Their arsenal of arrows were almost spent by the time the battle reached them on a close combat scale. Legolas drew his white-handled knives and spun them furiously through the air, slicing his enemies with diagonal swipes. Aragorn unsheathed his sword, nearly twice the length of Legolas' dagger.

Despite the number of Orcs the two friends continued to hack through them as though they were merely weeds, and not the blood-thirsty mutations they were. Aragorn supposed it was due to the fighting skills that both he and Legolas possessed, but then he reasoned that much of their luck was more likely attributed to their intelligence and their enemies' lack thereof.

A swish of metal came daringly close to Aragorn's ear and he quickly shook his head free of wayward thoughts and redirected his concentration to the battle at hand. The waves of attacking Orcs were ebbing; were they winning the battle, or were the Orcs focussing on another area of attack? With the last Orc howling at the fatal blow of Aragorn's sword, he stopped to gather his strength. The young human wiped a bloodied hand over his sweat-ridden brow, pausing to feel his drenched hair. He mentally commanded his heaving chest to slow its intake of air, and finally when he regained a regular rate of breathing, he turned to face the Prince.

He fully expected the son of Thranduil to look as prim and posed as his brothers so annoyingly did after a battle. But he was quite shocked to see the Elf leaned against a tree, right hand clasping his chest.

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked cautiously.

The Prince, whose eyes had been clenched shut, now opened slowly to reveal a glazed and bewildered face. Aragorn became even more alarmed when he began to gasp for air.

"Legolas!" Aragorn placed his hands on both shoulders, trying the calm his harsh breathing. "Where are you hit?" Aragorn patted Legolas gently on his chest, trying to find whatever wound ailed him. Legolas shook his head and tried to push his hands away.

"No…no." He gasped. It was Aragorn's turn to look bewildered. Then he thought for a moment. As realization hit him like a blow to the head, Legolas took a mighty gasp, clamped his eyes closed and doubled over. Before he could completely fall over, Aragorn wrapped his left arm around his waist, and swung Legolas' right arm over his shoulder.

"I'm taking you back to the Healers. I knew this was a bad idea."

There was an argument forming in Legolas' mind against the idea that the human would be more knowledgeable in such areas than an Elf, but unfortunately his stolen breath prevented any words from coming out. He had no choice but to let Aragorn lead him, stumbling un-Elven like over stray branches and upturned tree roots.

As they neared the Kingdom, Aragorn noticed that the howling calls of the Orcs seemed further away. He surmised that the Elven warriors must have driven them further north and safely away from the halls of Mirkwood. Legolas stumbled and fell to his knees, wrenching Aragorn painfully down with him. Although Elves were by nature light beings, Legolas was quickly becoming dead weight for Aragorn to carry. Aragorn sunk to his knees, leaning Legolas' body against his while he checked him over. His breathing was not as loud, but had transformed into a quick wheezing. The Prince's eyes were half-lidded, drugged looking. Sweat gleaned on his body, making his long blond tresses stick to his neck. Aragorn clutched Legolas' left hand in his. It was freezing cold, with the digits swelling.

"Legolas, Legolas listen to me." Aragorn slapped his face gently, trying to rouse him.

In his foggy brain, Legolas knew that Aragorn was waking him. He also understood the importance of this, but couldn't seem to coordinate his eyelids with his mind. With as much effort as he could muster, Legolas managed to open them fully. Now if he could just focus.

"Legolas, can you see me?"

"I can see both of you." He knew it was a silly answer and could imagine the tired look on Aragorn's face when he heard it. His head lolled forward; it was as though his neck had become pudding. Thankfully, Aragorn held his head up for him.

"We must get to you to the Healers quickly, but I cannot carry you. You must walk, do you understand?"

He tried to answer but found his mouth had now failed him as well. He blinked in response and hoped that Aragorn took the meaning.

Apparently he did, for Legolas found himself being hoisted up. Dizziness engulfed him, bringing the ugly waves of nausea with it. But somehow he managed to make his legs move.

Some horn was blowing…shouts…Aragorn's tenor voice murmuring something to someone…someone else grabbing his arm…

Needless to say the events arising from Legolas' arrival back at the Kingdom were muddled. But things quickly cleared up when he heard the unmistakable boom of Thranduil's voice. Although his head still hung limply on his neck, his sharp ears pricked up considerably, especially because Thranduil, his King, his father, was undoubtedly furious.

"The audacity! The sheer audacity of it all!"

He then picked up the low comforting voice of his stepmother attempting to calm down Thranduil, who of course would have none of it.

"Direct orders! Have you no concept of who is ruling this Kingdom! I give these orders for a reason!" Legolas felt a strong hand on his chin, forcing his lazy head up. Unfocused eyes of the Prince met the smoldering glare of an enraged King. "And now see what you've done to yourself. Let this be a lesson to you Elfling! My orders are not to be ignored so lightly. And though I yearn to punish you myself I see that the Orcs have beat me to it. Take him away then."

It was at that precise moment that with great embarrassment Legolas felt his entire body chill with the tell-tale warning that he was about to faint. He opened his mouth to say something, but was quite dismayed when nothing but an incomprehensible moan drawled out. He felt his vision swim with black circles as his shaky knees gave out on him, which proved too much for both Aragorn and the assisting Elf to hold.

Before he could hit the stone cold floor, he felt himself being caught by strong arms and in one graceful movement, being swepped up and carried by…his own father. Thranduil huffed with anger and concern while Legolas' mind was slowly piecing together the ultimate humiliation of being a grown Elf and having to be carried like an Elfling in his father's arms.

"Having a son like you Legolas can bring even an immortal King one shade closer to death."

Had his mind been able to process what his father was implying, Legolas surely would have responded in his own defence. However, his ability to speak along with his ability to keep his eyes open failed him, and he finally settled into blissful unconsciousness.