Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

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Mirkwood's Plague

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A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed. Here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 8 ~ Downward Spiral

Elrond was currently treating a small, wailing child who was clinging to her worried – and also sick - father in terror. There were cries coming from almost every makeshift bed in the Great Hall. People were crying out for help from the already over-worked and stressed healers, who were trying their best to help as many people as possible with their limited supplies. Even as Elrond walked past, many of the Elves reached out to him, their hands grabbing at him whenever he moved within reach. Some of them were just lying on their beds, some of which were merely blankets on the floor. When Elrond walked past these silent sufferers their eyes pleaded with him for help of any kind. These people were by now too exhausted to call out for help and they were the people Elrond sympathised with the most; those past any possible aid but could only be helped with the excruciating pain they suffered.

Elrond knelt down beside one guard. He touched his forehead gently, which caused the sick being to turn his face towards Elrond. It was pale save for the small red trickle of blood coming from the corner his mouth. He tried to speak but because of the blood it came out as more of a senseless gurgle. Blood trickled down his chin and a mixture of pain and panic flooded his glazed eyes. Elrond reached for a clean cloth from his medical supplies and gently wiped away the blood. The Elf closed his eyes although Elrond wasn't sure whether it was from pain or embarrassment. He whispered some encouraging words as he reached down to retrieve a canteen of water. He carefully lifted the Elf's head off the pillow and trickled the water down his throat. The fading Elf swallowed noisily, no longer caring what he looked like in front of the Elven Lord. When he had had his fill he pulled back slightly and Elrond laid him back down.

The Elf watched Elrond as he replaced the canteen. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice weak and laced with pain.

Elrond smiled. "You are welcome."

The Elf was silent for a moment before speaking and looking into Elrond's large brown eyes. "Am I going to die?" the Elf asked gently.

Elrond leaned forward so the Elf could clearly see him. "No," he finally said. "No, you are not going to die." Elrond knew the Elf was already dying, just like all the others, but he didn't want to upset him any further. However, it seemed he already knew that Elrond was lying as his face fell at Elrond's answer. He reached for the healer's hand and the Elven Lord held it tightly, hoping to offer some comfort.

**

Legolas was sitting at the desk in his father's study, sifting through piles of papers and flipping through heavy, leather bound books, hoping to find any mention of the disease or the town Rumil had visited. He suspected it had all begun there so any information about what happened in that place could prove useful. Still, he felt like he was trespassing in his father's business. He simply wasn't used to going through the king's work. It was always something that was strictly forbidden, even when he was older. Thranduil greatly valued his privacy, especially when it came to his work. Legolas remembered thinking of this study as a sacred place, somewhere he couldn't go no matter how much he wanted to. As a child he had been constantly curious about what was contained within the thick, leather-bound books his father kept locked away. Now he had access to them he dreaded what he would find. He knew that any information would be useful. Unfortunately, so far he had found nothing of importance in his father's journals. It was mostly concerning the political happenings in Mirkwood.

A knock at the door made him look up from the book he was currently reading, which was describing a typical day in Mirkwood. Legolas thanked the Valar that his father had kept such meticulous diaries; it was just a shame that so far they had turned up nothing.

"Enter," he called to the visitor.

Legolas looked up to see Elrond standing at the doorway. He looked more tired than Legolas ever remembered seeing him. His hands were covered in blood despite the fact he was wiping his hands on an already blood-stained white cloth.

"Lord Elrond," Legolas greeted. "Is everything alright?" He pushed the book he was reading aside for the moment.

"Yes. Well, no."

"Please, come in. I've been searching through my father's journals for any mention of that town. I thought perhaps there might be some clues as to what happened there."

"And have you found anything?" Elrond asked, sitting down heavily in the chair opposite Legolas.

"Nothing so far." Legolas looked down at the book. "Ada kept excellent notes but there's no mention of the town. Maybe I haven't got there yet or maybe it just wasn't worth mentioning." Legolas sighed heavily and looked over at Elrond who was watching the table with considerable interest. "How are the patients?"

"There are hundreds of them. So many and there is nothing we can do. I've examined Rumil again but I haven't really found anything useful. I'm working on a few remedies but I don't know how effective they're going to be." Elrond leaned back in his chair, briefly remembering all the people he had seen dying that day.

"I thank you for all you are doing to help my people, Lord Elrond," Legolas said, interrupting the thoughtful silence.

"Of course. I only wish there was more I could do. I will continue my search for a cure but I just hope more people won't die before I find it." Elrond's voice was filled with regret and sorrow as he spoke and Legolas wished there was something he could say or do to comfort the older Elf. When Elrond looked up the sadness had cleared from his eyes. "I should get back."

"Yes, I'll keep looking through these. Anything is better than nothing, right? Ada doesn't seem to like writing about public opinion but I suppose it is best to keep busy," Legolas smiled.

"Just make sure you get some rest. Today has been very traumatic for you; you must be shattered. Take some time out for yourself. Get something to eat, sit with your brother, anything." Elrond looked seriously down at Legolas as he stood up. He was aware of the prince's condition after his excursion with the Fellowship; something had changed in him, although he never talked about it, it was clear to those closest to him that the quest had greatly affected him.

"Elrond, my people are dying. How can I rest at a time like this?"

"By remembering that your people need you to be alert. They need you to appear strong, even if you don't feel it. Your hope gives them hope." Legolas smiled thinly at Elrond.

"I need to be with my people. Not in my bed." Elrond nodded thoughtfully. He had been expecting that answer.

"Alright," he said, a smile spreading across his face. "I figured you would say something like that. Once you've looked through those papers perhaps you could stop by the Great Hall. An appearance from Mirkwood's Prince would be much appreciated."

"Of course," Legolas nodded, going back to searching through the thick book. It was becoming increasingly evident that it was an exercise in futility. He vaguely heard Elrond leaving the room but he didn't bother looking up. He thought about everything that was happening, tried to imagine what his father would do in his position but the answer eluded him. His mind simply didn't seem to be working properly. There was an annoying pounding in his head and a slightly shaking in his hands that he seemed to be incapable of controlling no matter how hard he tried. He had not mentioned any of this to Elrond, of course. He did not want to appear incapable of ruling his own people. He knew that Elrond would not hesitate in taking over responsibility of leadership if Legolas asked; not that he ever would. In a way Legolas wished the Lord of Imladris would take over, he knew more about handling crises than anyone else. He started the quest to destroy the One Ring, so he was used to such things.

Still, Legolas could not, in good conscience, hand the responsibility over to Elrond - he had enough to deal with. Besides, he needed Elrond's complete concentration on finding a cure. Mirkwood's future depended on it, as did his father's life. Legolas slammed the book closed when he had finished the last entry. There was nothing at all useful in his father's writings. His father had either known nothing about it or had simply not bothered to include it in his logs. Legolas placed his hands over his face in despair; this was getting him no where. He was wasting time his people simply didn't have.

As he took his hand away he saw blood on his palms. Quickly he put his fingers to his face again and when he pulled back there was more slick, bright red blood. He leapt from his seat and strode to the mirror on the far wall. A small trickle of blood was coming from his nose. He stared at himself for a minute before furiously wiping it away. He cleaned his face, straightened his tunic and took a steadying breath. He walked confidently to the door and left his father's study, locking the door behind him.

He strode through the corridors towards the Great Hall. The halls were so quiet, although a grim wailing could be heard echoing throughout the palace. Legolas continued walking, not allowing himself to be pulled in by their pitiful cries. On his way to the Hall he stopped at the royal healing room in which his father was being treated. Opening the door carefully, not making any noise that could disturb the king, he stepped inside.

TBC…

What's up with Legolas? Will Elrond find the cure? How will Mirkwood survive? Tune in on Saturday to find out. Oh, and leave a little review. Thanks.

Translations:

Ada - Dad