Chapter Four

He had barely made it to the safety of the trees before it started. White-hot pain ripped across his middle with such furious intensity that his shaky legs gave way. He pitched forward straight for the tree, but managed at the last moment to catch himself against the trunk with the arm not wrapped around himself. His stomach rolled again and cold sweat pricked his skin as the nausea rose, making him shut his eyes and swallow thickly as his fingernails carved furrows into the rough bark.

Another lurch of his stomach sent a fresh wave of agony shooting through him, finally pushing him off the edge. He coughed before violently retching, losing his battle against the nausea - along with what little he'd managed to eat. Pressing his forehead into the cool tree trunk, he moaned quietly in between what were now dry heaves, desperately willing the spasms to abate. When they finally did, he remained motionless, having not the energy to move as he sucked in huge ragged breaths and spat out bile.

Eventually he straightened as much as he could, gathered his strength, and turned to head back, but instead he startled and stumbled backwards - letting out a pained gasp as he did so. He raised his eyes and his heart sank at the alarmed grey ones that stared back at him.

"...Estel." And then the retching started up again with no warning. Having nothing to hold him up this time, his legs buckled and he plummeted towards the ground.

The elf never connected with the earth, as a pair of strong arms almost instantly encircled him and carefully eased him onto his hands and knees, whereupon a hand began to rub soothing circles over his back whilst another held back his hair. And when it was over, the arms caught him as his own collapsed.

"Legolas! Look at me! What is happening?" Aragorn's voice had leaped up an octave and the young man sounded on the verge of panic. "Talk to me, Legolas!"

"Sick," the elf gasped, dry heaving again with a sob of misery. "Know not why." He rolled back onto his haunches and sat down, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering.

"Woke up. Fever. Needed medicine. Sick."

Aragorn crouched down, placing an arm securely around Legolas's shoulders.

"Medicine," the archer ground out, "Will pass. Be alright. Do not worry for me. Just need… medicine." Breathing hard, the elf tried to regain his composure. His eyes were glassy with fever and sweat poured off him. Aragorn could feel the heat emanating from his friend and quietly swore.

"Can you stand? We need to get you cleaned up."

"Think so." Legolas nodded and Aragorn pulled him gently to his feet, supporting the elf as he swayed and closed his eyes. "Will be alright in a moment," the archer murmured.

Had Aragorn not been so worried, he might have snorted in disbelief. Drenched in sweat and shivering, clothes spattered with vomit and wet hair clinging to his pale face as he clung to his stomach with both arms, Legolas looked the very antithesis of alright. Aragorn grasped him a little tighter, already running an extensive mental checklist of possible causes for the elf's sudden sickness.

Once they were back at the little campsite, Aragorn carefully settled Legolas onto his bedroll and placed his hands on the elf's shoulders.

"Where is it?"

"What?" The confusion in the elf's tone was genuine, and Aragorn frowned, thinking it to be the fever.

"The wound, Legolas! Clearly it is infected!"

The elf flinched and hissed as the human's fingers reached for the laces of his tunic, and curled in on himself.

"No! Hurts. No wound!"

"What hurts?"

"Skin. Burning. Everywhere." Legolas was struggling to get words out through his chattering teeth, and tried to clench his jaw, embarrassed.

"That is the fever," Aragorn explained, his voice now low and soothing, "I need to get your tunic off, it will help." Legolas did not immediately reply, clearly conflicted, but then he mumbled something in a small voice that carried a hint of hopefulness.

"Truly?"

"Truly. Do you trust me, Legolas?" The elf nodded and with visible effort, he sat up a little and tried to help the human with the laces, though his hands were clumsy and got in the way.

"There is no wound?" Aragorn's nimble fingers moved fast and the laces were quickly loosening, exposing the light cotton shirt beneath.

"No wound!" Legolas sounded exasperated at having to repeat himself.

"But there has to be a wound! Legolas, now is not the time for stubborn elvish pride - you must tell me so that I may help you!" The elf shook his head in response, looking troubled. "Estel, there is none. I was unhurt yesterday and hid no wound."

"You must have missed it, Legolas. Ai, Morgoth's balls! I should have checked you myself."

Ill though he may have been, Legolas found the strength to shoot Aragorn a black look.

"I checked, thoroughly. There is nothing." The elf gave a small groan as the human eased off his tunic and started on the shirt. The young man looked deeply troubled.

"Then Legolas, I need you to think carefully and answer some questions for me. Is there any way at all that you could have been poisoned?" Legolas shook his head.

"Nay. I have been over this time and time again since I started feeling unwell, and I can think of no explanation, neither poison nor otherwise." Legolas winced and raised his arms as the shirt was lifted off him, leaving the elf clad only in leggings and boots. His skin glowed softly in the moonlight as Aragorn gently helped him to lie down on the bedroll. The human frowned, seeing the bruising over the elf's abdomen.

"Is this where it hurts?" Legolas squirmed and grimaced as Aragorn's fingers made contact.

"Aye! I mean, no, not the bruising itself. I - Ai Valar!" He cried out again as Aragorn drew away, grasping at his midsection. The elf panted and shut his eyes, a look of alarm rapidly forming on his face. "Estel, sick!" Aragorn had only a moment to wonder what his friend meant, before Legolas rolled over and started retching again - the human could do nothing but provide comfort until it had passed. Tears leaked from the elf's eyes and his breath came in shallow gasps.

"Sorry, Estel," he mumbled, "So sorry."

"Why are you sorry, Legolas?" Aragorn was incredulous as he continued rubbing the archer's back.

"Ruined everything. Just wanted to have fun. Got… Got you hurt. Got sick. I -" But Aragorn hushed him before he could say anything further.

"That is not true, my friend." The human's hand moved from back to shoulder and gave a light squeeze. "You did not choose any of this, and my injury is through no fault of yours. Elbereth Gilthoniel, Legolas!" Aragorn paled. "Please do not tell me that you have been ill all this time but have said nothing out of misplaced guilt!" The elf initially did not answer and Aragorn was about to give him a gentle nudge, when the archer smiled ruefully.

"Not all this time, no. Since… afternoon. Only worsened this evening though." Legolas chewed his lip as he saw the look on Aragorn's face. "Thought… Thought it was… not serious. Wait it out." Oh. Clearly that had not helped. Aragorn looked even more aggravated now... "You had enough to deal with! Hurt." Definitely not helping. Legolas looked away, hugging himself tightly in agitation.

Aragorn reached out to gently unwrap the elf's arms, holding a damp cloth in one hand.

"Never think such things, Legolas! You are precious to me and it pains me that you should hide illness on my part. I wish always to know the truth." He applied the cloth to the archer's chest, who flinched and groaned before settling and allowing the human to start wiping him down. "Forgive me, my friend," he apologised, as Legolas squirmed again and shuddered. "It is unpleasant, I know. But your fever is too high and this is a necessary evil."

While Aragorn worked over the elf's torso, he secretly checked for injuries in case the prince had missed anything, however he found none and was simultaneously relieved and dismayed. He sighed, gripping the cloth tightly in frustration. Time was of the essence and now precious seconds would need to be spent trying to discover what ailed the elf.

"I still feel that poison is the most obvious cause for your illness…"

"Estel, we have had this conversation."

"Nevertheless, I need you to go over some things with me yet."

Legolas nodded wearily and closed his eyes, shrugging his shoulders slightly in resignation.

"Has anything broken your skin recently? Perhaps the prick of a thorn or the sting or bite of an insect?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"Have you eaten anything other than the meals we have shared?"

"No." Aragorn paused and rubbed his temples.

"Perhaps something you have touched?"

"Unlikely. There would be a rash."

"Then perhaps you have unknowingly drank from a contaminated source." Legolas raised an eyebrow at this but did not open his eyes.

"I think not. For if it was so, you would be ill too."

"Maybe your waterskin is unclean - let me see it!"

"Enough, Estel. It is not poison, there is not -" The elf stopped and scrunched up his face, swallowing consciously as he raised a hand to his mouth.

"Legolas? Are you going to - " Aragorn's alarmed voice was interrupted by the archer holding up his free hand for silence. He was frozen in place, clearly concentrating intensely.

After a few moments he relaxed, opening his eyes and drawing in a slow, deep breath. His hand settled on the bedding once more.

"Mercifully, no," he said quietly, answering Aragorn's question. "At least… Not right this minute." He grimaced and shifted. Aragorn laid a palm on the elf's forehead, and Legolas did not miss the soft curse and intake of breath. "Increased." He clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the chattering of his teeth. Though it had been a statement, Aragorn nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and closing his eyes. The human did this when trying to curb feelings of intense anxiety, Legolas knew, and he reached up, wanting to reassure his friend.

Aragorn exhaled slowly as the elf gripped his knee, and then he took the slender hand in his own and squeezed. The human looked calm and collected now, and Legolas drew comfort from this.

"My friend, you are burning up. I am sorry to ask this of you, but the leggings…" Aragorn saw the look of discomfort cross the elf's face as the archer realised what was coming. "Legolas, I need to cool you. There are major arteries that run down the inner thighs."

"I know." The elf cut him off reluctantly, resting the back of his arm over his face so as not to meet the human's eyes. "Do it."

"Can you roll onto your back for me? It will be easier that way." Legolas groaned but carefully did as asked, and Aragorn unlaced and pulled off each of the elf's boots, spongeing the cool cloth over each foot before kneeling at the prince's hip. He reached for the laces on the front of the garment and felt Legolas stiffen at his touch. The elf winced as he forced himself up on his elbows.

"I can do it." His cheeks were red and the blond kept his eyes focused on his shaking hands as they fumbled with the laces. Aragorn knew how much the proud being hated to be vulnerable, and so he did not interfere - until, that is, the elf fell backwards with a pained gasp, task unfinished. He tried to sit up again but only managed to provoke a fresh wave of dry heaving, whereafter he lay still, trying to catch his breath between muttered curses.

Aragorn gave the elf some time and then leaned in to wipe his mouth.

"How many times?" he asked gently.

"Only one… other. Before tonight. Collecting… firewood." Legolas sighed.

"You really ought to have come to me." Aragorn sounded sad. "I could have helped, and perhaps it would not have come to this."

Legolas shrank back with a wince, and Aragorn realised how the archer must have interpreted his words. "Nay, Legolas! There is no blame here! I mean only that mayhap you would not now be suffering so." Palming the elf's forehead again, Aragorn groaned. "This cannot wait any longer, I need to cool you." He rewet the cloth and made a quick pass over Legolas's chest and then set the rag down, his fingers picking up the laces on the elf's leggings. This time, Legolas made no move to stop him and the laces were quickly loosened. "Here, hold this in place." Aragorn placed a folded blanket over the archer's hips and then took hold of the waistband and gently tugged the leggings and undergarment down, with Legolas tilting his pelvis upward to make the human's job easier. The action drew a sharp intake of breath from the elf however, and his hands flew to his navel.

"Moving aggravates it?" Legolas grunted an affirmative as Aragorn eased the clothing down his legs. Picking up the cloth once more, the human busied himself with dampening the elf's inner thighs, methodically covering every exposed inch of skin. While he worked, he kept up a stream of conversation with the archer so as to monitor his state.

"How is the nausea?"

"Constant. But not overwhelmingly so at present." Aragorn hummed, mulling something over in his mind. "What is it, Estel?"

"You need to drink; replenish what you have lost through sickness and fever." At that, Aragorn felt Legolas tense up.

"I cannot! I shall be ill again should I try." The human frowned - judging by his condition, the elf had a point. But the stark fact remained that Legolas needed fluids. The elf had vomited until he had nothing left, and that coupled with the amount of sweat pouring off him meant the archer was on his way to becoming dangerously dehydrated.

"Small sips." It was the best counter Aragorn could come up with. "I will add medicine to it to help with the sickness. Please, you must try."

"Do not wish to be ill again. Hurts." Legolas fidgeted anxiously, looking conflicted. "But if the medicine will help… Ai!" he suddenly exclaimed, "But we have few supplies left that would be of use for sickness."

"How do you know this?" Aragorn sounded surprised.

"Earlier. Took a few things to help. Ginger, peppermint, and willow bark." The man nodded, inwardly cursing his failure to have carried anything more potent.

"I will have a look through my pack. There may be extra."

With a last pass over the elf's legs, Aragorn put down the cloth and checked his friend's temperature. He found it reduced, though not nearly as much as he had hoped for - but it was enough for now. Without drying the skin, he pulled the elf's undergarment back up, making the archer squirm in discomfort.

"I am sorry, Legolas. If I dry you, the cooling effect of the water will be lost. It is better this way." Aragorn stood up and the archer raised his head.

"Where are you going?"

"To fetch you a clean shirt. Yours requires a wash."

"Leggings?" the elf enquired hopefully, "Cold."

"No, I am afraid not." Aragorn shook his head as he dug through his pack. "Not with your fever as high as it is. If it reduces more, then perhaps."

"Ai." Legolas gave a woeful sigh. "Lady luck does not favour me this night." He received a gentle hand on his shoulder by way of reply, as the human crouched beside him, holding a white cotton shirt.

"Can you sit up?" Legolas opened his mouth to answer that yes, he could, but then paused with a frown.

"Do you need me to help?" The elf hesitated before giving a quiet hum of agreement.

"Moving pains me. Causes sickness. Easier if you help."

"Here, lean forward." Aragorn carefully helped to ease the elf into a sitting position. As the archer bent at the waist though, he could not prevent the pained hiss that escaped him, nor the hand that darted to his mouth as he shut his eyes.

"That bad?" Aragorn was clearly alarmed. Legolas nodded quickly, busy focusing on trying to take slow, deep breaths. "Ai, Legolas, I am sorry. I wish that it were me instead."

"No. No, you do not." The elf had gained control over his stomach and shook his head vehemently, groaning when it brought on a flash of head pain. "I am an elf, thus my constitution is stronger. I shudder to think of the effects this affliction would have in a human."

"Still, it pains me to see you so."

"And it pains me to be so." Legolas made a face and tried to lighten the mood. Aragorn did not seem to notice the elf's attempt at humour though, and continued to look worried. "Estel, would you help me with the shirt? I still do not wish to move."

Once the shirt was on, Aragorn left the elf propped up against their packs, and went about trying to get together something for his friend to drink. Something that he would hopefully hold down… He filled the kettle with cool, clear river water and nestled it between the still-glowing coals of the fire, then opened their healing pack and started sorting through the contents, setting aside all that he could use. Unsatisfied still, the human moved on to his personal pack, his searching soon growing feverish. By the time he had found something, his injured arm was screaming at him, and he sat down heavily to catch his breath. Among the supplies, Aragorn had found cloves, which could prove useful when added to the other ingredients. But the crowning glory had been the Carandôl that Legolas had so insisted he collect - ironically it would now be needed by the elf himself. Aragorn gathered his supplies together and began grinding them into a thick paste, glancing up at Legolas every so often.

"How do you fare?" Aragorn knelt beside the archer, carrying a steaming cup of what Legolas's senses told him was medicine. The smell made his throat close and he turned his head away.

"No worse and no better than before. Cold." The human palmed his friend's forehead and found the fever to be rising again, much to his dismay.

"You need to drink this, it will help." Aragorn brought the cup closer, causing Legolas to swallow and ball his fists. "The smell sickens you?" the human guessed. "I am sorry, my friend. Can you please try a little? You need this. Little sips every few minutes will suffice." Legolas groaned lightly but took the cup, staring down at the rising steam as he willed his body to calm. At Aragorn's encouragement, he raised it unsteadily to his lips and let a tiny trickle of the liquid flow onto his tongue, holding it in his mouth while he tried to remember how to swallow. Eventually his body cooperated, and Legolas swallowed a few more sips, then tensely waited for the medicine to make a reappearance, yet it did not - for now.

A stab of pain tore through his abdomen and Legolas hunched over with an audible whimper, liquid sloshing from the cup as Aragorn rescued it before it could fall. When the elf recovered and raised his head, ashen-faced, Aragorn held out the mug once more. "Just a little more so that the herbs can get to work. Then I shall ask no more of you for now." Legolas tipped his head skyward, eyes slipping closed as his arms wrapped around his middle. Aragorn did not miss the tears that shimmered on his cheeks.

"Just a little more," he agreed weakly.