AN: Ok, Mr. Underhill. Since you asked so politely! :)

If he had not known that his mother was far away, visiting her people in Eriador, the young Adan would have wished to have her with him. As it was, however, Estel hugged his drawn up legs tighter to his chest, wishing more than anything that he was with her, far away from this forest, the pain of his wounded belly, and the dying Wood-Elf sitting across from him. She should have let me travel with her. Then I would not be here, at least. He drew his legs even tighter to his chest until his knees dug painfully into his ribs.

Estel had tried for several weeks before his mother's journey to convince her to allow him to travel with her, but the Lady Gilraen, deferring to Lord Elrond's advice in most manners concerning the raising of her only child, had agreed without argument: Estel was too young to accompany her and he would remain in Imladris. Estel had not understood why his mother would leave him behind, and had not been pacified to remain until his mother had grown exasperated at his questions and pleas, and finally had confessed to him more than he had ever been told about his past. Lady Gilraen had only told her son that it was not safe for him outside Imladris' protected borders until he was old enough to fend for himself, and that he would not be traveling with her to Eriador for this reason. When this knowledge only prompted countless more questions from the curious Estel, his mother had finally told him the story of his father's death.

Of course, he had known that Lord Elrond was not his true father since learning at a young age that he was not an Elf, his mother a human, and thus his natural father not in Imladris. From the age of two he had lived with the Elves; it had not taken him long, even as a child, to realize that he was not as quick, wise, or graceful as the many fair beings around him. Hearing his mother's story of his father's bravery, the young Adan had learnt that his sire had died to keep his family safe. Arathorn and his family had been traveling to Imladris, for his father was to ride against the Orcs with Elrond's sons. Before they had reached Rivendell, however, the Orcs that the Elves and men meant to attack had attacked them, instead: the battle had been brief, the escort nearly eradicated, with only a few soldiers surviving.

His father, seeking revenge against the Orcs that had killed his men, wounded his wife, and nearly slaughtered his progeny, had ridden with Elrond's twin sons after the wounded soldiers were safely within Imladris. The Orcs had fallen swiftly that day when his father had gone to battle, but so, too, had Arathorn. From his mother's story, and from the twins' concurrent telling of the events of the day, as they had been there to witness them, Estel had learnt that his father was a great warrior, a hero to many, and valiant in both heart and action. And this, more than anything, had aroused the young Adan's endeavor to show to his Elven family that he could be as noble and brave as his father, as his Noldor family were, that he was not as young or stupid as they thought him to be, and above all, to demonstrate to himself that he could be as much the man as the father Estel could not even recall.

The harrowing story the Lady Gilraen had told her son was convincing, and the Adan did not pester his mother for more information, for too glad had he been to know that his father was a dignified warrior in the eyes of the Elves around him. Only after she had left, secure in the knowledge that her son would be safe under Lord Elrond's care, did Estel's mind began to piece together the information his mother had told him with the odd dreams from which he had always suffered. Two years old was much too young for Estel to remember all of what his mother had spoken: the dreams, the nightmares that woke him in the night, the recollection of screams and blood, and guards dying around them as his mother had held him tightly to shield him from both the danger and the sight – all of these began to resurface in his mind. The fair Lady Gilraen pushing her child between two fallen, dying soldiers, yelling at him to stay, while she seized a sword from the ground to join the fray, to protect her son: and now, facing similar circumstance of death and pain, Estel fought to keep his mind away from these thoughts. All of these insinuations into his thinking were memories of that awful day, though the Adan could never be sure if they were dreams or reality.

He had begged his adoptive family to let him travel to the mountains, to prove he could be as noble and valiant as the father he had never known, but he had been denied. Angry with his family that they had deemed him too young to survive on his own, and irritated with his inability to show Lord Elrond, Elrohir, and Elladan that he was not a child, Estel had rashly run off to prove himself.

Prove myself indeed, he thought, watching the Wood-Elf shift in his fever induced sleep. I have proven nothing more than that I am foolish, and cannot care for myself, much less for anyone else. Estel pressed his face against his forearms, and thus his eyes against the cloth of his tunic to stave off the tears threatening there. I do not have time to cry. I must think of something. Panic threatened to overwhelm him. The smell of blood, both his and Legolas', and the terror of these vague recollections of long ago times made him nauseous. There must be something I can do. This is my mess, and I will see us out of it.

Raising his head from his arms, the Adan wiped roughly at his eyes. I only sit here while Legolas suffers, when I could be helping him.

Estel placed a palm on the Elf's cheek to feel the fever there. Legolas burned – the angry crimson lines crisscrossing under his flesh seemed to swell and recede with every erratic pulse of the Prince's heart. If I had water, at least I could wash the poison from the gouges, or try to flush the poison from his system by having him drink. Legolas would be greatly aided by this, his life prolonged and perhaps saved; for at the moment the archer's feverish sweating had the Elf dehydrated. But they had no water and because he had been unconscious during the ride to the Orcs' cavern, the young human did not know where the closest source for water would be. We will have to return to the campsite for water.

Estel entertained this thought for a moment, thinking of how best to find the way to the campsite. If I could find our tracks to the cave, maybe I could find our way back to the campsite by following them down the mountain. However, a more serious problem arose within his mind, and the Adan huffed in frustration. I cannot carry Legolas to the campsite! For a few moments, the Adan sat in his self-pitying, downhearted spirits before he advised himself, One problem at a time! I must do what I can, rather than lament that I cannot do what is best.

Estel thought to let Legolas rest, hoping that the poison's effects would be ameliorated if the Prince's other injuries – his lacerated back and sides, his contused torso and head, and his all-consuming exhaustion from these wounds and the feverish poison – could be given the chance for Legolas' Elven healing to begin in his reverie. If he rests, then perhaps we will be able to continue in the evening, when we will not be as hot. But how should I situate him on the ground? After removing the Orc blade from Legolas' sling, the Adan scanned the forest floor behind the Elf for rocks and branches that would exacerbate the Prince's wounds.

They had nothing to use for a blanket, for he had lost his cloak days before meeting the Elf and the Prince's cloak had been left at their campsite, but Estel improvised, loosening his tunic to pull it from his shoulders. He was burning up himself, as well, and would not mind at all being free of the fabric: he spread it on the ground beside the Prince, removing an errant branch from under it ere he knelt before Legolas. Placing a hand behind the Prince's neck and another under the Elf's uninjured arm, Estel lifted the Wood-Elf away from the tree against which he had been sitting, and then struggled not to let the Elda fall carelessly to the ground as he positioned Legolas over the tunic. Vigilantly, the human lowered the Elf to the forest floor, laying him on the tunic with his head on the fabric.

Legolas can rest for a while. Surely, this will help him better than my trying to get us down the hillside.

If he waited, if they sat in the woods, hoping for the Imladrian warriors to find them, then they might be rescued; however, Estel did not know that Legolas had the time to linger. I suppose I will have to wait – I've no other choice. Perhaps Legolas will wake, he decided, patting the Elf's hand as he pondered on their dilemma. But I cannot just sit here without trying at least to tend his wounds. Leaving the Wood-Elf to his rest, the Adan crawled to his knees and then carefully into standing, one hand pressed against his stomach to ward off the pain his movement would inevitably bring.

It was the zenith of summer: already the human child sweated from the heat of the sun's relentless bombardment of its rays of warming splendor. The forest hummed with the sounds of insects and songbirds overhead, who did not mind at all the Adan tromping noisily through the underbrush. Plants grew all around him, and the Adan knew that if he could only remember Elrond's lessons, he could find some way to assist the Wood-Elf. Even should I remember, we've no water for tea, he despaired, wishing again that he had listened more closely to what Lord Elrond had told him of herbs and their uses. If I choose the wrong plants, I could only worsen his condition. I know nothing of poisons. I do not know what Legolas is poisoned with, so I do not know how best to heal him. He sighed, But there is no harm in looking. If nothing else, I could find us something to eat.

The young human surveyed their surroundings, growing excited as he saw plants he was well acquainted with, thinking, But I do know of fevers, and toxin, and even if I cannot cure him, maybe I can still help. Squatting next to a patch of dandelions, the Adan began plucking the leaves from the bright yellow flowers, gathering all that he could find as he recalled his lessons from Elrohir and Elladan. Dandelions work well at removing toxins, and they work better fresh than boiled.

With his hand full of the serrated leaves, the human looked about him for more, only to find something of even greater use. Several burdocks grew amongst a clump of tall grass, their purple flowers brimming over the tops of the leaves, and their long stems evincing that the plants were in their second year, and thus their roots capable of being used for Estel's mismatched medicine. Burdock is excellent for poisons.

Selecting a stick from the ground, Estel dug at the plants' base, digging free the roots to add to his collection. When he had enough of the herbs, he heaped his scavenged handfuls of dandelion leaves and burdock roots together, telling himself aloud in excitement, "This will not cure Legolas, but it cannot hurt him, at least."

The Adan looked over his shoulders to make sure he had not walked beyond sight of the Prince. There is nothing else here worth using … Estel's breath caught in his throat, as if afraid should he breathe too hard he might blow away the berry laden, low shrubs several paces ahead of him. Currants! Forgetting his intent not to walk too far from Legolas, the Adan bounded forwards happily, falling to his knees in front of the bushes to pull free one of the red and ripe berries.

Estel held the berry in hand, popping the fruit between his fingers in absent wonder as he thought of a time when he was younger: sick in bed with fever, the twins had brought him sweetened red currant juice with his breakfast. It had been a treat for him, for the berries on the currant plant were small and the mug of fragrant juice had taken many berries to make. Elrohir had told his human sibling that the fluid would help his fever, that the red currant was a febrifuge, and that it would refresh and cool his body.

He smeared the juice across his fingertips, watching the ruby liquid trickle down his fingers as he thought, Later that day my fever broke.

The juice was not the only attempt the healers had made to ease the Adan's fever, but that hardly mattered to Estel now, for he gazed wondrously at the spread of bushes around him, saying aloud to himself, "If it helped me at all, then perhaps it can help Legolas. If nothing else," he reasoned, "it will give him something to drink, and something to mix with these roots and leaves."

Laying his collected herbs aside, the youth wiped his sticky hand against his breeches before he began to harvest the fruit, placing the berries in a pile in the grass beside his roots and leaves, until he had taken all of the currants he could reach from where he sat. He moved farther to gather more, and only after having collected a handful did another problem occur to Estel: I've no mortar to grind these in, nor any cup in which to press these berries. His shoulders dropped at the further complications of helping Legolas. None of these will help him unless he could be awake to eat them.

He carried his assortment of fruit and herbs in handfuls back to where Legolas lay, making several trips to take all that he had gathered. When done, the young Adan began to search his surroundings again. Against a tree further down the hillside was a group of rocks. All I need is one for grinding, and one to grind against. Estel chose a long, flat rock from amongst those half-hidden under the moss covering it and the tree, and swept it clean of dirt against his breeches. In the middle of this slab was a small indent, one in which the Adan planned to place his concoction. This will have to do, although I would rather have a mortar. I need a smaller stone for a pestle, he decided, poking through the moss for another rock, and finding one with a blunt end. Pleased at his ingenuity, the Adan rushed back to the Wood-Elf: he did not like leaving Legolas alone, nor did he wish the Elf to wake without his being there, for he didn't want the Prince thinking that Estel had left him in the forest.

Perhaps this will work, he hoped, clutching the two rocks against his chest as he ran. Plopping painfully to the ground beside Legolas, Estel began to grind a bit of the root and leaves with the blunt rock against the flat rock, working in the berries until the juice of all three was separated from a brownish, lumpy pulp. Let us see if this helps, he hoped, finding his feet, the flat rock in his hand. Hovering over the Wood-Elf, Estel gently opened the Elf's mouth, and with the flat stone over Legolas' face, he tipped the stone to pour the liquid between the Prince's lips.

Instead of channeling into the Wood-Elf's mouth, the mixture ran out of the small dent in which he had let it pool and streamed haphazardly across the large rock: the russet colored liquid dribbled over Legolas' face, with only a few drops ever making its way between the Elf's lips.

Damn it to Mordor, he thought in dismay. Too late did he right the long rock on which the tonic was held, and so too much of the medicine was spilt – what was left in the small hollow of the stone was merely enough to wet the Elf's lips, not help his fever or quench his thirst.

It was a good idea, he told himself, his eyes stinging with tears at his failure. He fought the urge to throw the stone into the weeds, to smash the berries and roots under his foot when he stood, his extraction as wasted as the time he had spent making it. Estel sighed as he watched the fluid's course as it ended up at the sides of the Elf's bruised neck. I will just need to find another way. Bending to one knee, the young Adan used the edge of his tunic, on which the Prince still lay, to wipe away the berry juice from Legolas' face. I need something to hold the juice so that I can pour it into his mouth. Standing once the Elda was free of the sticky tonic, Estel looked around him. And I will need something better than this stone.

He could see nothing that would help him – at least, not until he espied the quiver holding the Orc arrows he had brought with them. The leather of the quiver was unusable; Estel would not chance the possibility that the arrows were poisonous as well, and that the quiver, though solid at its bottom and therefore useful as a makeshift cup, would be tainted with some foul concoction of the Orc's making. However, the leather quiver had a leather belt, and on this strap was a crude buckle, a half circle of concave metal.

This will work, the human mused, taking the quiver in hand to yank the buckle loose.

He cleaned the metal with his tunic before piling it with dandelion leaves and burdock root. He then ground them happily, smiling at Legolas as he assured the insentient Elf, "This will help you, Legolas. I will take care of you, I promise, until we are found, or until you can walk with me to Imladris."

When the berries and herbs were a pulp, Estel pressed the thick mash with his blunt stone against the metal, and once more stood over Legolas, bending over though it pained his wounded belly, so that he could pour the thick liquid into the Elf's mouth. This time, without the bulk of the stone to navigate, the Adan could decant the tonic without spilling.

It works! The Elf swallowed instinctively the liquid tickling his throat, his brow furrowing as he licked his lips in his healing, febrile, half-asleep state. Estel laughed in relief: the twins and Elrond may have been right, for Estel was certainly not capable of caring for himself on his own, or even for Legolas while the Prince was sick, but in what he lacked in knowledge, Estel was certain that he could make up for in resourcefulness.

Several times more did he grind the berries and leaves, each time pouring the scant liquid into the Prince's mouth, the process taking more effort than the Adan would normally have minded spending on any one task. Estel had never been a patient child, but the mundane labor did not wear on his nerves as it otherwise might: the human was much too worried for the Prince to notice. After he had used his supply of herbs and most of his berries, Estel wiped the sweat from his brow, pushing his damp hair away from his face as he painstakingly helped the unconscious Wood-Elf to drink the last of the liquid, letting none of the fluid go to waste. It was hardly enough to hydrate the parched Prince, nor was it the best medicine, but Estel had done what he could.

Now all we need is food and shelter.

More substantial food than berries could wait, although the human's ever growling stomach protested this decision. Even injured you cannot stop complaining for food, he told his wounded belly, but I cannot listen to you now. Legolas needs shelter from the hot sun and we should not remain out in the open for any to find us. He knew he could not carry the Prince, at least, not very well and not for long, but thought, If I can find a place where we would be both hidden from the sun and from animals, Orcs, or humans, then Legolas can rest, and perhaps I as well. He wished they could reach their old campsite, or better yet, the river, but knew such a thing would not happen. It would even be well enough could we go back to the Orc's cave. At least we would be out of the sun. He could no more climb the hill with the Wood-Elf than walk down it, and so there was nothing for it: the human and Elf were stuck on the hillside.

He stood at the Wood-Elf's head, eying the Elf lying on the tunic. I can drag him, I think. Grabbing the edges of his tunic above where the Prince's head lay on it, the Adan gave it an experimental tug: for a few minutes this worked well, the Elf moved slowly but he did move. Legolas slid forward with the tunic, but as only his back lay on the cloth, the rest of the Elf eventually became snagged on the grass and ground, and the tunic merely slid right out from under the Elf.

If I cannot get us to shelter, then I will have to make us shelter here. Surprised at his own imagination, the human first inspected the trees above them, though he quickly abandoned this idea upon realizing that since he could not carry the Prince up the hill, he would never be capable of toting the Elf up the tree. There must be another way.

Again, the human turned to their surroundings for help, no longer seeing the forest as an enemy, but more as their abettor for survival. These bushes can hide us, he decided, and then strode to them to inspect. Flowered and thick, the shrubs would work well to shield the Elf and human from the sun, while offering them enough space underneath so that they could rest in comfort. Estel smiled: These will do well, indeed.

With several quick swings of the Orc blade, the human had chopped free the smaller inner branches of the dense shrubbery, leaving the top, thicker, and leafier branches intact to cover his and the Prince's heads once they were within the makeshift shelter. Estel bundled the hewn limbs together in hand before shoving them in a similar bush nearby, hiding their broken ends so that none passing by with a sharp eye could see that the limbs had been freshly cut. Now I've only to get Legolas into it. Kneeling down, the Adan left the Wood-Elf outside while crawling under the shrubbery himself. Everywhere there were branches to poke him as he moved, but the Adan was less concerned with how comfortable he would be in sitting and was more concerned with whether the Elf could lie in the confined and short-ceilinged enclosure. If he does not wake, Estel decided, nor want to sit, then there will be room enough.

Estel crawled from under the bushes and hurried to the Wood-Elf: threading his arms under the Silvan's, the human tried to haul the Prince to the shelter. When it seemed that his arms would not hold the Prince any longer and when the pain in his belly made his vision blur, Estel lowered the Elf as gently to the ground as he could, glad, at least, that he could lay the Wood-Elf on soft grass, rather than the rockier soil closer to the bushes. Sighing, the Adan knelt on the ground, contemplating the best method of getting the Elf under the shrubbery without exacerbating Legolas' wounds.

The tunic, he decided, sprinting back the short distance to where the shirt still lay. I can drag him under the bushes, Estel thought, his enthusiasm inciting the Adan to grin as he seized the shirt from the grass, and the berries left over from Legolas' tonic, to run back to their shelter. It is a short distance. The cloth will keep his wounds from grating against the dirt, and he will have something to lie on in our sanctuary.

Spreading the tunic on the ground close to the bushes, and then heaving the Wood-Elf to it, he laid Legolas on his back upon the cloth, settling the Elf's good arm into the sling that held the Prince's injured one so that they would not fall free while he dragged the Elf. He placed their supply of berries on the tunic, as well. It was no easy task, crawling backwards into the bush while yanking the cloth to bring the Prince with him, but Estel did not relent until the Elf was safely ensconced under the shrubs. To keep the Silvan within the shelter, Estel was forced to lay Legolas upon his uninjured side, bending the Elf at his waist around the bush's trunk. Not once did the Prince stir at being moved as such, and when finished, Estel sat back, wiping the sweat from his face.

The air was cooler under the tall bushes, and with the berries he had collected tucked away on the tunic, the human did not believe that he would need to leave the shelter again before the sun began to set. Food, something to ease our thirst, shelter, medicines… all we've left now to worry about is safety, and tonight, to worry about finding our way home. The latter two necessities worried him the most: he could not assure his or the Prince's safety, nor did he know how they would get home, especially if Legolas was no better after his rest.

Estel checked the bandaging over his belly, and seeing that there was no greater bloodstain on the cloth, settled back against the branches behind him, despite their broken and sharp ends, to hide himself more within the depths of the brush. If any were to track us, they could easily find us here, and we would have no way out, he thought forlornly, but then realized, but whether in the open or here, hiding in the shrubs, should someone find us, we would be easy prey anyway. I am not abandoning Legolas to save my own hide, and I am no warrior. I could not fight off a group of Orcs or a cave Troll.

Within these winding, worrisome thoughts threaded a deeper current, a whirling discord that played subtly upon the human's thinking: fear of things he could not remember, of events he had only heard about from his mother's story, welled beneath the placid surface of his thoughts. Screams of terror, of pain, the stench of blood and death threatened his composure, for without action to occupy him, his panic was returning. He had been too young to know what he saw that day long ago, but not too young for the dire events not to make their impression upon his mind. Although these memories rarely surfaced in any recognizable detail, their accompanying emotions were always quick to rise. Now, lost in the flow of emotion and pain, Estel began to flounder in his fear.

The Adan held the Orc blade tightly in hand, while in his other he held onto Legolas' arm. The Prince rested, though fitfully. Sleep until nightfall, Legolas. And then, my friend, please wake.