Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

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Mirkwood's Plague

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Chapter 13 ~ The Cure??

Aragorn was sitting in the Great Hall watching the Elves before him. The situation wasn't getting any better; in fact, it had worsened somewhat when one innocent young guard had noticed that the only people being moved from the Hall were those who were unmoving. He had quickly informed all the other Elves and the panic and despair had spread like wildfire and the place was in uproar. They all looked around with fear now, no longer trusting the healers who were fighting to keep them alive. It had taken Aragorn and Gimli, who had just joined him, nearly three hours to calm the angry, distraught patients down. A more sombre but suspicious mood had now descended on the room. They now all knew what was happening to the corpses of their fallen comrades – a particularly vocal healer had ensured that everyone knew about the funeral pyres. Of course, Aragorn couldn't deny them the truth any more and ended up confirming their fears, adding the assurance that it was necessary to protect the still living.

Gimli came and stood next to Aragorn. The man looked over at the Dwarf to see him chewing his lip nervously.

"Are you alright?" the man asked.

"Just worried," Gimli vaguely answered.

"I know but Elrond is working on it."

"What? No, not about that. Well, of course I'm worried about that but…I was just thinking about Legolas."

"Oh."

"Is he infected with this thing?"

Aragorn sat in silent thought before answering carefully, "Yes."

Gimli lowered his head sadly. "I thought so. He seemed different when I spoke to him earlier."

"Of course he's different. A lot of these people are his friends and he has to stand by and watch them suffer and die. That's enough to change anyone."

"Hmmm."

Before either of them could speak again, Elrond strode purposefully into the room, looked around and, upon spotting Aragorn and Gimli, rushed towards them. As soon as he entered people began shouting for his help. His knowledge of healing was well known in Mirkwood and they knew that if anyone could help them it was him.

When he was close enough to Aragorn and Gimli he said softly, "I think I'm finally getting somewhere." He handed a vial to Aragorn, who looked at it as though it were some magical substance.

"Is this the cure?" he asked quietly, not wanting to alert the already strained patients.

"Maybe. It's a working progress but it might work or at least alleviate the symptoms. Try it anyway on a couple of infected patients. I'll keep working just in case." Elrond glanced around. "Where is Legolas?"

"He finally went to sleep," Aragorn said quietly, still looking at the liquid in interest.

"That's good. Give someone that and come and find me if it works."

"And if it doesn't?" Aragorn asked.

"Then we try something else. We'll know in an hour or so if it's effective. I'll check on Thranduil then carry on searching."

"Should we tell the Elf?" Gimli asked.

The dark haired Elf thought for a moment before answering, "No. Let him sleep for now. I'll let him know if anything important happens. He doesn't need to be informed if it doesn't work." Elrond turned to leave. "Oh, and Aragorn, do it quietly. No fuss."

"Right. Good luck."

"You too."

**

Elrond sat in the healing room, bending over numerous books and scrolls, glancing up every now and then at the prince, comparing the written symptoms with those of the dead Elf. Every time he thought he was getting close something ruined his theory. He rubbed his hands over his tired eyes, once more glancing briefly at the body. In the gentle light filtering through the windows the prince looked almost serene, like he was merely asleep and could wake any minute. His skin was pale and his eyes glassy but he looked completely normal besides the bruises on his face.

Elrond got up stiffly and walked over to the prince. He gently brushed a stray lock of dark hair from Rumil's face and glanced into unseeing sapphire eyes. The Elven Lord was once more filled with deep sorrow. Truthfully, he hadn't known the older prince all that well, being considerably more friendly with Legolas thanks to his involvement with the Fellowship and his years spent in Imladris. To Elrond, Rumil had resembled his father too much in temperament. He had the same kind of cold, aloof air about him when in public, which Legolas seemed not to have. Although Elrond couldn't say he didn't like Rumil or that Rumil didn't like him, there was only ever respect on either side never any affection. Legolas on the other hand had shown a keen interest in Imladris and in its Lord and he spent many long summers in Rivendell, even more when he met and befriended Elrond's foster son Aragorn.

Elrond forced himself away from Rumil and back at his desk. He sat down tiredly and opened yet another book.

After nearly an hour he came across something. A simple diagram depicting bruises much like Rumil's. He sat up straighter in his chair and studied the drawing closely. It matched Rumil's bruises exactly. He then read and reread the text. Everything else he had read so far had been vague but this was written in perfect detail, outlining every symptom, all of which matched those of Mirkwood's people. Something else caught Elrond's eye, something far more startling. He pushed the chair back as he stood and grabbed the book before rushing out the room, slamming the door behind him.

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A/N: Yes, I know it's short but I wanted to end it on a little cliffhanger. Sorry. Please review and tell me what you think.

Thanks for reading.