It had been several months since we had departed away from Aragorn and the rest of our company, to travel to our heart's content to any and all lands that suited us. Aragorn was beginning the strides to kinghood, the Hobbits had gone home for the time being, and Legolas and I did not feel inclined to stop our wanderings just yet. Not to return home.
As per our agreement, I had visited the forests of Fangorn. Thankfully the tree's and their keepers had seemed in much better moods upon our second visit. Legolas had even coxed several of the Ents into conversations with him. The two of us had spent a little over a week beneath the trees, and I had to practically drag him out of the forest by his ears.
Now, for the second half of the agreement, we are traveling to the Glittering Caves. Where I plan to force the irksome elf as far into the underground tunnels as I like. No matter the whining or complaining the Princeling is destined to do.
The path we are taking is far from the most direct route, and we often change it upon a whim to suit whatever our wishes are. Legolas often trys to visit many of the towns we are near, after spending so many years only within his tree's he is thirsty for as many new places as he can get his grubby hands on. Usually, I am happy to oblige, it doesn't bother me any and brings him such joy.
The past few town though, I have been forced to keep him away from. For reasons unknown to me, they have a rather negative view of elves. I have no doubt that if we were to run into trouble we would be fine, but it is better safe than sorry. Better to avoid the situation entirely.
So instead we have gone several days off course simply to visit a heated underground spring. Time is little of the essence when one had nowhere in particular to be.
Although, I am beginning to wonder if we ought to get on with the journey with greater speed. Legolas received a somewhat passive aggressive letter from his father about his delay in returning home. The elf had only laughed at his father, but I was adamant that I did not wish for the Elven King to go riding across Arda in search of his only son. Only to find him in the company of a dwarf.
That is not a battle I can win, nor a battle I wish to even attempt. I frown deeply upon retreating from an enemy, but if I were to wake up one morning to find the Elven King riding towards me, I'm certain that I would run faster and farther than when we had been chasing the hobbits across Rohan.
As long as I feel better than I do this morning.
I had been feeling slightly ill the night before when I had gone to bed, but now a dull ache is setting into my bones, and I am already sweating even though the morning is chilled.
"Good morning!" Legolas calls brightly, noticing for the first time that I have awoken. The prince carefully notes his page number, closes the book, and gracefully leaped from the tree to the ground.
I only grunt in response.
Legolas is undeterred by my lack of verbal response, as he usually is, "You missed a very beautiful sunrise this morning, my friend. I contemplated waking you, but you were snoring exceedingly loudly."
"What does my snoring have to do with sunrises?" I find myself grumbling, managing to pull myself and my aching body into a sitting position.
"You only snore as such when you are deeply in need of rest." The elf drops near me on the ground, coming to sit gracefully cross-legged, "Estel talks in his sleep when he needs rest, you snore louder, the Hobbits cease all movement, and my father sleeps with his eyes closed."
"Perhaps you finally cease your jabbering when you need rest."
As the words leave my mouth I feel slightly guilty for my ire, it is not the elfs fault that I do not feel well this morning. Even if Legolas has proved significantly less bothered by my attitudes than most other beings, often either ignoring them completely or simply not noticing. I still am not sure which one it is.
The Elf can also not be blamed for his cheerful nature, it is often something I hold a deep appreciation for. This particular morning, however, is not one of those times of appreciation.
"Elves do not talk in their sleep. So yes, I suppose you are correct. When in need of rest I do cease my jabbering"
Legolas begins spooning some of the food he had cooked onto a plate for me, and I notice that the Elf had cooked it in the way I like best, but in which he hates. The observation warms my heart a little.
I am about to thank him for the gesture when without warning a great sneeze shakes my body.
Legolas looks at me with surprised alarm, eyes wide with slight fear and brows furrowed in confusion, "What was that?"
Had I not been feeling so ill, I would have taken joy in his fright. It is not easy to startle an elf, believe me, I have tried. "It was a sneeze, laddie"
"A sneeze?"
Of course elves did not know what sneezes were, elves did not get sick. They do not suffer such indignities as the mortals.
"Yes, a sneeze. It is a thing mortal bodies do when they are ill" Grumpily I begin shoveling the food into my mouth, praying the elf would not press the issue.
"You are ill?"
I suppress a frustrated sigh, "No I am not ill"
"But you said-"
"I know what I said Legolas, and I am not ill"
The Elf blinks at me in slight confusion but does not press the issue further. For which I am grateful for, the last thing I need is a worried elfling trying to nurse me to health. Wordlessly I begin to shovel food into his mouth again while Legolas takes to admiring our surroundings.
I knew the peace would not last, it never does. Not with Legolas.
"I could make you tea, Estel enjoys tea when he is ill"
"I am not ill, and I do not want tea"
This time the elf frowns at me, clearly at a loss for what to do.
It was not his fault, I try to remind myself. For all his long years of life, Legolas has remained relatively sheltered from any of the mortal races. He only wants to help his friend but is unaware how to. He does not know or understand the aches and pains that came with illnesses, nor the diminish of patience.
"We could stay here for the day, there is plenty of water for us and you could rest and-"
"I am not ill, I do not need to rest, and we are not staying here today."
The elf's frown deepens, but blessedly he does not argue, "Fine."
He does, however, continue to throw me concerned looks throughout my breakfast, as we pack our belongings, and even when we are both mounted on the horse. I do not sneeze again that morning out of sheer determination and willpower alone.
By the time we stop for lunch I am feeling significantly worse than before.
My body aches as if I had run many miles, my throat pains me greatly, I alternate between sweating profusely and shivering with cold, and on top of all that I have a growing feeling of nausea.
I knew I would not be able to keep this form the elf once we stopped. He is irritatingly observant.
Thankfully we did not speak much on our ride, but I know my companion well enough to sense his growing worry and unease with the situation. As Legolas helps me from the horse, I am fully aware of the open and sincere concern he has for me.
It is both frustrating and slightly endearing.
"You are sure you are not ill?"
"Yes," I insist stubbornly, even as the sight of food turns my stomach. As if I had been on the sea for days or the morning after far too much drinking.
Legolas frowns at me again, and I know he does not believe me. It is no matter, he does not know mortal sickness well enough to call my bluff.
His blue eyes narrow at me, "Then why does the sight of food revolt you?"
"It does not" I lie through my teeth, the last thing I want to do right now is attempt to force the jerky down my throat. Or any of the fruits Legolas enjoys so much.
His eyes narrow further and I know he is aware of the lie. I am often a good liar. A skill I had acquired early in life to combat my mother's overprotectiveness of me, and my desire to learn to Smith even if my father claimed I was too young. But the elf, the elf is never fooled.
Perhaps he will call my bluff.
"Then take a large bite of that jerky." He openly challenges, pressing a particularly thick piece into my hand. He stands back with his arms crossed over his chest, and face set with displeasure of me.
I had heard many grumbles from the men we had served within the last year about the lack of emotions from the seemed to be convinced he did not have any at all, at most times. All I could do was chuckle in response.
For Legolas is one of the most emotional beings I believe I have ever met, and his emotions appear to come in extremes. There are no mild emotions from my elf, and I doubt there ever have been. I do not know if it is a trait that all elves possess or just him. It matters little either way.
He is never simply joyful. He is ecstatic, gleeful, and almost annoyingly merry. He does not feel sadness, he feels deep sorrow down into his bones, a sort of loss and despair I hope to never feel. He does not feel anger, he feels an almost all-consuming fire, a rage that could scare the hearts of any man.
He is a creature formed by nature, and I have never known nature to be subtle, never known it to go from one mild outcome to another. Either the sun shines or it pours, the air is calm or the wind howls.
One only has to look into his eyes to see. Or notice the slight changes of his expressions. They are far more subtle than the expressions of men, but that does not mean they do not exist. I often wonder why so few can see, so few can feel the difference. Either way I know I am blessed to have the ability.
His heart is large and soft, it bleeds for every hardship and pain it witnesses. The depths of his blue eyes are almost endless and hard to understand as if I had taken an ax to the oldest tree I could find and attempted to count the rings.
As well as I know him, I am aware he knows me just as well.
I know he knows I am lying to him, and I know he does not like it.
I take a bite of the jerky anyways. My stomach rolls threateningly as it hits my tongue, it is dry and does not taste as it should. My teeth appear to not have any effect on it, and I am beginning to worry I will have to swallow it hole. An unpleasant end to an unpleasant task.
He sighs across from me, arms dropping to his side and expression softening greatly. "Gimli, spit it out."
I ignore him and my stomach, and determinedly continue chewing it.
"Gimli for Valar's sake before you make yourself sick, spit it out"
But I am stubborn, perhaps too stubborn, and he has challenged me. I intend to win. I chew for several more moments and then force myself to swallow, Legolas winces across from me as if he senses the great pain that it causes in my throat.
I open my mouth to speak, but swiftly have to close it again as a nearly overwhelming wave of nausea hits me. I breathe through my nose determinedly, and sallow purposefully a few times and blessedly the jerky stays down.
"I am not sick"
The jerky does not stay down.
Before I even know whats happening, I am doubled over and aggressively ill. I can hear Legolas give a gasp of concern and shock before he rushes to my side, pulling what hair he can manage out of my face and rubbing my back soothingly with the other hand. He is speaking to me in his own tongue, as I have noticed he tends to do when under any form of duress without realizing it. I have no idea what he is saying, but the words and his voice are soothing to my ears, and I know he is only telling me what he wishes will comfort me.
The act of being sick lights a fire in my throat so hot and intense I am sure it would have been able to melt even the One Ring, and I blink rapidly as tears swim to my eyes at the sensation. As soon as I am done, I am assaulted with unmanageable dizziness, and had Legolas not been holding onto me there is a good chance I might have fallen into the small pile of sickness on the earth in front of me.
Thankfully for me, the elf does have a secure hold on me, and he is much stronger than his lithe body led me to believe at our first meeting. He pulls me sideways so I crash into him, instead of into the ground. He doesn't so much a give a slight sway even with all my weight against him, and he manages to lower me to the ground rather gracefully.
I take a few gasping breaths to try and make up for the lost oxygen, my throat still searing me painfully in anger, and look up at the elf who is staring at me with concerned disappointment, "If this is you when you are not ill, I would hate to see what happens when you are."
If I had not been feeling so terrible I might have a sharp retort for him, but I all I can manage is a miserable groan and a rude gesture.
He looks me up and down, grunts to himself, and then swiftly stands and retreats from my sight. I hear him rustling in his pack, or mine, it makes little difference to me. Apparently he finds what he is searching for because the noise stops, but he does not return to my view right away. I would turn to seek him out to investigate what he is doing, but every moment of my head causes the dizziness and nausea to return with a vengeance worthy of the Elven King.
After a few more moments he returns to me, I haven't even moved a single inch from where he had placed me in the grass and kneels in front of me. "This is going to be unpleasant," He warns right before pulling me to my feet.
For the second time today I am incredibly thankful for his deceptive strength, for my legs tremble like children in a storm beneath my weight, but the elf holds onto me securely and somehow drags or carries me away from my temporary home in the grass. My vision swims in my eyes, so I do not know exactly where he takes me, but I know it is not far and that my bedroll is waiting for me there.
He plops me down on it, covering me with both his blankets and mine, and it is then that I notice I have begun to shiver violently once more. Dully I note that he has already started a fire near me, as he presses his soft hand against my forehead clucking softly in displeasure at the heat he finds burning there.
Legolas vanishes once again, and I am left to wallow in a bit of self-pity. It always seems to happen that whenever I have ever become ill I ignore it for a week and then in the span of a day it takes over my body and leaves me helpless. It makes it even worse that the only being within miles of me just so happens to be one of the few things on the earth who has never been sick. It isn't fair.
"Here," He has returned and holds a cup filled halfway with a tea that both my nose and stomach do not like, I give him a disgusted look to convey their messages to him. "I will hold you down and pour it down your throat, I have done it to Estel, and I will do it to you."
I narrow my eyes at him but see no sign that he is lying to me. It definitely does seem like something he would do, and in my weakened state there is no way I could win, and I do not intend to give him such ammo to hold over me for the rest of my natural life. I force my shaking hands to take hold of the cup, I give him one las rueful look before downing it in two swallows.
I expected it to burn my throat again, but it soothes it greatly. As if I just took several swallows of frozen water that numbed it, even my stomach does not object to its presence within me. I look up at him in surprise only to find a relatively smug expression on his face, "Do you really think Elrond or the twins would have let Estel out of their collective sight without knowing every elf near him world at least have some idea what to do with mortal illnesses."
The thought had honestly never occurred to me, but it does seem very likely that the Elven Lord would have insisted on extensive training for whoever was supposed to be in charge of his foster son. I had learned from firsthand experience that the twins seemed to be more in favor of just never leaving their little brother for any extended period of time, proven when they had appeared suddenly near the end of our quest. Even now they remained in Gondor, refusing to leave Aragorn even though Arwen had yet to travel from Rivendell.
A deep exhaustion creeps up on me, and it is then I realize that the elf has drugged me. I look down at the cup, and then back up at him in scandalized horror, but he appears to be completely unapologetic about it. Keeping his self-satisfied, smug expression on his fare face he pushes me down onto the bedroll, and I am asleep before I even realize he has done it.
I am sweaty and uncomfortable the next time I wake, everything is dark now except for the fire that still burns strongly near me. I search for Legolas and do not immediately find him, which fills me with a certain degree of panic.
It had become a habit for me, look for Legolas and then look for Aragorn. I would be hard-pressed to think of a time that the three hunters had not known of the other's whereabouts during our quest. If we did not know where one of the others were, it became a priority to find out.
Losing the elf is always worse than losing the man, he's so flighty that I feel he might do something ridiculous and dangerous at any given moment. Even in Minas Tirith he nearly gave me a heart attack when he decided he could climb all the way up to the top tier of the city, I spotted him while he was halfway up and almost climbed after just to yell at him.
Thankfully, he appears out of thin air only a moment later, and I can only assume he's dropped from some absurdly high tree branch, he leans over me with a good-natured smile, "Good evening, Mellon-nin"
"Good evening." I manage to grumble back, my voice scratchy and throat raw and painful once more.
He makes that clucking sound again, the one that sometimes, I swear it strongly resembles a chirp. For a moment he vanishes again but returns with another cup of tea and holds it out to me expectantly, "Drink this, please."
I blink at him for a moment, slightly offended he had the audacity to be his usual cheerful self, "Are you going to drug me again?"
He's smarter than to lose that good-natured smile, but I notice the mirth that dances in his eyes. I sigh and reach for the cup, it will be easier to just let the elfling get his way than fight it. I drink the tea, and then have a few sips of cool water that he brings me.
The sun is just starting to rise the next time I open my eyes, although I know that whatever herb the elf gave me has not worn off yet, for already I am being pulled back to sleep. I resist the call and force my eyes to stay open.
The early morning today is colder than the morning before. Legolas sits cross-legged on the ground near me, a bird perched comfortably on his knee as he readily shares pieces of his fruit with it. His head makes a twitch to the left, the kind he makes whenever a tree speaks to him when he is not expecting it, and then his eyes slid to me.
"If you will excuse me for a moment, I will return shortly." He tells the bird, gently lifting it from his leg so he can stand. I'm exhausted and freezing but I can't help the snort of laughter this brings me.
He adjusts the blankets for me, adding what I imagine is the cloak he had been wearing to the pile before adding more wood to the fire. I am asleep once more before he can even ask the bird if he would like to come back.
I swim in and out of dreams for what I think must be four days, but I could be wrong. Every time I woke Legolas appeared quickly to tend to my every need before I even realized what my need was.
When I wake this time, I feel remarkably well considering how the last few days have gone. I can swallow without cringing, my skin is no longer clammy, and my stomach is almost settled. The sun is high in the sky basking everything in a bright and cheerful light, although I have somehow become positioned beneath a tree to keep me in the shade.
I have no idea when he moved me, but I am thankful for it nonetheless.
First I look up the branches of the tree, looking for the dangling legs or arms or hair that usually comes with the elf lounging in a tree, but I do not see any. Next I turn my head to the side, away from the tree and outwards to the field of fresh grass to my right. There lays the fabled warrior Prince of Greenwood the Great, now Eryn Lasgalen, sprawled happily in the sun like some sort of lizard.
His arms are stretched wide to either side of him, his legs thrown casually as if he just flopped to the ground, eyes closed and incredibly peaceful. It's easy to picture him living for eternity in moments like these; so timeless he appears already. It's so easy to picture him spending all the days of the world singing to his trees, enjoying nice fields, not quite striving for anything but not wasting any moment.
The tree above me sways slightly, although I swear there is no wind, and Legolas rouses himself immediately. He springs himself up swiftly, as I slowly pull myself into a sitting position. The first one of days.
One his way to me he snatches something off the ground, not offering it until he has dropped into the grass beside me, back rested against the tree. It is a water skin that appears to be filled with nothing but water, appears to be.
Legolas grins at me, knowing fully my silent accusations against him, "It is pure and untampered with, I swear upon it, shall my father appear and drag me home by my ears if I am lying."
We both pause, and looked around, I do not see the ElvenKing and so I take a drink. The water feels absolutely wonderful on my throat, and to finally having something in my stomach that it does not reject. I drink happily until Legolas flicks the waterskin unhappily, worried that I will make myself sick again.
I put the water skin on the ground and sigh in contentment. I look back over to the elf, whose eyes seem to have drifted shut once more. It's odd to see him that way, for it was is such an uncommon occurrence. He is such an inherently curious creature that it sometimes seems as if he simply cannot bare the burden of not carefully watching everything around him.
It is then that I remember what he said about his father, and how he sleeps with his eyes closed when he is very tired. "Legolas?"
His eyes snap open immediately once more, much faster than any mortal who had been asleep might, and he looks at me with mild concern, "Is everything well?"
"Everything's fine, Lad." It's hard to tell if he really had been asleep, I have never seen an elf sleep with their eyes closed. In fact, he is the only elf I have ever seen sleep.
"Good." He nods softly and his head drifts back against the bark of the tree, "Next time don't be a stubborn fool and just admit that you are ill so that I may help you."
While it is true that Legolas was the most tireless of the Fellowship, something we often took advantage of, it did not mean that he never needed rest. He could go much longer durations with no rest and needed much less of it even when he did rest. Willingly he volunteered for extra night watches so the rest of us could have more sleep, usually we gratefully accepted the offer. Other times, Aragorn put a firm end to it, having some sort of sense for when the elf needed to sleep.
If I truly had been ill for at least four days, it seemed very likely that Legolas had not slept much, if at all., "Now go to sleep before I pour some of that foul tea down your throat as well."