A Perilous Journey to Lorien

NOTE: For Boromir fans-in this chapter, he does some wrestling with himself. I did my best to make him seem honorable because I think he truly was. The Ring merely caused him to stray.

Disclaimer: See previous chapter.

**Revised 6/4/2013**

**Chapter Two-Finding Strength**

Legolas and Gimli hauled Aragorn upright and supported him awkwardly between the two of them. It really wasn't the best position, since it left Legolas supporting most of the man's weight, even though Gimli could not be accused of slacking off. The dwarf braced himself against the Ranger's side, pushing him against Legolas and keeping him upright. He was a strong dwarf, but the man's stature hampered his efforts to assist.

Boromir gently picked up Frodo and carried him much like a father would carry his young son. This left Sam, Pippin, and Merry to carry everyone else's gear as well as their own, a task they performed without complaint. Even Pippin kept his thoughts to himself, though his rumbling stomach gave him away. He was too worried about Aragorn and Frodo to pipe up about stopping to eat.

Legolas, slightly out of breath, called to the others, "We must make haste! Gimli and I will lead. Stay close together. There still may be orcs about!" He felt lightheaded, and briefly wondered if the elves in Lorien would welcome strangers carrying a sick elf, a wounded hobbit, and a gravely ill Ranger. Gimli, though his heart was pure, was no diplomat.

The elf forced the thought from his mind and blocked out the growing pain from his small, but deadly wound. He resolved to keep his eyes peeled for more athelas or any other helpful foliage, knowing that before long he, Strider, and Frodo would be in need of it.

Boromir was surprised at how light Frodo was. Pippin and Merry had been rather heavy when he had carried them for a brief time, but Frodo felt even lighter than a young boy. He wondered if the Ring had been affecting the hobbit more than he had let on. Another thought intruded on his mental calculations, and he paused, thinking to himself, The Ring. Yes, he was sure that Frodo still had it.

"You could take it," a voice in his head seemed to say, "You could raise Gondor to its former glory! Your Father's pride in you would be solidified—you could be King." The Gondorian pondered this thought in his head, imagining all the songs and tales that would tell of Boromir the Brave, son of Denethor.

Shaking his head abruptly, his resolve returned and he reminded himself of the commitment he'd made to the Fellowship, and of how they had all reached the conclusion that destroying the Ring so it could never fall into wrong hands could be the only correct course. I cannot touch it. Gondor will never be glorious again with the shadow of Mordor constantly encroaching. Gritting his teeth, he banished all thoughts of the Ring from his mind.

His mind clear, he could now notice Frodo's ragged breathing, and called to Legolas, "We need to find more athelas leaves! How does Aragorn fare?"

Legolas slowed, and for a fleeting moment, the man thought the elf looked tired. Odd. Then, as if his eyes had played a trick on him, the elf's strength seemed to return as the answer came, "He is fading. I haven't seen any athelas, either." Something about the pitch of the elf's soft voice told Boromir that the elf was growing worried.

Aragorn stirred occasionally, his eyes now holding almost no color as the shadow took hold. Legolas did not know how long he himself could continue leading them. The longer he exerted himself, the harder he found it to breathe. His vision often dimmed and faded away for several moments before coming back, and even fit lasted longer than the one previous. He knew his eyesight was being affected. Though he said nothing, he could see no more than a few feet away. He kept walking, but it was growing increasingly difficult not to stumble and drop the man on top of Gimli. He wouldn't let Aragorn or Frodo die because he could not keep up but finding athelas was becoming a secondary priority to remaining upright. Elves weren't supposed to be weak like this, but he was no fool. Though it worked more slowly on elven-kind, the poison would eventually render him in the same state as Frodo. Rest would slow the effects and allow his elvish body to fight it, yet there was no time—not until they reached the safety of Lorien. He wasn't even sure if they could make it to the borders. Surely he could continue that far, and then Lady Galadriel's scouts could provide aid to them all.

All at once, Sam cried out, "I see some! A bunch of kings foil!"

Legolas cursed his failing eyesight, while at the same time feeling a rush of relief. Elves were immortal, above all other creatures, and a little hobbit now had keener eyesight than he. He watched as Sam gently clipped all the leaves from the large athelas plant as he and Gimli gently lowered Aragorn to the ground. Boromir did the same with Frodo.

The elf knelt wearily beside the Ranger and took the athelas leaves that Sam handed him. Crushing the tender leaves and rolling the plant between his fingers to draw out as much of the plant's medicinal properties as possible, he then rubbed the makeshift paste directly into the man's wound. The quality of this plant was far superior to the weeds Sam had found on the hillside outside Moria.

Aragorn's breathing eased almost immediately and some of his color returned. He seemed to take a deep breath and opened his eyes. Their gray color had returned, and with the their clearing, Legolas' hope returned also.

At first, Aragorn's speech was slurred, but he soon sounded somewhat like his old self. "How far is Lorien?"

The elf just shook his head, his rare frustration showing. Had Aragorn been well, he would have easily noticed that his friend was not acting like himself, though Legolas was glad his weakness remained hidden. Aragorn did not need to worry about things he could not control.

The man sighed, "What about Frodo?"

Sam answered, looking up from his master's still form, "He's awake, and I do believe he's holding his own. That weed sure packs a wollop!"

Aragorn tried to laugh, but found he could only manage a pained smile. He looked at Legolas and noted with concern how tired the elf looked, and how his eyes were glazed slightly over.

"Legolas," he asked in elvish, "How do you fare? You aren't looking well, my friend."

"I am well, friend." The elf answered, perhaps a bit too hastily.

Though he noticed his friend did not meet his eyes, Aragorn found he didn't have the strength to argue. Instead, he took an athelas leaf Sam had left within arm's reach and thrust it at Legolas, "You will need this."

Legolas nodded almost in perceptively, "I never could get much by you." More loudly, he announced, "Alright. I'll go see if I can find more." The ranger was surprised by the speed with which the blonde elf then dashed off. Glancing at the others, he saw they were all busy with Frodo—or, in Pippin's case, taking their stop to cram down a few mouthfuls of food. He was sure only he had detected that Legolas was going off to tend to his wound. The elf was hiding his injury well, but he and Legolas had tussled with many orcs in their past. The elf's injuries always caught up with him sooner or later.

With Boromir's help, Aragorn got to his feet, "I think I can manage on foot a while, if I have someone to lean on."

"You can lean on me, Estel." Legolas volunteered, returning from the dense woods. The Ranger noted that the glaze had left the elf's eyes, then briefly nodded that he accepted.

"Get Frodo to his feet. We must press on."

The ring-bearer swayed slightly when Sam and Pippin pulled him to his feet, hanging on to Sam with all his might. His legs felt like jelly and for a moment he felt he was going to pass out again. Then he saw Aragorn, leaning on Legolas and resolved that he would not slow them down. If Aragorn could walk, he could also.

Sam sensed his master's change in mood and encouraged, "That's it Mr. Frodo! You can do it!"

Frodo was surprised to find that he felt much improved, as a result the fellowship was then able to set out at a faster pace. They continued on well into nightfall.

The coming of night sapped Aragorn's strength and he sank to his knees. He could feel the darkness overcoming him as he croaked to Legolas, "Build a fire."

Worried, the elf knelt down and looked into the Ranger's eyes. Once again, they held no color. He was startled at how icy the Ranger's body seemed.

"Yes…" Aragorn said as his eyes drooped, "I'm going cold. The poison is spreading through my veins. Athelas will help, but it is scarce. Save enough for the Ringbearer. I swore that I would help him even unto death, and to that I will hold."

Legolas looked away, whispering, "This isn't the same as death, Estel. Frodo might die—your fate would be worse."

Sam knelt at Frodo's side. The ring-bearer had no strength left, but he no longer had a fever. Merry and Pippin were busily mixing an athelas tea for both Strider and Frodo. Sam hadn't even had to scold them into making themselves useful.

Gazing at the ring-bearer, Legolas knew that hope had returned, at least for the night. The athelas had almost stopped the flow of poison. Being the ranger that he was, Aragorn, however, knew that the athelas would only work to temporarily hold the orcs' poison at bay. Eventually, the poison would overtake it and the plant would no longer be effective.

With a weary sigh, the Ranger laid down on his blanket. He knew that the night would not go easy for him. Though he slept close to the fire, it would give him no warmth.

The others bedded down for the night, taking advantage of a small outcropping of stone surrounded by old snarly trees. Gimli took the first watch from a perch on the outcropping above the trees. The area around them was quiet, almost too quiet.

The eerie silence broke when Aragorn cried out in his fitful sleep, "Father! Help me! Don't leave me!" The elf recognized the elvish tongue, though he was surprised the man was so comfortable as to dream in elvish.

Legolas woke before the others could rouse and slowly crawled to the Ranger's side. In elvish, he soothed, "You father is in Rivendell, Estel. Or do you speak of Arathorn? He is always with you. Sleep…peace, my friend. No harm will come to you this night." Immediately, Strider lay still and an exhausted Legolas once again bedded down for the night. On a usual night he would wander and gaze at the stars, or talk to trees. Tonight, he found, he was too exhausted. He wondered if Gimli thought it odd that he had been sleeping.

Far away, one who heard Aragorn slipped away from their home and went out in search of him.