Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

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Mirkwood's Plague

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A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far and I hope you all like chapter 12.

Chapter 12 ~ The People's Prince

Legolas knelt down next to another patient; this person, like so many of the others in the Great Hall was in deep sleep or unconscious – it was difficult to tell. Some patients Legolas had visited had been reasonably alert, asking their prince various questions about their current situation and the running of the kingdom. They seemed to cheer at the appearance of Legolas and luckily no one noticed his own progressing illness, too absorbed in their own suffering to notice anyone else's.

It was the sick Elflings that had upset Legolas the most during his rounds. He had spent almost an hour comforting one child who had lost both his parents to the disease. Helplessness could not properly describe how he had felt holding that sobbing child to his chest. The terrified Elfling had clung to him as though he were his only anchor to this world. Legolas could do nothing but wrap his arms around the Elfling and offer (somewhat false) reassurances. However, the distraught child was unaware of the prince's deception, just happy to know that there was one person who would look after him, that the weight of responsibility fell on some else's shoulders rather than his own small ones. This was a task that frightened Legolas but one that he knew he had no choice but to accept. Usually, this would be Thranduil's task but in the absence of his father, Legolas would do it even though it was a difficult – and seemingly impossible - undertaking.

Luckily, so far no one had questioned the absence of the King, for which Legolas was supremely grateful. Fear for his father's health constantly gnawed at him and he didn't feel like telling these people that their king was in the same helpless state as them; that was the last thing they needed. It was hard enough for them that so many people were unwell. They needed to believe someone was in charge and although Legolas was the Prince he knew they all still preferred Thranduil. They trusted their king, trusted that he was quietly sorting all this out behind the scenes as he always did.

Elrond had dropped by the hall earlier to tell Legolas that Thranduil's condition was unchanged and that for now he remained resting peacefully. The Lord of Imladris had then locked himself away in his healing room and resumed his search for a cure for the disease. He had left an experienced healer with Frodo and another one with Thranduil just in case their condition changed during his absence. He had also told Aragorn of the prince's own illness, knowing it would be wise to have someone looking out for signs of trouble when he himself could not be there.

Aragorn had been saddened at the news of his friend's illness but hardly surprised. There was no reason Legolas in particular should be immune when half his kingdom, not to mention his own family, had been taken ill. However, Aragorn had quickly recovered from his fear, resolving to keep a close eye on the Prince of Mirkwood, knowing he would be in the Great Hall with his people for as long as he was needed.

Aragorn's assumption had been proven correct; Legolas remained tending the sick and dying all night long without one single break. In fact, it was only when his face came into contact with a bright shaft of sunlight from the tall windows that Legolas even thought about the time. He had spent all night uttering false reassurances to dying people and watching Elves he had known all his life – his friends, his teachers, even his enemies – in pain, every one of them holding on to the last shreds of life for their prince and king. He had worked hard with the healers although he had little healing knowledge himself. His role in the hall was purely window dressing, showing people that he was not afraid and that there was still hope that they could beat this terrible affliction. He had also continued discreetly removing bodies, still pretending they were alive so as not to frighten the still living patients. The worst part was tying in vain to comfort their terrified relatives, patients themselves, that their family members were fine. In essence: lying to them.

In fact, he had been so completely immersed in their pain that he had almost forgotten about his own predicament.

Legolas slowly wandered over to the triage section where Aragorn had just finished bandaging a healer's arm. He simply smiled gently at Legolas, not knowing quite what to say to his best friend. "Are you alright?" he settled for after a moment.

Legolas merely nodded dejectedly, as though he wasn't really hearing what Aragorn was saying before snapping from his thoughts and smiling back at the concerned man before him.

"I…" Legolas stopped, thinking carefully about what to say next. "I don't know what to do," he continued softly, seemingly surprised at his own words. He had meant to say 'I'm fine' just like always but it hadn't come out right.

Aragorn stared into his friend's saddened eyes for a second before gently guiding him to sit on the chair patients had been receiving treatment on all night. Pulling up another chair, Aragorn sat opposite the Elf.

"I don't think we can do any more than we're already doing," he finally answered softly, watching Legolas' face carefully for a reaction. "You're doing fine."

"It just doesn't seem like enough," Legolas sighed, his eyes sweeping around the vast hall before him.

"I know. But it's all we can do for now. Elrond will find a cure. I know he will."

"And if he doesn't?" Legolas asked the question Aragorn had been dreading hearing.

"He will," Aragorn said firmly, trying to convince himself as much as his friend.

Legolas nodded carefully, his face showing him to be deep in thought. "I don't know what to do, Aragorn. I can't…I can't watch my people dying any more. I grew up with them. They're my teachers, my subjects and my friends. I can't watch my friends dying anymore. I just can't." Legolas' voice grew slightly frantic but he fought to keep it low and quiet, not wanting to alert the patients or healers of what he was saying, that his panic was starting to get the better of him. He looked deep into Aragorn's eyes for a moment before leaning forward and putting his head wearily in his hands.

"You can't give up, Legolas. Please don't give up," Aragorn said softly, leaning forward and placing soothing hands on Legolas' own only to find them trembling.

At the contact Legolas looked up and Aragorn was startled to see tears running down his fair face. He shook his head softly in despair. He wiped the tears away on his sleeve almost violently, seemingly angry and ashamed at his – perfectly understandable - reaction. Aragorn caught his shaking hands and squeezed them tightly, hoping to offer some comfort to his best friend. Legolas squeezed back, pleased that he had someone with him. He replaced his head in his hands, allowing Aragorn to keep his contact. He spent several minutes trying to stop the tears that fell silently. Aragorn moved off the chair and knelt down in front of him, blocking him from view of the patients and healers in the hall, knowing Legolas needed a moment to compose himself and he wouldn't want a lot of people watching that.

"If anyone can find a cure, it's Elrond," Aragorn reassured. "It will be alright."

Legolas nodded. "I'm sorry," he said, sitting up straight and wiping his eyes again.

"It's alright," Aragorn reassured with a sympathetic smile.

"I'm just so tired," he whispered despairingly avoiding the King's eyes.

"I know you are. I know." Aragorn rubbed his hand up and down Legolas' arms.

Slowly, Legolas stood up and Aragorn followed suit. Legolas looked around at his people with tired eyes. "I think I might go and lie down for a while if you don't mind."

Aragorn nodded. "Of course not. I think that's an excellent idea. Go and get some sleep."

"Thank you," Legolas whispered, walking shakily away from Aragorn out the large double doors. The man watched him go then went out of the other door to find Elrond. He needed an update on Legolas' condition.

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One by one people were getting sick and he could do nothing; that was the thought that ran through Legolas' mind almost continuously. In fact, he was so absorbed in this single thought that he failed to see the bearded Dwarf in his path until a pair of strong, rough hands stopped him in his tracks.

"Whoa there, Elf. Watch where you're going," Gimli joked, looking up at the Elf. He was utterly shocked and desperately saddened at what he saw. Legolas was pale and shaking very slightly; he looked down with exhausted, half-focused eyes at the Dwarf. There was a look of such utter despair on his face that it made Gimli want to throw his arms around the prince and shelter him from whatever horrors he had experienced in the past hours, to take the terrible pain of grief and despair away. Gimli was well aware of what was happening in Mirkwood even though he had not been allowed to leave his quarters under the prince's order. He knew it was for his own protection but he wanted nothing more than to help the Elf. They had both seen and experienced many horrors during the War of the Ring and Legolas had been fighting in Mirkwood's forest for many hundreds of years before that but Gimli had never seen him look quite so lost.

"Gimli," Legolas said, mild surprise flitting across his painfully tired features. After a slightly confused pause he continued, "I thought you were in your rooms."

"I got restless," Gimli explained vaguely and Legolas just nodded, not seeming at all concerned about his disobedience. "Are you alright, my friend?"

"I…I was…just going to my rooms," Legolas said softly as though he didn't really know where he was or what he was saying.

"I thought the royal chambers were in the other direction." Legolas looked behind him then back at Gimli.

"Right," he said, smiling weakly.

Concerned that the prince would collapse before his exhaustion-addled mind remembered where his room was, he took the Elf's elbow. "Come on, I'll walk with you," Gimli said cautiously, prompting him forwards. Again, Legolas nodded walking silently behind the Dwarf.

When they reached Thranduil's room, Gimli stopped, opening the door for the Elf, who smiled his thanks and looked down at Gimli with sad eyes.

"How are you, my friend?" Legolas asked as though suddenly remembering his royal etiquette, although his voice was soft it was also cold and desolate – he didn't really have the energy to care too much. Gimli got the distinct impression that he was truly concerned but that he also wanted nothing more than to just break down and cry. It was something Gimli had never expected to see from the Elf, who always seemed so cool, calm and emotionless. Now those beautiful blue eyes – usually so clear – were clouded with sorrow, exhaustion and dreadful fear.

After a brief pause, Gimli answered Legolas' question. "I'm fine, Legolas." He wouldn't have burdened Legolas any further even if he hadn't of been fine. Pausing once more, the Dwarf critically looked the Elf up and down. "And you?" He had no idea what answer he would receive.

"I…I don't really know," the prince muttered. Gimli hadn't expected that. "I should go and…" Legolas pointed almost longingly to the room behind him.

Gimli nodded. "I'll light a fire for you. So you don't get cold." Legolas didn't protest as Gimli would have expected but walked into the dark room and quickly lit a candle, afraid that the dark would again reveal the faces of the dead. Gimli also lit a candle then went to the ornate fireplace in the bedroom and began lighting a fire. Unlike Legolas' own room, Thranduil's was richly decorated with expensive furniture everywhere. All the fabrics and carpets were the best on Arda. Everything complemented perfectly and was kept in the very best condition. Thranduil apparently liked only the finest things and Gimli got the impression that few people were ever allowed into these restricted chambers.

Like Legolas' chambers there were several rooms. A bedroom containing numerous cupboards, wardrobes and drawers and an enormous four-poster bed, a bathroom with a private bath, a sitting room with divans, sofas, desks and a huge fireplace complete with comfortable chairs, and finally a study, which contained a desk of the highest quality wood and everything else a king or prince could ever want.

Once the fire was going the room looked remarkably comfortable. It surprised Gimli that it looked so homely. The King was always so cold and unfeeling in public and it was strange to see him associated with such a friendly, inviting room. The most striking feature in the room was a large framed oil painting hanging on the wall above the fireplace. It showed the whole Thranduillion family: Thranduil, a young Legolas, Rumil and Nienna, Legolas' mother. Although it was clearly an official portrait and they were all looking very serious the painting radiated warmth and love.

"It was painted millennia ago," Legolas said appearing from the sitting room and watching Gimli examining the picture. "We had to sit like that for hours. Ada was getting very impatient with the artist."

"You look very happy there," Gimli complimented.

Legolas smiled gently. "It's strange; Ada absolutely hated that painting. For years he hid it away at the back of the gallery. When she died though he took it out and hung it above his fireplace. No one but he was allowed to touch it, not even to clean it."

"It's very beautiful."

"Hmmm. I don't like it," Legolas said dismissively.

"It's real."

"It's nostalgic."

"That's not a good thing?" Gimli asked, standing and keeping his eyes fixed on Legolas.

The Elf shook his head. "No." Gimli watched with confusion as Legolas continued to stare at the painting, his eyes clouded with memories of the past. "Thank you for lighting the fire." Gimli was officially dismissed.

"You are welcome," Gimli said, watching his feet with curious interest. "If you, you know, need anything else…"

"Thank you."

"Well, um, yes. Goodnight then."

"Goodnight, Gimli." The Dwarf walked to the door and hesitated, not knowing whether it was right to leave the Elf alone. Just as he was about to walk out of the door Legolas spoke again. "Gimli, I assume you have heard about Frodo."

"Yes. Yes, I had heard. Will he be alright, do you think?"

"Elrond doesn't know yet but as soon as I know I'll come and find you."

"I would appreciate that," Gimli smiled.

"If you feel at all unwell please tell Elrond at once. I'd feel much better knowing my friends are safe." Legolas' voice was quiet and sad again.

"Don't worry. The slightest twinge and Elrond will know about it," Gimli joked, trying desperately to lighten the mood. It only earned him a weak smile from the prince though. Gimli shuffled his feet nervously before speaking again. "Legolas, I feel utterly useless just sitting around all day whilst you and Aragorn are out there helping and I want to do more. I was thinking maybe I could help out in the Great Hall…or collecting firewood. Anything. I just want to do something useful."

"Gimli…"

"Legolas, please. If I was going to get sick it would have happened already."

"That's not how it works," Legolas answered coolly.

"Then I'll take my chance."

Legolas sighed. "I'm sorry Gimli, but I can't risk it."

Gimli, losing his patience, shouted back, "It's my risk to take."

"No, it's not. I am commander of this realm. Mirkwood is my kingdom."

"But I am not your subject." At this everything fell quiet. "Let me help, please," Gimli whispered.

Legolas laughed humourlessly. "I never could control you, Dwarf." Gimli smiled in affirmation. "Alright, but the slightest sign of…"

"I'll go straight to Elrond."

"Alright. Thank you."

"Get some rest, Elf," he said more kindly before closing the door gently. He listened for a moment before smiling and walking towards the Great Hall to offer his services.

Legolas looked around the large bedroom. It seemed so long ago that he had last been here but it couldn't have been more than two days. Thankfully, it was always kept clean and tidy. Not even a lethal infection could stop the servants doing their jobs in the royal quarters and Legolas was pleased that they hadn't overlooked it this time.

The room remained filled with Thranduil's presence, his scent, his love. This warmed Legolas more than the fire. He walked to the closet and pulled out one of his father's thick cloaks. It was warm so it helped with the chill running through him and it also smelled of Thranduil. Although he wanted to be with his father Legolas knew that the King needed to rest. This was the closest thing he had right then and he needed to be with something familiar even if it was just a cloak. He laid down on the bed, leaving all the candles in the room lit, not wanting to be alone in the dark. He wrapped the cloak more tightly around himself and looked into the roaring fire.

After watching the flames for a while longer, Legolas' gaze travelled to the painting above the fire. Over the years it had almost seemed to fade into the wall and he hardly noticed it anymore. In fact, he hadn't looked at it properly for years. At first, it was too painful to see his mother every day, lifeless and fake after her death. Then, over time, it had merely become another feature of the room; irrelevant and unimportant. He knew that every night, Thranduil said a prayer to it, not just for his dead wife but for the safety and protection of his remaining family. Legolas and everyone else respected this but until this moment the youngest son of Thranduil had never really understood it.

Now, as Legolas looked up at it, in all its dull glory, he began to think about what his father would do in his position. He realised that Thranduil would not be sitting in his bedroom staring at the painting, he would be doing something proactive. But Legolas was just so tired.

It shocked Legolas to think that two people in that painting were now dead. When his mother died the family had been torn apart. Now Rumil was dead and Thranduil was sick. There was no one left to put the family back together. Legolas knew that he didn't have the strength to do it himself. He couldn't keep both his kingdom and his family. Looking into the cold, lifeless eyes of his father's portrait Legolas thought about what he would do on his own.

Throughout his life he had never been alone. When he was really young his mother had always been with him. Then when she had died his father was there. However, when Thranduil had become too busy with running the kingdom without his wife's support, Rumil had been with him. Even in his adulthood, Legolas had never felt as alone as he did right then. In the Fellowship he was rarely alone. He was either with Aragorn or Gimli. But this was different. His friends couldn't help him this time. Mirkwood was his home, his realm and although his friends were with him it meant nothing. No one could take the place of his father, his brother. He loved them like he could never love his friends.

Decision making had never been his strong point; he never had much practice it. This was Thranduil's job.

In that moment, Legolas knew that it was the realm that mattered now, not the king. Royalty was dispensable, it could always be replaced, an entire kingdom was not so easy to replace. Without Mirkwood's people the kingdom was nothing but a patch of trees and abandoned buildings. If the worst should happen to Thranduil there was someone to replace him but without the people Mirkwood was nothing. They also needed to stop the disease completely. If Legolas and Elrond didn't find a cure and everyone died the disease could still spread throughout the other Elven realms until none of the Firstborn were left.

All of this went through Legolas' mind as he drifted into a restless asleep, watching the flames as they flickeringly lit the painting with orange light so the faces of the subjects seemed to move, their lips chasing in silent prayer and their lifeless eyes springing into ghostly existence. Although still cold and harsh they seemed to convey wisdom impossible to achieve in oil and canvas.

TBC…

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Translations:

Arda – Earth

Ada – Dad