Gandalf placed his callused palm on the smooth porcelain forehead of the Elf Legolas. His bushy grey eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth upturned in a distinct frown of concern.
"He has fever." He stated to King Thranduil.
Thranduil drew his head back. "Impossible. Elves are not afflicted with illness."
"It is no illness my lord. It is the poison's work." Aragorn stood in the doorway of the Healer's ward, arms solemnly clasped in front of him.
Thranduil eyed him closely, for it was known that the King of Mirkwood was not trusting of mortal men. But Gandalf could see in the deep pools of Thranduil's eyes that he was considering this development. He nodded to his chief Healer, who looked gravely on the prone form of Legolas.
The Healer murmured some words to his assistant, then gently removed Legolas' tunic and shirt, depositing them to the side of the wooden table he lay on. Legolas' breath was an audible gasp, chest heaving with much more effort than should have been needed. The Healer made eye contact with Thranduil. Both Thranduil and Gandalf leaned in closer to inspect the wound.
Aragorn did not need to see it to know what he would find. The wound was infected with an Orcish poison, a small amount no doubt, for a normal dose would have killed the Prince long before. But now it had reared its ugly head, and the Prince's fate would not be so easily determined.
Thranduil's nose wrinkled in disgust. Indeed, there was an odour to the wound; one which had not been present before by the Healer's knowledge. The wound was raised, black clots marred the opening and veins ran red with infection around the area.
The assistant returned with fresh linen and hot water. The Healer himself picked up a slim dagger, which seemed to gleam with an odd light by Aragorn's account. Gandalf placed a strong hand on Legolas' thigh, while Thranduil covered his son's forehead with his hand. The Healer pressed the point of the dagger into the wound.
Thranduil turned his head to the side at the sight of a thick black ooze pouring from the wound. The Healer pressed deeper, and a low moan erupted from Legolas. Thranduil clasped his right hand tightly, although he knew the Elf was beyond feeling such an action. The Healer pressed deeply now, so deep that the assistant was mopping up the infected blood with strips of linen. Legolas' body twitched unconsciously; Gandalf tightened his grip on his thigh.
"We are almost to the root of it my lord." The Healer announced.
Thranduil's jaw was set rigidly as he nodded in agreement. The Healer depressed the knife until Legolas opened his mouth and softly groaned. It was then that the bright red blood seeped forth. The Healer quickly replaced the dagger with a damp cloth, wiping away the blood. He grasped some herbs which Aragorn could not recognize, though he would surely not forget as the scent of them were so strong they made his eyes tear up.
With Legolas freshly bound, the Healer cleansed and wiped his hands, then took Thranduil by the arm and led him to the side. Aragorn approached the unconscious Elf and the wizard slowly. He looked down at Legolas, whose eyebrows were fitted together in feverish sleep.
"He will live." Gandalf reassured the young man in his calm rough voice.
"Of course he will. He needs to." Aragorn stated while staring down at Legolas. Gandalf glanced curiously at Aragron. "Apparently even a wise and brave Elf like Prince Legolas needs to be reminded of his own limitations."
Gandalf harrumphed at the remark. "And apparently a noble mortal raised by a wise and brave Elf like Lord Elrond needs to be reminded that sneaking out of a Kingdom under direct orders NOT to should invariably be heeded."
And for added effect, Gandalf swiped Aragorn across the head.
Aragorn jumped and rubbed the spot where Gandalf had cuffed him, then looked at the wizard with a hurt composure.
Gandalf smiled in return. "I only did what Elrond would have done had he been here to witness your momentary lapse into stupidity."
The air was closing in around him. He could not breath enough of it in to satisfy his lungs' cravings. His head pounded mercilessly with every beat of his heart. And to top it all off, he could not seem to free himself from the clasps of some unknown attacker.
Thranduil watched his son as his fever raged, until the Prince began to thrash weakly in his sleep. Thranduil grew concerned until he realized the true ailment of his son; he was tangled in the bed sheets. The King leaned over from his high-backed chair to gently pull the covers away from his son's chin, thereby freeing his arms. Legolas gave up his fight abruptly and even his wheezing breaths appeared to relent some. Thranduil placed a hand on his sweaty forehead, and for the first time in many hours, the Prince's half-lidded eyes unglazed. He now stared up at his father.
"Water?" He requested softly.
His father nodded and poured him a cup from the nearby decanter on the bed stand. Legolas grasped the cup with his right hand, while Thranduil helped him to keep his head up. Easing his parched throat, Legolas settled down into the comfortable pillows.
"It's quite hot in here." He stated.
Thranduil cocked his head to the side. "I found it somewhat cool."
This confused Legolas; he muttered something unintelligible about the silliness of his room being cool. Then a thought dawned on him. "Is there sickness here?"
Thranduil brushed his hand over Legolas' blazing cheek. "Yes, my son."
Legolas thought for a short time, then looked up at his father. "It's the mortal, isn't it?"
Thranduil was bewildered. "No, Legolas. The mortal is quite well."
That surprised Legolas, but he nodded nonetheless. Then it struck him. "Am I ill?"
Thranduil nodded at him, brushing away a stray hair that stuck itself to his neck. "You will recover sooner than you think though. This isn't much worse than the sting of a spider is it?"
Legolas shook his head. "Not as painful. But much more cumbersome…and inconvenient."
A low rap interrupted their muddled conversation and the Healer walked in with a particularly nasty smelling potion in his hand. Thranduil and Legolas both caught its scent and recoiled.
"I fear to ask, old friend." Thranduil remarked. The Healer smiled at his King while handing the cup to Legolas whose nose was wrinkled in disgust.
"What is it?" Legolas asked.
"Something to ease the fever."
Legolas peered into the cup, which contained a very thick looking green sludge. "Perhaps we should consult Aragorn on this matter. Their kind have much experience with this sort of thing."
"It is of my own recipe." Legolas strained to see over his father's shoulder and found Aragorn grinning in the doorway of his room.
"Then lets hope it works swiftly." Legolas drew the cup to his lips. "For my revenge on you will come all the more sooner when it achieves its goal."
The potion worked quicker than was expected, for Legolas had barely finished his first gulp when his eyes glazed over once again and his body fell back into the pillows. Thranduil had caught the cup in time, and now handed it to his Healer. He leaned over to check on his son, who appeared to have fallen into a deep and peaceful slumber. Satisfied, all three left the confines of Legolas' room, to let him sleep off the effects of his illness.
But it was hardly peaceful.