all that way. He did not pause to rest, opting instead to find Legolas. Taking the stairs three at a time, he found his father’s healing room and burst in the door, letting the wooden door smash against the back wall.
Two identical voices hissed, “Shh!” as two identical dark heads looked up indignantly. The third dark head, the one belonging to Lord Elrond, remained bent over his still blond patient. Elladan and Elrohir got up from where they sat beside Legolas’ bed and embraced their human brother before stepping aside and allowing him access to Legolas and Lord Elrond.
Aragorn knelt by Legolas’ side and took his friend’s limp hand. “How is he?” he asked softly, shifting so his sword rested more comfortably against his side.
It was Elladan who answered. “For the moment, stable. We stabilized his heart and breathing as soon as we got here.” Aragorn glanced at his brother and saw tired lines around his mouth and strong nose. “Right now, Ada is trying to find the identity of the poison so we can treat it properly.” Elladan paused as he saw the anguish on his human brother’s face. “Estel, he will pull through. We got him here in time.”
And pull him through they did, though it was a long battle that sapped the strength from all four of the healers. The first light of dawn was filtering through when the three elves left Legolas in Aragorn’s care and went to rest. Aragorn sat by Legolas’ side on the bed and gently stroked the elf’s hair, holding his warm hand firmly. “We came so close to losing you, gwador-nín,” he whispered into the silence of the room. “I am glad we did not.” My brother.
Legolas’ eyes moved beneath his closed lids for a moment before he slowly opened them and managed to focus on Aragorn’s tired face. “So am I,” he whispered, his voice a quiet rasp.
“Welcome to the land of the living,” Aragorn smiled, forcing back a tired yawn. “How are you feeling?”
The prince lifted his right shoulder slightly. “Sleepy,” he said after a moment. “The pain is not so bad anymore, praise the Valar.” He paused and looked hard at his human friend. “Have you slept?” he asked.
“No,” Aragorn whispered, smoothing the elf’s mused hair off his face with a trembling hand. He tried to tell himself that he was just trembling because he was relieved that Legolas was all right, not because he was tired. “I could not sleep until I knew you were going to be all right.” His eyes found Legolas’ re-bandaged shoulder. Now that the poison was eradicated from Legolas’ body, the human felt confident that the wound would heal fully, as it had not been able to do over the last week. He hadn’t known that it wasn’t healing—the silly elf hadn’t bothered to tell him that.
“I will be fine, tithen mellon,” Legolas smiled wearily. “Go on to sleep.” Little friend.
Aragorn smiled back and curled up beside Legolas, startling a laugh from the prince. “Estel! Your bed!”
“Uh-uh,” Aragorn muttered, already half asleep. “Too far.” His voice trailed off into a soft snore as sleep took him by storm.
Legolas shook his head fondly and rested his right hand on Aragorn’s head in quiet blessing. “Friends like you are a rare treasure, Estel,” he murmured. “I am glad I have not lost you.” His hand still resting on the human’s dark head, Legolas fell back into sleep.
Legolas remained in bed for two weeks, recovering his strength. During that time, Aragorn never left his side for longer than ten minutes, and that was mostly to run errands for his father. Legolas complained occasionally about being ‘smothered’, with particular emphasis on the ‘mother’ part of that word, but Aragorn knew that was just smoke rings to keep the ranger from seeing how grateful the elf really was.
When Legolas was finally released from bed rest (though Elrond would have preferred it if he’d remained there a bit longer), he went for a long walk around the grounds of Rivendell. Occasionally, he would punch at something with his left arm, testing its strength. It needed some work, but it didn’t hurt much to move it anymore. As he walked, his thoughts traveled down several thought trails, including wondering about his father and thinking about the next hunting trip.
His reflections were broken when Aragorn’s voice called his name from one of the balconies. The prince lifted his hand and waved at his friend.
Aragorn cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered, “Come to Ada’s office! He needs to speak to both of us!”
Legolas waved again to acknowledge the brief message and headed inside the nearest door, wondering what Elrond wanted. He shrugged; he’d find out soon enough.
Pausing before the wooden portal that led to Elrond’s office, Legolas knocked with two knuckles. Elrond’s voice beckoned him inside, and the blond elf obeyed. Aragorn was already reclining in one of the two comfortable chairs before Elrond’s desk. Legolas had always liked this room, oddly enough; it had a homey, lived-in feeling that comforted him when he was on edge.
Elrond rose and smiled at Legolas as he approached the blond elf. “Good afternoon, Legolas,” he greeted warmly, clasping Legolas’ shoulder gently. “How are you feeling?”
“Well enough, hir-nín,” Legolas replied, clasping Elrond’s shoulder in return. “Much better than I did when your son brought me in,” he added with a wry grin. My lord.
Elrond laughed and gestured Legolas to the empty seat beside Aragorn. “Sit, please. You have not been out of bed long.”
Legolas took the seat gratefully, crossing his long legs at the ankle.
Elrond took his own seat behind his desk and leaned forward, his fingers laced into a steeple. “Now, how is the northern part of the river?”
Aragorn grabbed the sheaf of papers he had written whilst the friends were traveling. He shuffled through them until he found the specific river reports and handed it to Elrond.
Elrond skimmed over it quickly and set it down. “Everything appears to be fine,” he said, leaning forward again. “So would you mind explaining why you two returned as you did?”
Legolas suddenly found the floor very interesting and Aragorn turned a light shade of red. After a moment of expectant silence, Aragorn told what had happened, Legolas interjecting as needed.
When the story was all told, Elrond sighed and stood up, facing away from the friends as he looked out the window. The elf and the man exchanged cautious glances, wondering what Elrond was thinking.
At last, the elf lord turned around to face them and braced his hands on his desk. “To a small degree, this is my fault,” he said, startling both friends. “I sent you out together, knowing there was something wrong. I had hoped you two could put aside the quarrel in order to accomplish your goal. Apparently, I misjudged both of you.”
Legolas bit his lip and looked away, fighting back tears. It had been a long time since any elder elf had had to scold him; he’d forgotten how much it stung. Aragorn scuffed the toe of his boot absently against the floor until his father’s glare reminded him how annoying that was. Elrond continued, “And while I regret that you are wounded and nearly died, Legolas, in one sense, I am pleased it happened. It forced you two to work together to achieve a goal, and it showed both of you just how petty your quarrel was. I trust you both have learned your lesson?”
Legolas smiled wryly as he rubbed his shoulder and nodded. Aragorn cast a sidelong glance at Legolas as he copied the elf’s nod. Elrond pierced both of them through with his gaze before straightening, satisfied. “Then you two are dismissed.”
Aragorn and Legolas rose simultaneously and headed for the door after bowing respectfully. Elrond’s voice stopped them. They turned as he asked, sitting down, “Legolas, when do you plan to return to Mirkwood?”
“I am not sure,” Legolas replied. “Maybe sometime next month, unless Ada calls me home sooner.”
Elrond nodded his understanding and waved them out. They obeyed quickly, laughing between themselves as they ran down the hall.
Once they were out of Elrond’s hearing range, Aragorn slumped against the wall with a prolonged whistle of relief. “I thought we were in real trouble for a moment there,” he admitted, sliding down the wall to sit on the ground.
Legolas joined him on the floor, wrapping his arms around his bent knees. “So did I,” he replied, leaning his forehead against his knees. “But, we did get off easy. He could have scolded us for ineptitude.”
That drew a rueful laugh from Aragorn as he got up, offering his hand to his friend. “Perhaps we did, mellon-nín,” the ranger admitted, helping his friend up, “but do not count your blessings just yet.”
Legolas arched his dark eyebrows as he stood with Aragorn’s help. “And why not?”
“Because my brothers will never let us live this down,” Aragorn groaned, considering the possibilities.
Legolas winced. “Ai...I had not considered that. Any suggestions?”
“Yes,” Aragorn replied, linking arms with the prince. “Lay low for a few days.”
Legolas smiled at the thought as he followed his friend’s lead. “Lead on, thala mellon-nín,” he said with exaggerated courtesy. “And please find us a safe laying-point.” My stalwart friend.
The friends laughed together as they raced down the halls. Though their friendship had been tested to the breaking point and beyond, it had endured through the most recent trial, leaving the bond between the friends stronger than ever before.
The End
By: Vanalosswen on councilofelrond.com
“Stupid, Aragorn, very stupid...let the best friendship you’ve ever had slip...stupid, stupid, stupid...”
“That is one more stupid that I would use, personally.”
Aragorn literally jumped about a foot into the air, spinning and dropping his water skin. His wild eyes caught on Legolas. The prince was propped up on his good arm, grinning at the human in that way that always made Aragorn’s self-defense instincts work over-time. “Legolas!” The man gasped, clapping his hand over his heart dramatically. “Don’t do that to me!”
“Sorry.” Legolas said, his grin indicating that he wasn’t really. Tipping his head to one side, the elf inhaled deeply, his eyes half-closed. “Mutton?” he asked, opening his eyes again.
“Yes,” Aragorn replied, picking up the water skin as he tried to calm his breathing. “Mutton with onions and potatoes.”
“Yum,” Legolas commented, sitting up carefully and cupping his hands in his lap.
Aragorn hesitated for a moment. It was easy to berate himself when he believed Legolas to be asleep, but now that the elf was awake and looking at him with those trusting blue eyes, it was much harder to begin what he wanted to say. “Legolas, I-” he began.
Legolas shook his head firmly, cutting the man off. “I know what you want to say,” he said, his expression becoming more serious. “But you do not need to. The blame is not yours to bear. Let it go.”
“But it is my fault, Legolas,” Aragorn said softly, suddenly unable to look the elf in the eye. “I provoked that stupid fight. And if we had been working together, you would not have been hurt.” His grey eyes were drawn to the bandage that encircled Legolas’ shoulder.
“Perhaps,” Legolas agreed, staring at the crown of the man’s head. “But it might have been fired at me, missed and killed you. That-” his voice choked off as he looked away, blinking rapidly. Even the thought of Aragorn dying was too much for him. Regaining control, he continued, “I do not blame you for what happened. Will you forgive my hasty words?”
Aragorn’s eyes flicked up to meet the elf’s and held them for a long moment, searching for any sign of guile. At last he choked out, “Only if you will forgive my words and actions.”
Legolas reached out with his left hand and gripped the man’s right shoulder firmly, ignoring the shock of pain. “Of course,” he replied as Aragorn reciprocated the action, his calloused hand rough against Legolas’ smooth skin.
They remained thus for a few moments, staring into each other’s eyes, until Aragorn tipped his head to one side and sniffed. “Ai, the mutton!” he cried, turning quickly back to the meal. Luckily, it wasn’t badly scorched. The human pulled the meat off the fire, accompanied by Legolas’ soft, melodic laughter as the elf readied the plates for the food.
~~~~~~~~~~
The reunited friends remained in that campsite for several more days, giving Legolas a chance to regain his strength and heal up a bit. When Legolas could shoot with only a twinge of pain—though his shoulder wound remained worryingly unhealed—they continued on their journey.
It was a journey of some three days to the head of the valley; three days filled with laughter, talk and stargazing. At the head, they set up a temporary camp and remained there for a few days. Aragorn set himself the task of checking the water depth and the effects of erosion on the river itself as Legolas wandered the woods about the river, checking to make sure all the foliage was growing well. All appeared to be well, so they started back for Rivendell proper.
“You know,” Aragorn commented the evening after they started back for Rivendell as he watched the stars pop out one by one, “we will be the last ones reporting back.”
Legolas smiled and winced in one motion as he considered that. “Your father will have our heads for worrying him so badly,” he remarked, turning his head to see his friend better. In the darkness, Legolas’ natural glow radiated about him, making his eyes shimmer as he grinned conspiratorially at Aragorn.
“Plus you getting hurt,” Aragorn pointed out. He paused before asking, “How is the shoulder, by the way?”
Legolas flexed his shoulder. In truth, he had looked at it earlier and was deeply concerned. Usually, his healing processes would have at least sealed the wound by now. But the wound was nearly as fresh as the day he had gotten it. It didn’t hurt much, but it was strange. He hadn’t told Aragorn; that was all he needed, more mothering by an over-worried ranger. “It still stings a bit,” he admitted after a moment. “I think there was a bit of poison that was not purged by your foul mixture.” He paused, still moving his arm and shoulder. “I can hold it at bay until we reach your father,” he finished after a moment, satisfied by what he felt.
Aragorn scowled. “Not the best idea, but what other choice do we have? I used the last of my poison-purging herbs on you, and if the taint resisted that purge...” he didn’t bother finishing that sentence; they both knew what he was going to say.
Legolas nodded. “Worry not,” he tried to reassure his friend, “I will tell you if I start feeling worse.” Legolas knew that Aragorn still, at least in the back of his mind, blamed himself for Legolas’ injury and subsequent poisoning. The elf didn’t blame the ranger, but that didn’t seem to change Aragorn’s perspective on it.
Aragorn snorted as he pulled his blanket about himself. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” he remarked before falling asleep.
As the journey progressed, Legolas began to feel odd, not exactly wrong-odd—just odd-odd. He could not pin the feeling down any better than that.
Aragorn noticed his friend’s odd expression about noon the third day out from the head. “What’s wrong, Legolas?” he asked, concerned.
Legolas shook his head absently as if he were going to deny that anything was wrong. “I cannot be sure,” he replied after a moment. “Something is not...right. But what it is, I do not know.”
Aragorn paused mid-stride and looked at Legolas for a long moment. “Is the not-right thing within or without you?” he asked, his tone gentle.
“Again, I cannot tell.” Legolas pursed his lips. “I-I just feel odd.” He shook his head. “Let us continue.”
Aragorn wasn’t sure about the wisdom of that, but he kept his peace and trusted his friend’s judgment. That, as it turned out, was a mistake.
As they continued on that day and the next, Legolas felt his body failing, no matter what he did to bolster it. Contrary to his promise, he made no mention of it to Aragorn.
Aragorn actually found out the secret by accident late the fourth afternoon. Legolas had found that he could only focus his attention on two, maybe three things at a time. He had chosen to focus on walking, thinking and listening for trouble beyond them.
Aragorn asked Legolas, “When do you want to stop?”
Because Legolas was thoroughly focused on his chosen three actions, he didn’t hear Aragorn at all and kept walking.
Aragorn frowned. “Legolas?”
Still no answer.
Aragorn strode forward, matching Legolas’ speed, and grabbed the elf’s shoulders, dragging him to a stop.
Legolas blinked, his focus broken. “Aragorn?”
“Are you all right?” Aragorn demanded, still holding onto his friend’s slender shoulders.
“I am fine,” Legolas said somewhat snappishly as he tried to break free from Aragorn’s grip. To the elf’s surprise, he couldn’t break the human’s hold. Pain flashed across his fair features, showing Aragorn what the elf wasn’t saying.
“No, you’re not,” Aragorn said softly. He could feel a slight involuntary shudder spasm through Legolas’ muscles as his friend tried again to break free.
Legolas sighed, bowing his head. “No, I am not fine,” he admitted. “The battle against the poison is not going as well as I had hoped. But there is naught I can do save get to your father as quickly as possible.”
Aragorn released his friend carefully. “Then let us continue, and with all possible speed.”
Legolas nodded his agreement and set his chin stubbornly. He liked life; he didn’t want to lose it to something as stupid as poison.
Aragorn kept a much closer eye on his elven friend during the next day...and what he saw was not good. Legolas stumbled more and more often as the day progressed, and pain flashed across his face when he thought Aragorn wasn’t watching. Occasionally, his hand would stray to his shoulder involuntarily.
At last, they reached a point where Aragorn, even with his weak mortal eyes, could see the Last Homely House plainly. Legolas, of course, could see it just as well, even through his wavering vision. Relief rose in the elf’s heart, overwhelming the shields he had placed around the poison. The poison, angry at being held back for so long, raged through Legolas’ body, taking it by storm. The prince gasped in agony, his hand flying to his heart as he crumpled.
Aragorn knew that they would never make it in time on foot; the elf was too far-gone.
“No! Come on, Legolas! You need to make it just a bit father,” the man encouraged, grabbing Legolas by the shoulders and pulling the elf to his feet.
“A-A-Aragorn...” the prince gasped, fighting not to scream in agony as Aragorn’s hand covered the still-open wound. “I-I-I c-cannot...”
“You can, Legolas,” the ranger interrupted. “And you shall!” Lifting Legolas’ right arm, Aragorn pushed his shoulder under the elf’s arm and began half-helping, half-carrying him toward the Last Homely House.
At first, Legolas thought the poison was making him hear things that were not there as he fought to keep his feet under him and help Aragorn. But as time progressed, bringing him step by painful step closer to Rivendell proper, he heard the sounds of hoof beats clattering closer and closer. “E-estel,” he managed, his thoughts only managing to focus on his native language. “R-roch a-anglenna.” A horse approaches.
Aragorn swore in several languages as he looked down the path, trying to decide what to do in a hurry. Quickly, he helped Legolas over to a tree and leaned the limp prince against it. Unsheathing his sword, he stood guard over his friend. The thought never occurred to him that it might be help, or at worst, someone who meant no harm to either of the friends. His protective instinct, fully riled by Legolas’ condition, urged him to protect Legolas at all costs.
The hoof beats raced toward them, and Aragorn shifted position as he saw the horse round the corner. With a wild, despairing shout, he charged the horse, sword swinging.
A cry rang from the rider as the horse ground to a halt. “Estel! Estel, daro!” Stop!
Aragorn froze in his tracks as the rider’s words and language registered. Only his family and Legolas used his childhood name anymore, and a foe wouldn’t use the fair tongue. He looked up at the rider’s face...and recognized Elladan, his oldest brother. With a cry of relief, the ranger dropped his sword and rushed to his brother.
Elladan swung gracefully down from his black horse in time to catch his little brother in a firm hug. “Ada was so worried,” the older twin whispered in the ranger’s ear, trying to speak with his ribcage being crushed. “He sent Elrohir and I out this morning to look for you; Elrohir went south, just in case your inner compass failed.” Elladan caught sight of Legolas over his brother’s shoulder and frowned. “What happened to Legolas?” he asked, pulling away from his little brother.
“We ran into a pack of orcs, and Legolas was shot with a poisoned arrow. I got most of the poisons out, but I didn’t have the herbs required to do a full purge.” Aragorn managed to condense the painful events of the last week or so into two sentences; he wondered absently how he managed to do that.
Elladan’s lips pursed into a worried line, as he looked the shaking prince over carefully. He was an experienced healer, and he knew that Legolas’ window of help was closing rapidly. “Help me get him onto my horse,” the dark-haired elf ordered tersely.
Aragorn didn’t pause to ask questions. He ran to where Legolas was and gently hauled him to his feet. Elladan helped support the limp prince as the trio headed for Elladan’s horse.
It took a bit of effort to heave Legolas onto the horse, but once he was there, Elladan jumped on behind him and pulled the poisoned elf into his firm, yet gentle hold. “Come as quickly as you can, Estel. Unless I am greatly mistaken, Legolas will be asking for you as soon as he is coherent,” Elladan said, faint glimmers of humor showing through the deadly seriousness.
“I will do so,” Aragorn promised. “Si nor celeg a u-tiria dan.” Now ride swiftly and don’t look back.
Elladan nodded curtly and urged his horse into a headlong gallop, leaving Aragorn in the dust. Keeping his balance whilst holding onto Legolas was tricky work, but the elder twin was a master of the art of horse riding, so he managed to pull it off.
Luckily for Legolas, it was a short trip back to Rivendell on horseback. Within three hours, Elladan was pounding across the stone bridge and into the front yard of Rivendell, scattering startled and angry elves in every direction. Spinning his horse to a halt, Elladan shouted to a younger elf, “Get my father! Hurry!”
The boy nodded, his dark eyes wide as he took in the limp prince, and ran for the staircase. Elladan dismounted, Legolas in his arms. Grunting with effort, he shifted the unconscious elf to a better carrying position and headed for the stairs. Just as his foot touched the bottom stair, he came face-to-face with Lord Elrond, his clothes and hair mused from his headlong dash down the steps. The two healers quickly carried Legolas to Elrond’s healing room, where he could be better tended to.
Aragorn arrived a few hours behind Elladan, panting with the effort of running all that way. He did not pause to rest, opting instead to find Legolas. Taking the stairs three at a time, he found his father’s healing room and burst in the door, letting the wooden door smash against the back wall.
Two identical voices hissed, “Shh!” as two identical dark heads looked up indignantly. The third dark head, the one belonging to Lord Elrond, remained bent over his still blond patient. Elladan and Elrohir got up from where they sat beside Legolas’ bed and embraced their human brother before stepping aside and allowing him access to Legolas and Lord Elrond.
Aragorn knelt by Legolas’ side and took his friend’s limp hand. “How is he?” he asked softly, shifting so his sword rested more comfortably against his side.
It was Elladan who answered. “For the moment, stable. We stabilized his heart and breathing as soon as we got here.” Aragorn glanced at his brother and saw tired lines around his mouth and strong nose. “Right now, Ada is trying to find the identity of the poison so we can treat it properly.” Elladan paused as he saw the anguish on his human brother’s face. “Estel, he will pull through. We got him here in time.”
And pull him through they did, though it was a long battle that sapped the strength from all four of the healers. The first light of dawn was filtering through when the three elves left Legolas in Aragorn’s care and went to rest. Aragorn sat by Legolas’ side on the bed and gently stroked the elf’s hair, holding his warm hand firmly. “We came so close to losing you, gwador-nín,” he whispered into the silence of the room. “I am glad we did not.” My brother.
Legolas’ eyes moved beneath his closed lids for a moment before he slowly opened them and managed to focus on Aragorn’s tired face. “So am I,” he whispered, his voice a quiet rasp.
“Welcome to the land of the living,” Aragorn smiled, forcing back a tired yawn. “How are you feeling?”
The prince lifted his right shoulder slightly. “Sleepy,” he said after a moment. “The pain is not so bad anymore, praise the Valar.” He paused and looked hard at his human friend. “Have you slept?” he asked.
“No,” Aragorn whispered, smoothing the elf’s mused hair off his face with a trembling hand. He tried to tell himself that he was just trembling because he was relieved that Legolas was all right, not because he was tired. “I could not sleep until I knew you were going to be all right.” His eyes found Legolas’ re-bandaged shoulder. Now that the poison was eradicated from Legolas’ body, the human felt confident that the wound would heal fully, as it had not been able to do over the last week. He hadn’t known that it wasn’t healing—the silly elf hadn’t bothered to tell him that.
“I will be fine, tithen mellon,” Legolas smiled wearily. “Go on to sleep.” Little friend.
Aragorn smiled back and curled up beside Legolas, startling a laugh from the prince. “Estel! Your bed!”
“Uh-uh,” Aragorn muttered, already half asleep. “Too far.” His voice trailed off into a soft snore as sleep took him by storm.
Legolas shook his head fondly and rested his right hand on Aragorn’s head in quiet blessing. “Friends like you are a rare treasure, Estel,” he murmured. “I am glad I have not lost you.” His hand still resting on the human’s dark head, Legolas fell back into sleep.
Legolas remained in bed for two weeks, recovering his strength. During that time, Aragorn never left his side for longer than ten minutes, and that was mostly to run errands for his father. Legolas complained occasionally about being ‘smothered’, with particular emphasis on the ‘mother’ part of that word, but Aragorn knew that was just smoke rings to keep the ranger from seeing how grateful the elf really was.
When Legolas was finally released from bed rest (though Elrond would have preferred it if he’d remained there a bit longer), he went for a long walk around the grounds of Rivendell. Occasionally, he would punch at something with his left arm, testing its strength. It needed some work, but it didn’t hurt much to move it anymore. As he walked, his thoughts traveled down several thought trails, including wondering about his father and thinking about the next hunting trip.
His reflections were broken when Aragorn’s voice called his name from one of the balconies. The prince lifted his hand and waved at his friend.
Aragorn cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered, “Come to Ada’s office! He needs to speak to both of us!”
Legolas waved again to acknowledge the brief message and headed inside the nearest door, wondering what Elrond wanted. He shrugged; he’d find out soon enough.
Pausing before the wooden portal that led to Elrond’s office, Legolas knocked with two knuckles. Elrond’s voice beckoned him inside, and the blond elf obeyed. Aragorn was already reclining in one of the two comfortable chairs before Elrond’s desk. Legolas had always liked this room, oddly enough; it had a homey, lived-in feeling that comforted him when he was on edge.
Elrond rose and smiled at Legolas as he approached the blond elf. “Good afternoon, Legolas,” he greeted warmly, clasping Legolas’ shoulder gently. “How are you feeling?”
“Well enough, hir-nín,” Legolas replied, clasping Elrond’s shoulder in return. “Much better than I did when your son brought me in,” he added with a wry grin. My lord.
Elrond laughed and gestured Legolas to the empty seat beside Aragorn. “Sit, please. You have not been out of bed long.”
Legolas took the seat gratefully, crossing his long legs at the ankle.
Elrond took his own seat behind his desk and leaned forward, his fingers laced into a steeple. “Now, how is the northern part of the river?”
Aragorn grabbed the sheaf of papers he had written whilst the friends were traveling. He shuffled through them until he found the specific river reports and handed it to Elrond.
Elrond skimmed over it quickly and set it down. “Everything appears to be fine,” he said, leaning forward again. “So would you mind explaining why you two returned as you did?”
Legolas suddenly found the floor very interesting and Aragorn turned a light shade of red. After a moment of expectant silence, Aragorn told what had happened, Legolas interjecting as needed.
When the story was all told, Elrond sighed and stood up, facing away from the friends as he looked out the window. The elf and the man exchanged cautious glances, wondering what Elrond was thinking.
At last, the elf lord turned around to face them and braced his hands on his desk. “To a small degree, this is my fault,” he said, startling both friends. “I sent you out together, knowing there was something wrong. I had hoped you two could put aside the quarrel in order to accomplish your goal. Apparently, I misjudged both of you.”
Legolas bit his lip and looked away, fighting back tears. It had been a long time since any elder elf had had to scold him; he’d forgotten how much it stung. Aragorn scuffed the toe of his boot absently against the floor until his father’s glare reminded him how annoying that was. Elrond continued, “And while I regret that you are wounded and nearly died, Legolas, in one sense, I am pleased it happened. It forced you two to work together to achieve a goal, and it showed both of you just how petty your quarrel was. I trust you both have learned your lesson?”
Legolas smiled wryly as he rubbed his shoulder and nodded. Aragorn cast a sidelong glance at Legolas as he copied the elf’s nod. Elrond pierced both of them through with his gaze before straightening, satisfied. “Then you two are dismissed.”
Aragorn and Legolas rose simultaneously and headed for the door after bowing respectfully. Elrond’s voice stopped them. They turned as he asked, sitting down, “Legolas, when do you plan to return to Mirkwood?”
“I am not sure,” Legolas replied. “Maybe sometime next month, unless Ada calls me home sooner.”
Elrond nodded his understanding and waved them out. They obeyed quickly, laughing between themselves as they ran down the hall.
Once they were out of Elrond’s hearing range, Aragorn slumped against the wall with a prolonged whistle of relief. “I thought we were in real trouble for a moment there,” he admitted, sliding down the wall to sit on the ground.
Legolas joined him on the floor, wrapping his arms around his bent knees. “So did I,” he replied, leaning his forehead against his knees. “But, we did get off easy. He could have scolded us for ineptitude.”
That drew a rueful laugh from Aragorn as he got up, offering his hand to his friend. “Perhaps we did, mellon-nín,” the ranger admitted, helping his friend up, “but do not count your blessings just yet.”
Legolas arched his dark eyebrows as he stood with Aragorn’s help. “And why not?”
“Because my brothers will never let us live this down,” Aragorn groaned, considering the possibilities.
Legolas winced. “Ai...I had not considered that. Any suggestions?”
“Yes,” Aragorn replied, linking arms with the prince. “Lay low for a few days.”
Legolas smiled at the thought as he followed his friend’s lead. “Lead on, thala mellon-nín,” he said with exaggerated courtesy. “And please find us a safe laying-point.” My stalwart friend.
The friends laughed together as they raced down the halls. Though their friendship had been tested to the breaking point and beyond, it had endured through the most recent trial, leaving the bond between the friends stronger than ever before.
The End
By: Vanalosswen on councilofelrond.com
