Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

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Mirkwood's Plague

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Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and also to everyone who has added this to their favourites/alerts lists. That's a great honour. I hope you also like this chapter and please let me know what you think.

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Chapter 18 ~ Death and Life

Legolas was absolutely sound asleep; his head leaned back against the chair, his legs curled underneath him, his arms wrapped around himself beneath the blanket that covered his body. For the first time in ages, Legolas actually looked peaceful. His eyes were closed but Aragorn supposed that was normal considering how exhausted he was.

Thankfully, the man's assurances had been enough to relax Legolas enough for him to drift off into sleep, something he desperately needed. Running a kingdom under normal circumstances was hard work, Aragorn had first-hand experience at that, but in stressful times it was much harder especially if you had little to no experience in doing so.

However, Aragorn suspected that any king, even Thranduil, would have problems dealing with this. Of course, Thranduil had worked through many hardships in Mirkwood in the past – the threat of Dol Guldur and the growing darkness of the forest - but this was different. This wasn't simply a case of deploying more troops or entering into careful negotiations. There was no simple answer. And Legolas was not like his father. Even before the Quest of the Ring he had not been a particularly enthusiastic leader of his people. When needed he would always pull through and he commanded his troops in the Mirkwood Guard better than almost anyone else but he would not openly search for the opportunity, unlike his brother who always jumped at the chance. It was not something ever required of the youngest Prince of Mirkwood. Rumil had received all the Royal training – leadership, defence and diplomacy. Legolas had simply never needed to. Rumil was always going to be the next king, Legolas would never really get a look in and he liked it that way. Not having to live up to the expectations of Royalty allowed him to enjoy Mirkwood and his role within it. Not that he didn't work hard. He had Royal duties just like his brother but it was Thranduil and Rumil who took on most of the official responsibility within the kingdom.

Aragorn looked to Thranduil who stirred slightly in his sleep. Luckily he didn't wake. Any disturbance to Legolas would not be good and he would surely wake should his father make even the smallest sound of distress. Aragorn wanted the prince to sleep as long as possible. It wouldn't help Thranduil much either. The King also needed his rest. As much as Legolas had wanted his father to wake, Aragorn knew the King was probably better off in sleep. Even if he was awake it wouldn't help him. Right then both family members were better off.

Walking back over to Legolas, Aragorn gently brushed the Prince's golden hair back from his face. Legolas stirred but didn't wake, only shifted to get into a more comfortable position. Aragorn stroked his hair and shushed him. This immediately settled him with a small sigh and Aragorn smiled gently at his old friend. He sat down in the chair next to Legolas. The fire did have a relaxing effect on him but he managed to stay awake, he needed to stay alert for Legolas and Thranduil. It really was the perfect incentive.

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Elrond finished his autopsy on Rumil but didn't do anything for a long moment; he just stared down at the bloody, dead Crown Prince with an intense look of sadness. It seemed so unfair to cut the prince up but it had seemed necessary. Unfortunately, he had learned nothing from Rumil's corpse. It had been a complete waste of time.

He sat back down at his desk once he had pulled a sheet over the exposed body of Rumil. He couldn't bear to look at him any longer, preferring to allow him some dignity in death.

As he pulled out another book someone rattled on the doorknob. A knock quickly followed when the person realised it was locked. Elrond tiredly got up and opened the door. He was confronted with an excited-looking healer.

"My Lord, I have news about the cure." Before Elrond could say anything, the healer grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room. Elrond didn't say anything as he was unceremoniously pulled through the corridors although he quickly realised they were heading towards Mirkwood's holding cells. "It's a miracle, my Lord," the healer enthused as he pushed guards out of the way to get into one of the cells.

Hanging from a short length of rope in the corner of the room was the Elf Elrond himself had sent to the dungeons for murder not an hour previously. The Elf was quite obviously dead and although he had committed murder Elrond saw no reason for the healer to be so enthusiastic about the death of another. Looking sadly at the body, Elrond turned to the healer who was smiling at Elrond.

"Well, what's wrong? Apart from the obvious."

"Look, my Lord," the healer prompted, physically shoving him around so he faced the dead criminal.

"What exactly am I looking at?" Elrond asked tiredly with obvious confusion. His mind was too tired to work at its usual quick pace.

"He is not sick," the healer said excitedly as though this was supposed to mean something important to the Elven Lord.

"So?" As far as Elrond remembered the Elf had not been affected by the disease when he had been imprisoned. Not that it mattered now. No disease or illness could harm him now.

"So he was sick before and now look at him. There's not a mark on him. He doesn't even look unwell, not from disease anyway."

Elrond walked over to the dead Elf. The healer was right. The prisoner was fine – apart from the fact he was dead. In fact, he was looking healthier than any other Elf in Mirkwood. Although Elrond hadn't seen the Elf's sickness himself he trusted the guards and healers to make a correct diagnosis, they had seen more than enough to have learned the symptoms and it was not something they were likely to forget easily.

Elrond's next question was short and confused. "How?"

"We were hoping you might have an explanation," the healer answered.

"Who found him?"

"I did, my Lord," a guard said, stepping forward. "I was doing my rounds and I just found him hanging. Before that though he was coughing up blood, shaking and crying just like all the others. I noticed some bruises on him but they are already beginning to fade."

"This is impossible." Elrond walked over to the body and circled it, looking for any signs of illness. "Cut him down," he ordered.

Immediately another guard stepped forward and cut the rope with his sword. The Elf fell heavily to the floor. As he fell something rolled out of his pocket. Elrond bent down and picked it up. He recognised it instantly, it was a glass medicine vial from the healing halls but there was nothing left in it. Examining it closely gave Elrond no better ideas to what the strange liquid was.

"Didn't you find this when you searched him as he was brought in?"

The guard hesitated, shifting nervously. "No, my Lord. I was on my own though. I…"

"Alright. Does anyone know what this is?" he asked the crowd. No one said anything. "Get him out of here."

"My Lord, should we inform Prince Legolas of this?" the healer asked.

Elrond paused, weighing up whether he should trouble the young prince. "No, we don't know anything yet. We had best not disturb him until we know something more."

"Now what?" the other healer asked.

"I think it's a safe bet that whatever cured him came from this bottle. Didn't he murder that healer because he thought he was withholding a cure?"

"Do you think the healer really did have a cure?"

"This Elf killed him for it, took it himself…"

"And then hung himself."

"Granted it doesn't make sense but I can think of no other explanation," Elrond said holding up the vial. "I'm going to the healing room; see if I can find out what this is."

"My Lord, what if this really is the cure?" the healer asked in excitement.

"Then we just got very lucky. Keep this to yourselves, we don't know anything for certain yet," Elrond said as he left the room.

Once he had left the cells Elrond quickly sped up, nearly running towards the healing room where he had left his books and the body of the Crown Prince of Mirkwood. It was difficult to ignore all the people who tried to stop him to ask his advice, but he knew he had a more important mission right now. He had to find out whether he really was holding the cure. He found it hard to believe but right then he would try just about anything. He briefly wondered whether he should enlist Aragorn's help but decided against it, knowing the man was tending to Legolas, not something he wanted to disturb if he could at all help it. Besides by the time he had done that he could have figured out what the liquid was.

He walked into the healing room and slammed the door shut, locking it; he didn't want to be disturbed, the quicker he did this the better. Gathering various chemicals from a store cupboard he lined them up along the table. He forced himself not to look at Rumil, knowing it would only distract him. So he plunged into his work hoping it wouldn't prove entirely fruitless.

To Be Continued…

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Ha, ha, has Elrond really found the cure? Could it soon all be over? You'll find out soon enough. Please review.