A great thank you for the many reviews I received for the last chapter!!!

Your encouragement keeps me going (not to mention the many threats of drastic
actions).
So here is the next part… so keep away from longbows, longknives, ropes, trees,
brick walls, cliffs, high-ropes course at the park and other dangerous things (I must
confess your inventiveness is starting to scare me)… please! … but keep on sending
me reviews... I love them!!! :-))))

So… on with the story… and tell me if you like it :-)

As always, a special thank you to Little My for beta reading!
___

It had been late at night when the messenger from Minas Tirith entered Northern
Ithilien, and Legolas had been informed immediately of the man's arrival. Aragorn's
message was short, but it had planted a deep fear into his heart. He had bid the
messenger to stay and rest, as both man and horse looked in dire need of it.

Within ten minutes after reading the message Legolas had been ready to leave, and
ignoring the offers of companionship from his fellow elves he had set out. Arod had
run like never before, as if feeling the urgency of his master.

Arriving in Minas Tirith, Legolas was not surprised to see Elladan - he had known the
twin sons of Elrond to dwell here ever since Arwen's son was born. But he had no
energy left to greet his friend of old while concern gnawed at his insides. Gimli was
dear to him and he feared the worst for his friend. Elladan's answer to his question
did naught to ease his mind, and he made his way to the House of Healing in silence.

The room was filled with soft moans and the sound of struggles and Legolas froze,
his eyes taking in the scene before him.

Aragorn had a strong grip on Gimli's shoulder, holding the bucking dwarf down.
Elrohir was cleaning the wound on his arm again, and the smell of herbs, pus and
blood filled the room. Gimli's eyes were open and for a moment it seemed as if he
looked right at Legolas. The elf took a step forward, his heart lifting, only to realize
the feverish glaze in the dark eyes. Gimli was far from recognizing anyone, as he
moaned once more and tried to escape the strong grip that held him down.

Looking up, Aragorn took in the tall form of Legolas and could feel an immense relief.
The elf's face betrayed nothing as he stepped closer. A short nod was all the greeting
that Aragorn received, but in this moment he did not mind. Legolas' hands came to
rest on Gimli's chest, gently pressing the dwarf down. He murmured something in a
soothing voice and it took a few moments for Aragorn to register what it was that
seemed wrong. It was not the Common Speech Legolas used, nor the tongue of his
own people. It was a strange thing to hear the elven voice speak words in the
language of the dwarves.

But the familiar words and the trusted voice finally succeeded in what Aragorn and
Elrohir had not been able to achieve: Gimli ceased his struggles and for the tiniest
moment there was a flicker in his eyes as if he was fighting for awareness. But it
passed quickly and only the fever induced confusion remained.

Elrohir had finished and once more he wrapped the arm in a clean cloth. His eyes
met Aragorn's and he gave a small shake of his head. There was no improvement.

'His fever is high. How long has he been like this?' Legolas' soft voice broke their
silent communication.

'Too long,' Elrohir commented under his breath, but ere his words could be
questioned Aragorn spoke up.

'His fever has been rising ever since he came here and that was almost one day ago.
His strength is fading, and all our efforts so far have shown no effect.'

For a moment there was a flicker of something in Legolas' eyes that belied his calm
façade. But his voice was controlled as he asked, 'Seldom have I seen a wound like
this, and I know naught of how to treat it. But there has to be something that can be
done.'

Elrohir kept silent. Infection of a wound happened seldom in elves due to their
healing abilities, and when it did occur it hardly ever took on such a dramatic form.
But he knew it to be a common and feared thing among men.

'When Gimli arrived here, the infection had already fully flared up. Its poison mingles
with his blood and will kill him if we do not remove the source of it.'

But herbs and regular cleaning had taken no effect as of yet.

Gimli moaned and Legolas' hand moved from the dwarf's chest to his left arm, gently
squeezing in a reassuring gesture. His soft voice once more calmed his friend, but
while he murmured soothing words his own mind raced. He had seen many wounds
and much healing in his long life, for Mirkwood had not been a safe place in which to
live. But his knowledge of mortals was limited, as he had seldom come into contact
with them before he had been chosen to join the Fellowship of the Ring. He knew
Aragorn to be a gifted healer, but something in his voice spoke of defeat.

'What can be done?' he asked again when Gimli had calmed.

There was great hesitation in Aragorn's voice when he answered. 'The infection
cannot be allowed to spread any further. If herbs and healing powers fail, there is
only one thing left to do.'

The man's look had turned away from Legolas and came to rest on Gimli's wounded
arm. The elf's eyes followed his gaze, taking in once more the swollen limb, the angry
red of the dwarf's skin where it was not covered by a bandage. The meaning of the
words sank in, and an expression of horror crossed Legolas' face.

'Nay!' he exclaimed, and his fingers on Gimli's arm tightened unconsciously, evoking
a small groan of protest from the dwarf. He loosened his grip quickly and after seeing
no further distress on his friend's face, turned his head to look at Aragorn once more.
The man cringed inwardly at the fear in the elf's eyes.

'There has to be another way!'

But his gaze flickering between Elrohir and Aragorn could find naught but bitter
resignation. There was nothing else that could be done.

'You know not of what you speak,' Legolas whispered. 'This will not save him but kill
him as surely as the wound itself.'

Silence answered him, and he could read in their faces that they knew this to be true.

'There is still hope. The infection may still abate,' Legolas spoke, his eyes flashing.
'We will not think of this ere there is no other way.'

'Legolas…'

'Nay, Aragorn, I can still feel strength in him. Gimli is still fighting, and we will not
abandon him too early.'

The man fell silent, his eyes meeting Elrohir's. The elf gave a small shrug. It was
Elladan, having not moved from his place at the entrance until now, who spoke up.

'The dwarf's strength is not to be underestimated, as well as his stubbornness. But if
things should go ill we will need you awake, and not half-asleep and sluggish from
exhaustion. You should go and get rest, Aragorn. We will keep Legolas company in
looking after Gimli.'

The man found no words of protest although he was reluctant to leave Gimli in such
an uncertain condition. He met Legolas' gaze once more, and seeing the
determination there he suddenly realized that this was no longer his fight. The elf
turned away from him as Gimli stirred once more, bringing to an end his short period
of calmness. As he left the room, he could hear the dwarf's fever induced rambling
mingling with the silver tone of the elf's soothing words.

@@@

Elladan balanced the bowl with cold water as well as a pile of clean cloths in his
hands when he entered the room again. Gimli's fever was dangerously high and the
only way to keep his temperature down was to constantly cool his heated skin.
Aragorn's gift of healing was strong and he had been able to keep the dwarf alive,
but the infection was too far gone even for his powers to heal him.

Of all of Elrond's children it was Elrohir who had inherited their father's gift of healing
the strongest, but being an elf he was reluctant to use it on Gimli. The way of healing
between elves was more a sharing of their life force and strength, and to do it for a
mortal would pose great danger to both of them. It would cost more strength to heal a
dwarf, and where an elf would never take more than could be offered by a healer,
there was no such restraint with mortals. Too great was the risk of being overly
drained, and it could go ill for the both of them. Only Elrond had ever dared sharing
his gift with mortals, and even then his own powers had been aided by the ring he
wore.

Elladan knew well the internal conflict his brother had fought during the past hours,
but both knew Gimli's condition was much too grave for the elf to try anything.
Fearing he might still decide to take the risk, Elladan had sent Elrohir to look after
Arwen and her son, hoping she would calm his distraught mind.

Setting down the bowl, Elladan's eyes fell on Legolas and he could not suppress a
strong feeling of unease. The golden haired elf was sitting on the bed, his hands
clasping Gimli's. His head was bowed and his eyes closed as if listening closely to
something only he could hear. Even from a few feet away Elladan could feel the
strong hold Legolas' mind had on Gimli, as if offering his own strength to the dwarf.
He knew Legolas' mother to be a great healer, and surely her son had inherited
some small measure of her gift. But he was not trained in using it, and what he was
doing now was no more than a clumsy try in using powers he had never learned how
to wield.

A cold grip clenched Elladan's heart as he realized that if Legolas possessed
Elrohir's ability, he would not have hesitated a moment to risk using it.

He dipped a cloth into the cold water, wringing it out and placing it on the dwarf's
brow once more. It evoked a whimper of protest and a soft stirring that broke Legolas'
concentration, to Elladan's great relief. He used another drenched cloth to rub down
Gimli's torso, feeling the heat emanating from the dwarf. Legolas' hands restrained
Gimli's arms as he fought them, his feverish brain not understanding what it was that
caused the sensation of pain whenever his burning skin was touched. He whimpered
in pain when his wounded arm protested the movement and suddenly went limp
again, his strength spent. His breathing was harsh but he fought no more even when
Legolas joined Elladan in his task, only moans of pain occasionally escaping him.

Casting a short look at the golden haired elf, Elladan could see the compassion and
fear in his eyes and wondered how much longer he would be able to maintain his
calm façade.