A/N: Did I say Gandalf was in this story? I lied. He fell off a cliff while en route.

Chapter 7: Waiting for Wizards

Aragorn stared at the wall where only one silhouette darkened the otherwise ocher illumination, and a rock dropped into his stomach. Uglûk had used the obsidian stone on Legolas, had somehow stolen the elf's shadow in order to feed that perverted shade. But what did that mean? How was such devilry even possible? One's shadow was simply a projection from an object blocking light; it wasn't an ethereal extension like a soul.

And yet, Legolas appeared significantly weakened by the spell. The question was whether he could recover on his own, or if the consequences were something more sinister that neither could foresee yet.

With a slightly shaky hand, Aragorn reached into his pocket and pulled the onyx crystal out. It glittered benignly in the candlelight, though Aragorn now knew just how treacherous the device was. Still, could he wield it to fix what had been done? He had not heard the orc captain utter an incantation to activate it, so perhaps it responded to will alone.

"Avo garo," Legolas said, warning him not to do it. "It is too dangerous, Aragorn."

He gritted his teeth, but after a moment closed his fist around the gem and slipped it safely out of sight once more. No, he would not risk further harm. But something needed to be done. If only he had not lost the stone! The rational part of his mind chastised himself for feeling guilty over things outside his control, and yet it was not only him who suffered the consequences. Though he would readily take them.

"Your own wounds need tending."

Aragorn jerked out of his thoughts, blinking at Legolas, who nodded pointedly to his bloodstained shoulder. Remembering caused a fresh sting of pain to lance down the gash, and he winced automatically. While he wanted to figure out how to help Legolas, leaving his own injuries to fester wouldn't do either of them any good. So he tugged his collar down to bare his clavicle and shoulder. With a grimace, he conceded the laceration would need stitches.

This time Legolas gestured for Aragorn to sit, but he dragged a second chair over instead so neither of them had to remain standing. If hard pressed, the Ranger could sew his own wound one-handed, but it would be slow and awkward, and therefore a deal more painful.

Legolas helped Aragorn shrug off his pack, and then pulled out the bandages and a water skin. He paused, mouth turning down. "Should I go out in search of herbs?"

"No," Aragorn said firmly. Until he knew the extent of what had been done to Legolas, he wasn't letting the prince out of his sight. "There's an old pitcher in the corner you can use to boil water and that will have to be enough."

Legolas went to retrieve it and used a small amount of water to rinse the dust out, then filled it partially before holding it over the torch in order to heat the water. "You don't have any numbing herbs either, do you?"

Aragorn shook his head. Not that it mattered; he could endure this type of pain. "Legolas, what happened when the orc used the stone on you?"

At first the elf didn't answer, but finished laying out the medicinal supplies on the table. "It felt like being stabbed with dozens of knives," he finally said, somewhat reluctantly, and began to thread the needle. "The breath stole from my lungs, and then it felt as though I was being ripped apart from the inside."

Aragorn's jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, and he had to force himself to inhale and exhale smoothly. "Does it still pain you?"

"No. As I said, I just need to rest." Legolas turned his attentions toward Aragorn's wound and began to stitch the gash with careful precision, though the occasional tremor in his hands did not escape Aragorn's notice. The elf did not allow it to affect his work, however, and eventually he nipped the last section and tied off the thread. Aragorn unrolled a strip of bandage, and Legolas helped wrap it around his shoulder. Once done, Legolas sagged back against the chair. Aragorn too felt the weight of exhaustion, bruises, and strained muscles, along with growing worry. They had gotten the stone back, but at what cost?

"Did you note the stars when we were out there?" Legolas spoke up. "Dawn shouldn't be more than a couple hours away."

Aragorn nodded minutely.

There was a moment of silence before Legolas spoke again. "I think we've waited for Gandalf long enough. We should take the stone somewhere safe, maybe Imladris. Gandalf passes through there often and can retrieve it then."

Aragorn frowned. It was true, they couldn't wait for Gandalf indefinitely, though he figured the wizard was the best person to help them figure out what had happened to Legolas—and how to fix it. He craned his neck around to survey the bookcases and mounds of scrolls. Perhaps the learned men of Fornost had known how to wield the obsidian crystal, and such records could be found here.

"There are resources here that are not at Imladris, or anywhere else, I imagine."

Legolas furrowed his brow as he followed the Dúnedan's gaze to the tomes. "You want to stay to satiate your curiosity?"

Aragorn shot him an incredulous look. "I want to find a way to reverse whatever's been done to you."

Legolas's lips thinned. "As do I, but the longer we stay, the more risk we run of the stone falling into enemy hands."

"The journey to Rivendell will be no less dangerous. Probably more so."

"We do not have food," Legolas pointed out. "I can go without longer than you, though only by a few days. Hunting this close to the North Downs is also perilous."

"Hunting anywhere within fifty-square miles of this place is risky," Aragorn rejoined. "Thus food will be the same problem no matter which route we choose."

Sighing, Legolas lolled his head to the side to gaze at the wall—or perhaps his lack of shadow. Flickers from the candlelight smudged dark circles under his eyes, and not even the amber luminescence could paint color back into his complexion.

Aragorn forced himself out of the chair, his adrenaline-drained muscles protesting with poignant aches. "We both need to take some rest. We can decide what to do in a few hours."

He lay down on the floor, bunching his bedroll under his head. Despite his exhaustion, sleep did not come immediately. Two choices lay before them: to stay in Fornost or make for Rivendell. Lord Elrond was a master healer, yes, but there was no guarantee he would know what to make of Legolas's condition. And solving that was as much a priority to Aragorn as was keeping the obsidian stone safe.

Besides, and he would not voice this aloud just yet, Aragorn wondered whether Legolas could endure a fourteen-day journey on foot to Imladris. Oh, the Mirkwood prince would try, no doubt, but Aragorn would not march him to death if the chance remained help could come to them here.

Aragorn closed his eyes in silent prayer. There was wisdom in both options, and danger as well. How was he to choose, knowing that either one could be detrimental to his friend? And Legolas would follow his lead, as he always did, regardless of the risk to himself. But Aragorn was just a man, and while he had been graced with a touch of foresight from his lineage, it did not aid him now. As disheartenment settled over his spirit, his body finally lost hold on consciousness, granting him a reprieve from such heavy burdens.

Legolas did not find rest in elven dreams. Rather, his sleep was dark, like a gyrating whirlpool attempting to suck him under into a place where no light could penetrate. He woke with a start, pounding heart echoing in his ears. The archive room was undisturbed, and once Legolas reined in his nerves, the only sound he heard was the soft, deep breathing of Aragorn on the floor.

Legolas rose swiftly to his feet, only to stagger as the walls and ceiling suddenly switched places. He caught himself on the back of the chair and eased himself into it again. Ai, Valar, what was wrong with him? He was not used to feeling this weak. Sure, he'd borne injuries before, had felt the drain of blood loss and exhaustion. This was different though, something marrow-deep, not physical, yet it manifested that way…and it frustrated him that he could not grasp its nature.

The discovery that his form did not cast a shadow had been a shock, and quite disturbing. He avoided looking at the wall and the evidence of such vile magic, but he could not escape the fact it had touched his fëa, the knowledge of which elicited a shudder from the otherwise staunch Mirkwood prince. But he would not let it distract him from their purpose, which was to make sure the accursed crystal did not fall into enemy hands.

He attempted to stand again, albeit not as quickly. The room did not spin, but lightheaded blurriness still claimed his peripheral vision. Legolas gritted his teeth. He needed air, to breathe oxygen not heavy with dust mites and dank odors. But he could not leave Aragorn alone, despite how 'safe' this room may be. Besides, the man would have a fit if he awoke to find Legolas had disappeared. So he would wait, not wanting to rouse the Ranger from his much-needed rest.

They would then need to decide their course of action. Legolas understood Aragorn's desire to stay; if their positions were reversed, he would search any place for as long as it took to find a remedy. Yet he could not in good conscience consent to putting them in more jeopardy should they linger, not for his sake. Suppose Uglûk returned with another orc troop and besieged them here? Or other monsters ventured out from the bowels of the North Downs now that the secret vault was open? Then there was the shadow creature, now loosed upon Middle Earth. Who knew what trouble and chaos it would wreak.

Legolas reached up to rub his temple. Mithrandir, where are you?

Aragorn stirred then. Blinking the remnants of slumber from his eyes, he rolled into a sitting position and looked around out of habit to get his bearings. His gaze lingered on Legolas, eyes narrowing in appraisal. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Some." Legolas glanced away. "We'll need to go outside to see what time it is."

"I should like to scout the area as well." Aragorn rose to his feet and stretched, grimacing as he pulled his injuries and audibly cracked a few joints. He tied his sword belt around his waist, then stopped and frowned when Legolas picked up his quiver and bow. Legolas could feel the Dúnedan's shrewd stare making note of every superficial sign of fatigue, and possibly even piercing the elf's facade down to the vulnerability he was trying to hide. "How are you feeling?"

Legolas fastened the quiver to his back. In this, he would brook no argument. "Weary and troubled. But I need fresh air, Aragorn, and the sun."

The Ranger's jaw worked for a short moment, but then he nodded in capitulation. "Stand watch above the doors while I survey the perimeter?"

Legolas's mouth turned down slightly, but he accepted the compromise. They headed outside, only to find a dreary day obscured by a sheet of pewter clouds. Disappointment speared Legolas's heart that he would not feel the warmth of the sun. But then, perhaps it was best he not be reminded of what had been stolen from him. At least the cool breeze swelled his lungs and carried away some of the stagnant stench of being underground.

He scaled the grassy knoll, taking it slowly rather than sprinting up as he had done before. There was little strength in his limbs, and by the time he reached the top forty feet up, his legs were quivering with the urge to collapse. Legolas stood bowed over for a moment, attempting to draw in deep, bolstering breaths. Why could he not push past this? He could always overcome bouts of weakness, drive himself forward when the need arose.

Straightening, Legolas withdrew an arrow and nocked it to his bow. He pulled back to his ear and held the taut string for several seconds. The muscles in his arm began to tremble and he felt sweat break out upon his brow. Breathe through it.

Then his arm began to visibly shake, and he dropped the stance, thoroughly vexed. Normally he could hold that pose unwaveringly for thirteen minutes. Now he could barely make it over thirteen seconds!

He eased himself down to sit on the grass. Maybe it would pass. Brushes with dark sorcery were no trivial thing; he just needed to rest and recover. Though, if Aragorn decided to head for Imladris after all, the journey would likely push Legolas to his limits. Still, slow progress would be better than none at all. He sighed, for he could see the Ranger's point: all options held danger, and none had certainty.

Legolas brought his head up to focus on the task of keeping watch rather than wallowing in self-misery. He scanned the ruins in every direction, noting the tranquility that pervaded the area. Even birds and beasts seemed subdued by the bleak day. Or perhaps it was the presence of the shadow creature. Legolas did not see any sign of it, however, nor Uglûk, though there were many crevices of vegetation and stone to hide in.

Behind him, fog coated the valleys among the North Downs, drifting in and out like tendrils of cobwebs. A cluster of leaves rustled here and there, secret murmurs that died down before their susurrations could be carried on the light breeze. He caught a flash of brown once, a quarter mile out. Other than that, the Dúnedain Ranger's stealth was impeccable.

Twenty minutes later, Legolas heard soft footfalls that preceded Aragorn climbing up the hillock.

"I found Uglûk's tracks leading away from the orc camp," he reported. "Though I do not know if he left the ruins completely, or found some place to nurse his wounds."

Legolas frowned. "I do not think he was badly injured, so unless something festers and incapacitates him, he could still pose a threat."

"Let us pray a pox on him then," Aragorn said, sitting down cross-legged next to Legolas. "As for the shadow creature, it left no tracks or traces of any kind. I did find these, however." He pulled out a loosely tied handkerchief and set it on the ground, tugging the corners open to reveal a couple handfuls of berries.

Legolas took one and placed it in his mouth. The burst of sour juice on his tongue was oddly refreshing after everything. "These will not hold us over for long," he pointed out regretfully, picking up two more.

Aragorn heaved a sigh. "I know. It's something at least. I also found some healing herbs." He turned his head to gaze south, likely considering their next step. "I still have hope for Gandalf to come," he said quietly. "I could use his wisdom about now."

Legolas didn't say anything, but continued to chew on the berries. A few were more ripe, adding a splash of sweetness to the tart flavor.

Aragorn shifted around to face him, grey eyes holding a tidal storm of emotions: worry, doubt, understanding, and perhaps an unspoken plea. "You wish to leave? I would not have you suffer in this cave if it will cause you more hurt or prevent your recovery."

Legolas furrowed his brow and ate another few berries to buy himself time before responding. Yes, he wanted to leave the ruins, to walk and sleep under open sky again. But he could not ignore this newfound weakness that made him vulnerable—that made Aragorn vulnerable.

"I do not wish for the decision to be made for my convenience alone."

The Ranger let out an exasperated noise, though there was a glint of fondness in his eyes. "Since I cannot guess what Gandalf's counsel would be, perhaps I should ask myself what your father would do were he here."

"Aragorn!" Legolas chided.

The man chuckled, raising his hands in placation. "You do agree he would order you home without further delay."

"And forbid me from leaving Mirkwood for a century ere he hears about this!" Legolas's mock horror swiftly morphed into genuine disquiet, and he dropped his gaze to the dull green ground. Without the sun to shine above them, there was no obvious distinction between the two figures sitting on the hill top, yet Legolas could feel it, or rather, feel the absence of something he could not name.

A hand settled on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Legolas. You know I will do everything in my power to fix this."

He lifted his chin, jaw tightening in determination. "Then we had best make our decision." He pushed himself off the ground—too quickly, as he belatedly realized when the world spun beneath him.

"Legolas!" Aragorn was on his feet in an instant and catching the elf's arm before he could tumble down the knoll. Legolas reached up to hold his head with his other hand, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the swirling landscape. Pulling one arm across his shoulder, Aragorn hefted Legolas up with a grunt. "It seems the decision has been made for us."

"Goheno nin," Legolas murmured.

"There is nothing to forgive, mellon nîn."

They took their time stumbling down the hillock, almost pitching headfirst a few times. Legolas could not keep his knees from buckling, and the dizziness made it difficult to maintain his balance. Yet they made it to level earth safely, and then Aragorn half-carried Legolas back into the underground citadel to the archive room where he eased the elf down to lean against the wall, holding him forward a moment to remove the quiver. Aragorn moved away briefly to retrieve a water skin, which he held to Legolas's lips. The assistance prickled the prince's pride, but he had not the strength to gripe about it. Aragorn was looking at him worriedly, and Legolas felt a pang of regret at being the cause of such distress.

"I do not think…I will be of much help…reading," he said, gesturing at the ancient tomes in an attempt at levity. It did not evoke a smile from the Ranger.

"Posto," Aragorn replied, telling him to rest. Legolas could not have argued if he wanted to, as the weariness was all-encompassing now. He felt his eyelids drift shut, having only a brief startled moment to recognize the unnaturalness of that before unconsciousness claimed him.