Thank you for your views and reviews!

I am really enjoying this story and feeling quite inspired. I am always interested in 'filling in the gaps' kinds of stories.

I hope you enjoy!

Mylirial

"The creature shrieks and groans as if the very walls burn him.' A young elf muttered to his companion, the other guard on watch duty for Gollum.

'Aye, I wouldn't be surprised if they did, for he can't seem to stand the sight or touch of anything of our make."

At the prince's command, the creature had been put into one of the cells in the lower quarters of the prison, in a chamber not particularly small or uncomfortable. The elves looked strangely at the strange prisoner, and some questioned Aragorn's purpose in bringing him thus and subjecting them to his behaviour. For all this, they were not unkind, for Thranduil's elves do not love dwarves, but even to them were not cruel. But any attempt to feed or minister to the prisoner was for nought, for Gollum spat at the elven food and bit any hand that offered to heal or soothe him. He would shrink from the sight of the elven guards, scrambling against the rock wall and floor as if to carve a hole with his bare hands, screeching all the while. When he was silenced, either by exhaustion or lack of water, Gollum sat in the corner of the cell with his back to the door, and the guards could hear him mutter to himself. Much of this was unintelligible, and often it seemed that the creature was speaking to another, who was answering.

'What's it mean precious? Bringing us down to the nasty elves, Gollum," he choked. 'We hates it. Claw it's eyes out! Squeeze the life out of it and leave it to rot! Gollum, Gollum.'

When hunger drove Gollum to speak of other, less evil desires, it was ascertained through his mumblings that fish was a dish he would eat, and the court kitchens, somewhat bemused, prepared the delicacy with as much haste as could be contrived, for the wailing shrieks of the prisoner could be heard throughout the lower levels, and grew worse as the day waned.

In the upper levels, in the healing rooms, the newly detained Dunadan was handling his fate little better than Gollum, for from the moment he had fallen into the arms of his friend, the prince, had also fallen deep into the grips of a fever, brought about by a combination of exhaustion, lack of sustenance, and several injuries too severe to be treated by oneself on oneself. His wounds had been treated, and the foul stench had been removed, but he had yet to awaken from his restless sleep.

He passed the first three nights after his arrival in a sweating frenzy and seemed gripped by a new horror every hour in his sleep. Sometimes he would thrash upon the bed and fought any who would attempt to touch him, and sometimes he cried aloud. At other times he was silent and still, and this brought no comfort to his friends, for the stillness seemed that of fear, and not of peace and rest.

Legolas rarely left the Healing rooms during this time, often sitting in a low chair next to his friend, offering what comfort his presence might bring. Elves are not deathless, merely long-lived, and he swore afterward that those sleepless nights may have taken years off his own uncountable span, so harrowing they were.

On the morning of the fourth day, Legolas was in his usual place, sleeping as much as elves are wont to, his head bowed to his chest. Aragorn had been quiet for most of the morning.

'Not in there, saes, DARO!' the man suddenly cried aloud, reverting to the elvish language he had spoken since he was a child. Legolas stirred at the sound, and jumped to his feet, for Aragorn was asleep, but he was fighting with the bedsheets, his arms and long legs flailing wildly. Legolas placed a hand on his chest.

'Peace Aragorn,' said the elf, 'you're safe, you're safe'

He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, gripping the ranger's arms, pinning them to his sides. Again, he was struck by the strength that lay in the long limbs, but the days of illness had greatly impacted the ranger, and soon he was overcome, though he strained against Legolas' grip. Feverishly, Aragorn relaxed under the elf's hold, perhaps subconsciously he could sense Legolas' presence. The elf waited a little longer, to be sure that his friend had relaxed, then released his hold and moved to arrange the blankets over him. He placed a hand over the ranger's forehead, and it was hot to the touch, the brief moment of panic had heightened the fever somewhat.

Legolas shook his head in Aragorn's direction, 'now look what you've done' he tutted. The man gave no reply and Legolas sighed. As he moved to place a cool cloth on the man's forehead, he heard Aragorn muttering to himself.

'Just a little longer, saes ….a little longer.'

Legolas sighed again, this was not the first time Aragorn had cried out in his sleep, or said such things under his breath. But they were the speeches of the greatly ill, who speak while they dream, and Legolas could not divine what they meant, or what event they were referring to. A soft knock interrupted his reverie. A servant stood at the door.

'My Prince, the scouts report there is another traveller on the road. He is on horseback and riding fast.'

Legolas gave a small smile and gazed out the tall window on the right of the room, looking out into the courtyard and the forest. Though the road was many miles from his sight, he imagined he could see a small shape, riding hard, growing in his sight as it drew closer, grey cloak whipping the air as it caught in the wind.

Legolas had known to expect Mithrandir's arrival, for messages warning so from Lorian had arrived barely a week before Aragorn's appearance. Legolas and his father met him in one of the smaller parlours near the throne room.

Mae Govannen, Mithrandir,' Thranduil greeted him when he was announced by the servant. The wizard was always welcome in the halls of the Elvenking.

To Legolas standing beside his father, it seemed that Gandalf was rather harried, and he briefly touched a hand to his chest, an elvish greeting, and his eyes were fixed on Legolas rather than the King.

'Has Aragorn arrived? Is he here? I must speak with him at once! This is of grave importance.'

A look passed between father and son, a look which did not escape the old wizard.

'Yes? What?' Mithrandir said sharply, 'what has happened?'

Mithrandir,' Legolas began, 'Aragorn arrived 3 days ago, and won't wake up. He collapsed the moment we met him on the road. It is as if he had extended himself to the last moment, and once he knew he was safe, his body took over. He has a high fever, and often cries out or mutters to himself. He seems to be…unsettled.' It was an understatement, and Mithrandir seemed to sense that, for his thick brows furrowed and the haste of his coming seemed to be slowed.

'If only I did not have to leave him,' he muttered under his breath, 'alas, I cannot be everywhere at once.' He looked up at Legolas, and smiled sadly. He seemed weary all of a sudden, and Legolas moved toward him instinctively.

'I saw him last at midwinter, before I left on another errand. He must have endured much since.' Mithrandir suddenly seemed burdened, as if the memory of his errand itself was heavy. Then, after a moment, he straightened and looked Legolas in the eye, 'It is alright my lad, I thank you for your care of Aragorn. You had better take me to him, I have ridden far and this news is distressing. I have relied on Aragorn for much, and it grieves me to have placed him in such danger. Though,' he looked away and his voice grew quiet, 'I fear it will not be the last time, and not just for Aragorn.' He looked at Legolas again, with a sharp gaze that pierced the elf to the core.

'Aragorn would not blame you for his injuries.' Legolas said, attempting to provide some comfort.

'Perhaps not, but he is injured all the same.' Was the dour reply.

There was not much Legolas could say to this, but he looked thoughtful as he lead the way to the healing halls.

Saes: Please

Daro: Stop