Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story are mine apart from the ones which do not appear in any of the works by J.R.R Tolkien. This piece of writing has not been made with the intention of making any money or replacing/amending any of Tolkien's works.

Author's Note: I'm back! It's been over 5 years since I wrote my first fic under the pen-name of Crimson Regret. Due to problems, I had to change this pen-name, and am now Scarlet Darkness. Please feel free to read my first fic, Hidden Truth, and its sequel, What Tomorrow Brings, but neither of these need to be read in order to make sense of this new story…

Chapter 1

The Elf's breath was slow and even under the influence of the herbs given to send him into a deep sleep. When in this state, his close friends were told he could feel no pain and would not wake until his body had healed considerably. The Prince's best friend, a Human by the Elvish name of Estel, sat by his bedside. The dark-haired Man was sitting forwards, his hand encircling that of the wounded Elf, desperately wishing that this simple action would provide the injured being with some relief. The young Human's mind was elsewhere, though, as he strived to decipher exactly what had transpired to cause the Prince to be found, by one of the Rivendell patrols, seriously injured and unconscious in the woods surrounding the Elven haven.

There was something amiss though, but Estel could not place it. The injuries sustained by Mirkwood's Prince were not unlike others he had seen before; grievous indeed, but not unusual. And yet the Ranger still had a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that Legolas had been the victim of something other than a typical Orc attack. And that was when it hit him like a blow from a Cave Troll.

"Ada, these injuries, do you not think they are … different somehow?" Estel asked, his grey eyes sparkling with the potential discovery.

"I understand where you are going with this, ion-nin. And yes, I do believe that Legolas' wounds are not those dealt by any Orc weapon. Indeed, the weapon or weapons which caused them may not have even been held in the hands of an Orc." Elrond said, his own eyes twinkling as he realised that he had been reading his son's mind, according to Estel's surprised, open-mouthed expression.

"I will never understand how you do that, Ada." The young Man said, shaking his head.

After a while of thinking, supposing, and assuming, Estel returned his gaze to his friend. The Prince's golden hair was brushed away from his sweat-soaked skin by the hand of the greatest healer in Middle Earth. Lord Elrond of Rivendell looked over the Elf in his care, checking his breathing and pulse as he had done repeatedly over the hours which had passed following the Elf's arrival.

Estel had been fostered by the great Lord after becoming an orphan at a very young age, and during his childhood had been taught in detail about the art of healing. But even with this knowledge, the young Man still found himself to be helpless when faced with the injuries sustained by his best friend.

Father and son shared a concerned, but relieved, glance as the Elf's persistent fever had finally broken. Days of lukewarm baths, cooling cloths and wrapping with woollen blankets had eventually proven to be a cure to the archer's fevered state. Elrond had given the Elf Prince the sleeping herbs to combat the horrific delusions, nightmares, pain, and tremors that Legolas had suffered, causing him to aggravate his existing injuries and rendering him exhausted.

Despite the news that Legolas' fever had broken, Elrond and Estel still worried desperately about the condition of Mirkwood's Prince. The injuries suffered in the attack were extensive and he had lost a lot of blood before being found unconscious and brought to the Houses of Healing. During these days of intense care, the Prince had not once properly awoken. The words he spoke were ones of delusion and, most of the time, indecipherable or nonsense. And so it remained that the Peredhil family could only guess at the events which had occurred to leave Legolas so close to the doors of Mandos' Halls.

"Come, Estel, let us change the bed sheets now that the fever has broken. It will do him no good to be lying on a damp bed." Elrond spoke softly, placing one strong hand onto the shoulder of his foster-son. Estel merely turned his head slightly, nodding. The pair were swift in the process of changing the sheets, having had to do this many-a-time during the care and treatment of others. This time was no different apart from the fact that it was Legolas who lay greatly injured.

Elrond placed his hands under uninjured parts of the young Elf's torso and gently sat him into a more upright position. Supporting Legolas in this way allowed Estel to pull the old sheet down towards Legolas' legs and place the top of a clean sheet into position. Having done this, Elrond lifted the Prince's legs and the process was repeated. Replacing a sheet in this way allowed for the injured to remain atop the bed and eliminated the need to call in extra hands to aid in fully lifting a patient.