A/N: Well, it's official... I am genuinely frightened of my reviewers. I
was *really* not expecting such passionate responses! Thankyou all very
much, though you did scare me - and I am sorry this took so long to post: I
had an extraordinarily large amount of trouble getting to a computer... the
Star Wars fans of my other story have suffered more, however! At a very
crucial part in the story, as well...
Award for the most vicious reviewer goes to Shauna... this was merely a part of her lovely, heart-felt review: 'You LEFT IT WITH HIM NOT BREATHING!? How could you! Geez, it almost seems like you are trying to KILL him!? What is wrong with you!? You better make him start breathing right at the beginning of the next one because by goodness if you don't. You better be prepared to suffer my wrath! I will show you how much pain you caused by killing him!' etc. etc.
Nice, eh? I doubt I'll be doing a cliffhanger like *that* ever again... And so, with that appreciative review in mind, a nice loooong chapter for you all...
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"You must do something, Fienngil!" Arianduil cried, terror making his fair voice hard and almost angry, his blue eyes accusing and wild - he had no idea how to go about making Legolas draw breath and so, though he knew that Morningstar knew about as much as he did, he looked to his eldest sibling to make things alright again, as Fienngil had done when they were all small elflings. All he could do was hold Legolas' golden head in his lap and pray to Iluvatar.
"I know not what!" Fienngil yelled back, running a hand frantically through his mane of light brown hair as his quick mind sped through possible courses of action he could take. Always logical was Fienngil's mind, but at that moment he could find nothing - no fact or reason - to comfort him. Then, something flashed in his skull, "*Esla*!" he called, but found the Elven princess already running swiftly towards them, leaving her snowy- white Lom behind to blend in with the harsh landscape about them. She had the most healing ability between them all, having been taught a little by her mother before Liennia had left them - after the queen's death, Esladiya had lost her heart, and could not bear to continue on her tutorials with anyone other than her mother. Yet, even so, what little healing she did know, could now save their youngest brother.
She fell to her knees beside them, flushing up a large amount of snow as she did so. Her slender hands moved like lightening over the deathly still body of Legolas - the two brothers were unsure as to what she was doing, but they said nothing. The natural instinct in Esladiya had taken over, and she knew exactly what was needed, though her grey eyes were wide with fear as she did so. "Fienngil," she instructed quickly, her normally soft voice quick and authorative, "place your hands in a fist over his chest like this and after I breathe into him, you should press his chest five times." It was a testiment to how frightened Fienngil was that he obeyed his young sister without question, something he would almost never have done under normal circumstances.
"Arianduil, angle his head upwards... and lay him flat." The elder twin did so reluctantly - he now had nothing he could do to help, and so stood without use, watching. "Do not be frightened," cried Esladiya to Fienngil, seeing how carefully he pressed upon his brother's thin chest, trying not to injure the smaller elf. "You are trying to make him start breathing again- he needs your full weight behind the push!" Fienngil nodded, and pressed all the harder, strong arms locked - hoping he would not break the archer's ribs in the process - Esladiya pinched Legolas' nose and, taking a deep inhale, tried to force as much life into the motionless body as possible. They kept on and on in their efforts, determined not to lose their little leaf.
After one agonising moment of torture and work, in which Arianduil almost began despairing, rocking back and forth on his heels as he stood with Ithilmir, who was calming the horses, eyes wide and fixed upon the heart- stopping scene before him - their efforts finally seemed to have paid off. Legolas' body managed to take in a tiny sip of air, chest shuddering and choking, and then another without help, though his eyes still remained stubbornly shut.
Fienngil withdrew his hands from the warrior's chest as though burnt, grey- blue eyes searching wildly for another motion, and Esladiya halted in her administrations... but they had not dreamed it, and Legolas again managed breathed in unaided. As she realised it had not been a false hope, a relieved yet shaky grin took to Esladiya's features and she glanced at Fienngil as she brushed a golden curl from her brow. Her elder brother, however, had his proud head bowed, light brown hair falling in front of his face so she was unable to see his expression - he seemed to have deflated visibly, the frightening prospect he had faced of losing Legolas nearly toppling him.
The events had had a similar effect upon Arianduil, who went at once to his younger twin, still sat holding Aragorn upon Sorontar, and laid his dark brown head upon Andariun's knee, trying to draw strength. Andariun answered this silent plea by stroking the short, dark brown curls of his brother sympathetically in an attempt to comfort him, as was always the way between the two twins. Ithilmir could not look at anyone and he busied himself with the horses. "Now it is obvious even more that we must get them back home, if they are to stand a chance at surviving," the young lore-student said quietly, soft voice anxious and yet starry-grey eyes unable to meet his siblings'. "We must go now."
"Aye," said Fienngil with a sigh, lifting his head once more. Arianduil started forward on shaky legs as if to help, but was waved back by the eldest warrior as Fienngil lifted Legolas tenderly and with ease, cradeling the struggling body close. "Im dentor, Dian Las [I'm here, Little Leaf]," he mumbled lovingly, hoping that wherever Legolas was, he would be able to hear his voice and be comforted.
The youngest prince's shattered right arm hung loosely at an odd angle, and Esladiya gently picked up the useless limb and laid it across Legolas' belly, trying not to cause any more damage. With some difficulty, they got Legolas and Fienngil onto the same horse - the elder brother being thoroughly unable to think about shifting the responsibility of Legolas' care onto anyone else, seeing as they had so very nearly lost him the moment before, which suited Arianduil fine just then, he felt himself far too worried to be much good to anyone - and they set off once more, hoping with all their hearts that they would not have to be put through such an ordeal again. And that they'd be in time.
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"Adar."
The softly spoken word seeped through into Thranduil's consciousness and drew him from his dismal thoughts. He looked up, and found that Tusinduil was gazing anxiously at him, greeny-grey eyes searching, and that Selmanias had taken a step forward, also staring at the King. Even Aricesla - still telling everyone not to fret and that it was probably nothing, yet who had taken refuge in the Throne Room for reasons she was keeping to herself - was looking up from her book at him, one dark brow raised. Thranduil realised a little sheepishly that he had not heard a word of what had been spoken to him for the past ten minutes or so. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" he asked his eldest, leaf-shaped ears tinging pink a little in his embarrassment.
Selmanias chuckled when he realised his friend had only been not listening, and that his considerable worrying was not harming his health. Tusinduil was about to say again how he had reckoned they be back by now, when the oaken doors to the Throne Room swung open without heed to reveal a harried Ithilmir, which only meant one thing...
"They have come!" cried Tusinduil, seeing his brother's pale face, not knowing wheather to be relieved, happy, worried or horrified at this notion.
The King leapt rather un-Royally from his throne, and dashed out of the room, solely intent upon getting to his two lost children, those children with him flame-of-Smaug-hot on his heels. They ran as swiftly as they were able till they reached the room where the lost soles had been laid, and were beginning to be treated. What Thranduil saw did shock him, and he faltered for a second.
Aragorn, the only man Thranduil could say he truly cared for, was a pale blue sort of hue. The young ranger's thin, lifeless body was being bundled up by the Mirkwood healers in as many blankets and layers as was physically possible as an elf in the background began running a steaming hot bath, desperate to bring his body back to a livable temperature as quickly as possible. The man was dark hair was soaking wet and plastered to his scalp, and Thranduil could almost feel the coldness radiating from him, could almost visibly see it. Valar knew whether he'd be able to survive at all. And Legolas...
Thranduil felt his breath catch in his throat as he looked upon the still, deathly-still body of his youngest child. Greenleaf was not being swathed in blankets, and the King puzzled at this for a moment, before he saw the gruesome wound afflicted to the archer's right shoulder and arm. It was plain that Legolas had lost a dangerous amount of blood through the injury, and if one added the freezing temperatures, the amount of time they'd been stranded in a Mirkwood winter, and who knew what other complications...
Thranduil felt a gentle hand upon his elbow, attempting to steer him from the room, and turned his dark head to see Selmanias gazing at him, with sympathy gracing his silver eyes but an urgency there also. "Thranduil," he said quietly to his best friend, calling him by the name usually reserved only for others of the Royal family, but in this time of need the Head Guard took no note of formality - he was speaking to the King as the close friend he was. "We have to let the healers do their jobs." Wiseoak was torn, and he did not answer for a moment, watching as the youngest prince steadily disappeared under an increasing number of healers, all doing whatever they could to save him. But he knew why Selmanias was doing what he was doing, and so allowed himself to be pulled away from the heart- stopping scene before him, allowed himself to be pulled away from two of the beings he loved the most, and deposited in a room down the hall, along with all his other children.
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Tusinduil thought himself to be going steadily mad. He feared if he had to wait in the same small room that he and his family had been waiting in for Valar knew how many long hours, with no news still on either Aragorn or Legolas, he might just kill someone.
He stopped pacing the length of the room to cast sad grey-green eyes across the other forlorn members imprisoned along with him: Aricesla, Niandias and Evylenn sat together - it had been a definitive blow to the youngest princess to discover that not all would be well, and there *had* been something to worry about after all, and so it was no wonder Aricesla leaned into Niandias so close. Evylenn had finally been told, and was sitting with her hand in Niandias', hazel eyes wide and vacant. Tusinduil had not wanted her to know about the disappearence earlier in case all actually *was* going to be well, and it had all merely been a large misunderstanding, but once they had learned that it was not, the young elf-maiden had been the first to have been told... she was Legolas' best friend, after all. The prince's and Aragorn's other close friends had not been allowed into this inner sanctum by the healers just yet, for it was feared there would be too many people, but Tusinduil knew that they all stood in the courtyard of the palace, waiting for information, along with many others of the realm who were simply concerned for their prince, loyal subjects without a doubt. It was touching to know that so many cared for the Royal family.
Fienngil stood by the window, too nervous to sit down. He kept running a hand through his long, thick locks, rubbing his face and then sighing. Under normal circumstances, Tusinduil would have chided him half-heartedly, for it was an annoying habit the Second Prince had when anxious or saddened - and it drove their father up the wall. But Thranduil was simply sitting quietly alongside the twins, who both looked a little lost. Andariun and Arianduil did not deal with worry well - Tusinduil could remember the long days of waiting when their mother had been poisoned... the twins had very nearly fallen into the same mortal illness that had nearly claimed Legolas after Liennia's death. The two stealth-warriors were not used to their large hearts hurting, and it was all far too painful for them to deal with. Ithilmir was sitting nearby, reading a book - he also did not do well with anxiousness, and so tried to escape by immersing himself in worlds not his own, trying to distance himself from that which hurt him, and a pale Esladiya kept shooting concerned glances his way, trying to guage whether he was upset enough to embrace or not.
Tusinduil shook his dark head again, and resumed pacing, heaving a sigh along with Fienngil as he did so. Suddenly, the oaken-door to the room opened once more, and a bedraggled healer - the Head Healer, Felrofin - entered. The Royal family, Esladiya and Selmanias leapt almost as one to their feet, nearly closing in a threatening circle around the healer. "What news?" asked Tusinduil harshly, before he could help himself, his nerves too sharpened for protocol. He could not for the life of him figure out the expression of the elf he faced.
"We have managed to warm Estel up, and his body is back at a normal temperature," said Felrofin with a half-smile as the Royal family all heaved sighs of relief. However, it seemed that this was one of the only pieces of good news the healer had to divulge. "But, he is now battling with a very high fever, and it shakes him constantly."
"W-will he be alright?" asked Aricesla, deep blue eyes wide yet hesitant.
Felrofin paused, "We have pots of Athelas simmering in his room, m'lady, and if he makes it through the night, he should make a full recovery." All present had heard the emphasised *if*, and though they were comforted by the fact that Aragorn was no longer as cold as ice, it worried them that he should be so ill because of his prolonged exposure.
"And what of Legolas?" Thranduil asked, frowning in his anxiousness. He felt his heart thud dully against his chest when a look of sorrow seemed to pass across Felrofin's wise face. Surely, nothing could have happened to his little leaf?
"The prince... well, his condition is more complicated. We were able, after much work - the reason it has taken so long for news to reach you - to remove all splinters of bone from the injury, and set the limb to heal... we treated it with Emsill and Relroot paste to try to aid the torn flesh and skin to repair itself. We have stitched the wound up as best we can, and that is really all we can do." Felrofin shifted uncomfortably, but not once did his dark eyes leave the Royal family's, and he continued, "*But*, Prince Legolas had already lost a large amount of blood, and the temperatures and conditions he was exposed to did not help... I am afraid that his body has almost completely shut down on him to protect itself." At Evylenn's choked breath and the Royal family's horrified expressions, he was hastened to add, "Yet we have managed to avoid his body *continuing* to shut down, and so his condition is fairly stable... I will be honest, though, and tell you that he already has stopped breathing once or twice, and is likely to continue to do so until we can contact someone to draw him from the state."
"Wait, can't you do it?" asked Andariun, confused that not everything was being done to save his youngest brother.
The Head Healer favoured the warrior with a sympathetic look, "I lack the talent," he admitted softly. "Only healers of great skill are able to reverse this process... It is my suggestion that Lord Elrond of Imladris should be sent for."
"We shall do it!" Arianduil offered both his and his brother's services up immediately - anything he could do to help was welcome by him. And so it was agreed that they travel as fast as they could to Rivendell to call upon Thranduil's good friend, Elrond, to try and help them.
As Tusinduil followed the rest of his family into Aragorn's room, where they were destined to wait for a long time it seemed, he thought about what was happening to his littlest brother. Because Elves were such wonderous beings, and it was such a priviledge for Middle-earth to have them gracing it's lands, a process was inbuilt into their bodies which was their body's main defence system. In order to protect the precious spirit within, an Elven body would close and halt all it's other systems to try and prevent more damage being done to them. Yet it seemed this intelligent idea was flawed: many Elves actually did die because only an extremely skilled healer was able to bring them back from this self-induced state, and eventually, if all the systems in the body were shut down for long enough, an elf could not quite recover from it. It was a harsh truth, one that Tusinduil did not fully understand... and it scared him.
He took solace in finding Aragorn looking a little better, and the soothing, caressing aroma of Athelas did much to calm him. The ranger was no longer a pallid, terrifyingly-blue colour, yet now a sheen of sweat covered his forehead and chest, and moisture clumped his dark locks together at the base of his neck. His stubbled cheeks were flushed a deep red, and small shakes and tremors racked his lithe frame as he twisted in his sleep. Nevertheless, he did look better, though Aricesla remarked that she could feel the heat coming off him from where she stood. Tusinduil sighed, and settled down to wait with his family as the twins and his father left, the twins hastening to call upon Elrond, and his father being led to the room where Legolas was lying, upon the brink of death - the Royal sons and daughters had been advised not to go see their brother just yet, but had been assured that they would be able to soon.
Tusinduil, wringing out a cool cloth of it's excess moisture and pressing it gently upon Aragorn's flaming forehead, pushing back the damp, dark locks tenderly, hoped that soon would be soon enough.
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Aragorn could not focus his mind. Swirling red and orange images filled his skull, confusing him to no end. He wanted to detach himself from the intensity of his own brain, and struggled to do so. Slowly, he began to feel something other than flames licking the sides of his body and began to see other things than a thick black fog, a smoke screen burned through with dancing fire. Slowly he began to notice a white sort of light reaching him through his eyelids, which he also noticed were closed and leaden-heavy. He noticed for the first time the horrid aches in his tired legs, the pins and needles in his arms and the soreness of his head.
He drew his closest hand to his face and, eyes still stubbornly closed, rubbed at it, feeling more than a few day's growth across his rough chin and jaw. He moaned quietly without really meaning to, and struggled to open his eyes. Light rushed to meet him, though it did not hurt him - it was a nice sort of light, warm and welcoming. Lifting his dark head only a little, Aragorn realised he was in a bed, a soft bed that seemed to caress every curve in his weary body, surrounded by cool sheets. He was warm, but not uncomfortably so, and he was surrounded by people who loved him.
Surveying the room silently, Aragorn also realised that none of those in his company had seemed to notice that he was awake just yet. Sitting closest to him was Tusinduil Grownoak, and looked as though he had been resting with his elbows propped up on the bed, except at that moment the Crown Prince was turned to his closest sister, Niandias Whiteblossom, talking about nothing in particular with the eldest princess. Watching them faintly, a smile gracing her beautiful face, was Esladiya Sunbeam, curled up in the plush armchair at the foot of Aragorn's bed with her knees drawn up to her chest and her deep-red skirts billowing out about her. Sitting upon the floor and leaning back against the chair, reading a book but chuckling softly at the arguments taking place over him, was Ithilmir Moonjewel, and Aricesla Evensun was sat upon the deep windowsill at the far side of the room, gazing out at the forest and not really taking any note of anything else.
"Well, this is a happy little party, I must say - all for me?" Aragorn managed to find the strength to speak aloud, even jest. He watched with satisfaction as his friends all reacted. The all leapt up and rushed at him, their joy at finding him awake evident upon their ageless faces.
"Estel!" cried Tusinduil, grinning as happily as a child would, not looking at all like the noble elf set to inherit a forest that he was at all. "How do you fare, mellon nin?"
"I feel better," Aragorn grinned in return. It suddenly came to him that he had no real recollection of how he had come to be back at the Mirkwood palace - how on earth had he got back here? "How long have I been out?" he asked.
"You've been caught by fever for two days straight, now," replied Aricesla softly, and suddenly the strain of the past few days seemed to show in the dark-blue depths of her eyes and the taughtness of her fair features. "There was a moment there that we didn't think you would wake."
Aragorn realised how worried she must have been about him - the Evensun was like his little sister, which was an extremely odd notion if one considered how long she had been walking Middle-earth before him. "I am well," he assured her, trying to ease her nerves just a little... but he could see that such assurances were not working, and so he held out his left arm weakly, motioning an embrace. The Last Princess quickly darted forward and hugged him eagerly, finally convinced that the ranger really was fine. She pulled away, and he spared a glance around the room - he saw many of the Royal family missing... then he suddenly understood. "What of Legolas? Where is he?"
The look of sorrow that passed over the room scared him half to death. Surely not... his heart seemed to stop, and his starry-grey eyes widened. "No..." he stuttered, unable to comprehend what was his worst nightmare.
Niandias, wise in the feelings of others, was the first to understand what he thought, "Nay! Estel, he is not dead- "
"Yet," added Ithilmir quietly, in an uncharacteristic display of hopelessness. He looked down to his feet guiltily at the sharp looks sent his way by his brother and sisters.
"Well, w-what...?" Aragorn was bewildered and frightened. His heart slid all the way down to his bare feet as Tusinduil explained Legolas' foreboding condition - surely there was no hope to be found? But when he was told that the twinsYoungoak and Deepstream had been sent to get his father, his heart lifted a little: his father always made everything all right... but would he be able to this time? "I have to see him," the headstrong ranger stated, and began to weakly push aside his blankets and sheets, struggling to get out of bed.
"But you can barely even stand!" Esladiya protested, concerned as always by the wellfare of her human friend.
"I don't care!" cried Aragorn, slate-grey eyes ablaze with desperation. He sat up straight, and battled against the strong wave of dizziness that washed over him: he *had* to see Legolas - to see what he had done to his best friend. For he believed it to be all his own fault that they had been landed in such situations, and such consequences had occurred. He waved off the Second Princess' helping hand, determined to get to Legolas.
"Wait," said Tusinduil, not wishing the young ranger to sustain any more damage than was neccessary, but realising that Aragorn would not merely give in so easily. "I have an idea." He cast a faintly amused, greeny-grey glance at Aragorn, "But it might mean a little loss of dignity on your part, mellon nin." There was a hidden question in this statement.
The sharp ranger just looked up at the prince defiantely, jaw firm and eyes burning. "I have to see him," he shrugged, trying to get across his desperation, his frustration at the shakiness of his limbs. The Crown Prince, however, did seem to understand him, because Grownoak simply nodded silently, leaned down, and quickly scooped up the thin young man into his arms and began to make his way out of the room.
Aragorn tried hard to hide his surprise at being carried like a small child, especially by a being no bigger or stronger looking than himself. It sort of bruised his masculinity and ego to have someone who he had persisted in calling a 'weak, prissy elf-princeling' carry him so easily. He obviously didn't hide his thoughts well, as Tusinduil noticed his look and raised one dark eyebrow, a sly grin taking over his face, "I did say, Estel," he chided quietly, sounding scarily like Legolas.
The ranger did not bother to argue with him as they were nearing Legolas' room. Aragorn took note when they entered how sombre everyone looked: Fienngil was stood tensely by the open bay windows, strong body striking a silhouette against the bright light, a hand to his face; Selmanias the Head Guard was leaning wearily back against the opposite wall, staring at the ceiling. King Thranduil sat in the bench at one side of the bed, dark head held in his hands, and the very lovely Evylenn sat at the other side, her large hazel eyes never straying from the form who occupied it.
For in the bed, lay Legolas, as still as if there were a death-hold over him.
The prince was so pale he seemed to fade away into his sheets, closed eyes dark and the orbs sunk into his skull as though he had been punched. His long golden hair had been plaited so that one single plait fell over his shoulder, that is, the shoulder that wasn't bound to the elbow by clean, white bandages and laid in a sling across his barely-moving chest. Evylenn clung onto his left hand as though it were her only lifeline.
Aragorn felt his breath knocked out of him: never had he seen his best friend looking so ill, and his heart flamed within his chest as though consumed by fire. He motioned for Tusinduil to set him down, and was able to stand on his own feet, though he wobbled a little. Evylenn glanced up, and the moment she saw Aragorn she shot up as an arrow from a bow and in a second was with him, pulling him into an embrace of thanks, smile wide and eyes shining. Aragorn hugged her back readily, already calmed by her mere scent - the auror that surrounded the elf-maiden - she had always been able to make him feel better, lighter at heart somehow. They drew strength from one another, and he knew that she and himself would be having a nice, long talk later on. He felt a hand upon his shoulder and turned to find Fienngil smiling down upon him and nodding, and indication of his relief.
"Thought you'd never make it, human," the Second Prince joked, and recieved a slap to the chest from Evylenn, who frowned darkly upon such a choice theme for humour. Fienngil merely rolled his eyes at her to Aragorn, who chuckled weakly and swiftly avoided her darkly-flashing eyes as well. But in doing so, he met the hard, deep slatey-blue eyes of Thranduil Wiseoak. The King had stood, and was now looking at Aragorn, stern face giving away nothing as to what he was feeling. Aragorn could not, for the life of him, figure out what was running through the dark-haired elf's mind, and it was a little scary. Fienngil and Tusinduil, howevet, knew implicitly what such a look meant, having grown up with such confusing signals. "Eeep," said Fienngil, "We're leaving." At Aragorn's startled, helpless look, Morningstar grinned a little, laying a hand again on his slim shoulder, "Don't worry, Estel: you've survived a Mirkwood winter, you can survive this." And he left with his brother, Evylenn and Selmanias, shutting the door behind them.
For just a moment, nothing happened, and Thranduil continued to stare Aragorn right in the eye, giving absolutely nothing away, not even a hint. Aragorn himself was petrified, the tension being almost too much for his already-fragile system - yet he liked to think he showed no outward fear, and that the shaking in his legs was merely a result of standing up for the first time in a few days. He could not know that Thranduil was so relieved that Aragorn was even alive that he could not speak, and his face was simply set in it's natural position, which seemed to be one of a stern manner. The young ranger thought that the King blamed him for the condition of his youngest son, as he did with himself, and immediately jumped to the conclusion that Thranduil was enraged with him - a position he most decidedly did *not* wish to be in.
It was a surprise to him, then, when Thranduil came at him quickly: Aragorn took a frightened half-step backwards, before he was pulled into a tight, breath-imparing, embrace, his face pressed close against the King's chest. It was such a surreal moment for him, and he was still stunned into submission when the mighty elf pulled him away to hold him at arm's length and smiled warmly at him. "How are you feeling?" asked the King kindly, grey-blue eyes warm and sparkling.
Aragorn couldn't even string together two words, let alone voice his opinions on the unexpected outcome.
Thranduil took this as an indication of Aragorn's health, and his smile swiftly faded away to an expression of concern. "Estel? I wonder... has your fever lessened at all?" And, seeking an answer, he laid a cool hand gently upon Aragorn's forehead, he frowned at his findings. "Hmmm, still warm, ion [son] - I shall have to keep my eye on you." The ranger felt a giddy laughter bubbling up inside of him, and he breathed harshly in an effort not to let it explode from his chest, eyes wide and dark brows raised, a smile beginning to spread itself across his rugged features. The King noticed his look, and peered closer into the young man's face, and asked (with, apparently, all seriousness), "Estel, is it possible you lost your mind out there in the forest?"
That was the final straw. Sagging in relief, Aragorn lay his head upon Thranduil's strong chest and hugged him in the self-same unabashed way he had when he was still a young child, wrapping his arms as tight as possible around his waist. The King, somehow sensing Aragorn's need for comfort after his ordeal, merely wrapped his arm's around the ranger's slim back without saying anything other than: "Well, you did knock that skull of your's about a bit... better to be safe than sorry...". Which made Aragorn laugh outright despite himself, and hold him all the more closer.
After a moment, they broke apart and looked upon Legolas. "Is he *very* ill, My King?" asked Aragorn after another moment of silence, trying not to let the extent of his worry seep through into his words, yet failing most miserably. A horrid slab of guilt had formed in the pit of his stomach, and he foresaw that it would not be leaving him anytime soon.
Thranduil favoured him with another one of his familiar, elusive-to-discern gazes. "I shall be truthful, Estel, and tell you that it could go either way," he said softly.
Aragorn's proud shoulders slumped a little at this foreboding statement. He did not wish to tell the mighty King and loving father that *he* was to blame for Legolas' state, so instead he swallowed and asked, "How long will it take for my father to come?" Aragorn, though now a young man at seventeen years of age, held the firm belief, as he had done all his life, that Lord Elrond was capable of making everything better, *anything* better. It was a decidedly human notion, which he held, that Elves were infalible, that they could not be injured... and Aragorn was having difficulty coming to grips with the confronting reality that they were no such thing, and he might actually lose Legolas.
"The boys set off the night you were found, which was over two days ago." The ranger turned to Thranduil. He couldn't believe it! That meant, only if Arianduil and Andariun had been riding with the wind behind them and their steeds at their fastest pace, they would only just have reached Imladris! How long would it take for his father to get here and bring Legolas back to them all? Aragorn knew the answer: too long. Thranduil saw his disappointment, and laid a hand upon his shoulder, "Do not fret, ion: Legolas is as tough as old boots... he'll be all right, you see." He was speaking more for the human's sake than with real truth behind the words. While Legolas did continually surprise them all by recovering swiftly from fairly-serious injuries over and over again and bouncing back, this time Thranduil wasn't at all sure they *would* be all right.
Nevertheless, he sat with Aragorn upon the cushioned bench beside Legolas' bed, and talked warmly with one another for many hours as they usually did when Aragorn came to Mirkwood, keeping the demons away, until finally the King looked down to find the young ranger fast asleep, head resting lightly upon the elf's shoulder, the day's stresses and his previous condition getting the better of him. Thranduil smiled softly and, reaching out, pulled a blanket over them both, laying his own dark head back upon the top of the bench, he let his eyes drift steadily out of focus. And his dreams were filled with images of Legolas waking.
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Thoughts? Advice? Abuse? Let me know and I shall take it all on board. Thankyou very much again to everyone who reviewed the last offering, and I hope this one moderately satisfied you... notice the absence of a cliffhanger? You proud o' me? lol YOU BELTING PEOPLE HAVE PUSHED ME OVER THE 100 MARK IN REVIEWS! I think we ALL deserve a round of applause... couldn't literally have done it without y'all! Thanking you! And also thankyou to everyone who let me know they read Vignettes - I'm guessing their trying to tell me to shut up, yeah? Yeah...
Jebb: The fire/flood/minor disaster area of Aragorn's in the West Wing of the Palace is a very interesting notion, and I shall definately consider it... but I reckon I've already got something in mind for the ending. Maybe the snowball fight, maybe not.... I do like to have and make references in all my stories... I like 'em all to have a little connection between them.
Gwyn: I do the exact same thing you do... I rejoice in stories where people are hurt, not breathing, dead.... heh heh, that's not sick, is it?
Templa Otmena: Again thankyou so very *very* much. You seem to be the most fervent supporter of Legolas' family, and I really do appreciate it. Grin.
Barbara Kennedy: Welcome! I'm glad you decided to review and let me know you're here!
Isadora: You should have spoken up before! I so didn't know you were here! Thankyou for letting me know.
Beth: You get funniest reviewer reward. For everyone else who has no idea what I'm taking about... good ol' Beth, here, has been away from ff.n for a while, and caught up with my stories recently, including this one. And then proceeded to REVIEW EACH AND EVERY CHAPTER! It took some guts, but she did it, and I found it hilarious to see your attitude change as you read each one, Beth. And thankyou so very VERY much for the review you left for me in Vignettes... it was sooo kind.
Mirfaen: I think I've found my talent - being able to give my readers 'strokes and heart attacks at the end of every chapter'! And as for more fellowship stuff... well, I've got a couple of ideas that you might enjoy... don't know yet, but I so enjoy writing them that it's hard not to imagine me doing more, isn't it?
Thankyou again to everyone else who reviewed, I couldn't fit you all here, but I know you're out there!
Award for the most vicious reviewer goes to Shauna... this was merely a part of her lovely, heart-felt review: 'You LEFT IT WITH HIM NOT BREATHING!? How could you! Geez, it almost seems like you are trying to KILL him!? What is wrong with you!? You better make him start breathing right at the beginning of the next one because by goodness if you don't. You better be prepared to suffer my wrath! I will show you how much pain you caused by killing him!' etc. etc.
Nice, eh? I doubt I'll be doing a cliffhanger like *that* ever again... And so, with that appreciative review in mind, a nice loooong chapter for you all...
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"You must do something, Fienngil!" Arianduil cried, terror making his fair voice hard and almost angry, his blue eyes accusing and wild - he had no idea how to go about making Legolas draw breath and so, though he knew that Morningstar knew about as much as he did, he looked to his eldest sibling to make things alright again, as Fienngil had done when they were all small elflings. All he could do was hold Legolas' golden head in his lap and pray to Iluvatar.
"I know not what!" Fienngil yelled back, running a hand frantically through his mane of light brown hair as his quick mind sped through possible courses of action he could take. Always logical was Fienngil's mind, but at that moment he could find nothing - no fact or reason - to comfort him. Then, something flashed in his skull, "*Esla*!" he called, but found the Elven princess already running swiftly towards them, leaving her snowy- white Lom behind to blend in with the harsh landscape about them. She had the most healing ability between them all, having been taught a little by her mother before Liennia had left them - after the queen's death, Esladiya had lost her heart, and could not bear to continue on her tutorials with anyone other than her mother. Yet, even so, what little healing she did know, could now save their youngest brother.
She fell to her knees beside them, flushing up a large amount of snow as she did so. Her slender hands moved like lightening over the deathly still body of Legolas - the two brothers were unsure as to what she was doing, but they said nothing. The natural instinct in Esladiya had taken over, and she knew exactly what was needed, though her grey eyes were wide with fear as she did so. "Fienngil," she instructed quickly, her normally soft voice quick and authorative, "place your hands in a fist over his chest like this and after I breathe into him, you should press his chest five times." It was a testiment to how frightened Fienngil was that he obeyed his young sister without question, something he would almost never have done under normal circumstances.
"Arianduil, angle his head upwards... and lay him flat." The elder twin did so reluctantly - he now had nothing he could do to help, and so stood without use, watching. "Do not be frightened," cried Esladiya to Fienngil, seeing how carefully he pressed upon his brother's thin chest, trying not to injure the smaller elf. "You are trying to make him start breathing again- he needs your full weight behind the push!" Fienngil nodded, and pressed all the harder, strong arms locked - hoping he would not break the archer's ribs in the process - Esladiya pinched Legolas' nose and, taking a deep inhale, tried to force as much life into the motionless body as possible. They kept on and on in their efforts, determined not to lose their little leaf.
After one agonising moment of torture and work, in which Arianduil almost began despairing, rocking back and forth on his heels as he stood with Ithilmir, who was calming the horses, eyes wide and fixed upon the heart- stopping scene before him - their efforts finally seemed to have paid off. Legolas' body managed to take in a tiny sip of air, chest shuddering and choking, and then another without help, though his eyes still remained stubbornly shut.
Fienngil withdrew his hands from the warrior's chest as though burnt, grey- blue eyes searching wildly for another motion, and Esladiya halted in her administrations... but they had not dreamed it, and Legolas again managed breathed in unaided. As she realised it had not been a false hope, a relieved yet shaky grin took to Esladiya's features and she glanced at Fienngil as she brushed a golden curl from her brow. Her elder brother, however, had his proud head bowed, light brown hair falling in front of his face so she was unable to see his expression - he seemed to have deflated visibly, the frightening prospect he had faced of losing Legolas nearly toppling him.
The events had had a similar effect upon Arianduil, who went at once to his younger twin, still sat holding Aragorn upon Sorontar, and laid his dark brown head upon Andariun's knee, trying to draw strength. Andariun answered this silent plea by stroking the short, dark brown curls of his brother sympathetically in an attempt to comfort him, as was always the way between the two twins. Ithilmir could not look at anyone and he busied himself with the horses. "Now it is obvious even more that we must get them back home, if they are to stand a chance at surviving," the young lore-student said quietly, soft voice anxious and yet starry-grey eyes unable to meet his siblings'. "We must go now."
"Aye," said Fienngil with a sigh, lifting his head once more. Arianduil started forward on shaky legs as if to help, but was waved back by the eldest warrior as Fienngil lifted Legolas tenderly and with ease, cradeling the struggling body close. "Im dentor, Dian Las [I'm here, Little Leaf]," he mumbled lovingly, hoping that wherever Legolas was, he would be able to hear his voice and be comforted.
The youngest prince's shattered right arm hung loosely at an odd angle, and Esladiya gently picked up the useless limb and laid it across Legolas' belly, trying not to cause any more damage. With some difficulty, they got Legolas and Fienngil onto the same horse - the elder brother being thoroughly unable to think about shifting the responsibility of Legolas' care onto anyone else, seeing as they had so very nearly lost him the moment before, which suited Arianduil fine just then, he felt himself far too worried to be much good to anyone - and they set off once more, hoping with all their hearts that they would not have to be put through such an ordeal again. And that they'd be in time.
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"Adar."
The softly spoken word seeped through into Thranduil's consciousness and drew him from his dismal thoughts. He looked up, and found that Tusinduil was gazing anxiously at him, greeny-grey eyes searching, and that Selmanias had taken a step forward, also staring at the King. Even Aricesla - still telling everyone not to fret and that it was probably nothing, yet who had taken refuge in the Throne Room for reasons she was keeping to herself - was looking up from her book at him, one dark brow raised. Thranduil realised a little sheepishly that he had not heard a word of what had been spoken to him for the past ten minutes or so. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" he asked his eldest, leaf-shaped ears tinging pink a little in his embarrassment.
Selmanias chuckled when he realised his friend had only been not listening, and that his considerable worrying was not harming his health. Tusinduil was about to say again how he had reckoned they be back by now, when the oaken doors to the Throne Room swung open without heed to reveal a harried Ithilmir, which only meant one thing...
"They have come!" cried Tusinduil, seeing his brother's pale face, not knowing wheather to be relieved, happy, worried or horrified at this notion.
The King leapt rather un-Royally from his throne, and dashed out of the room, solely intent upon getting to his two lost children, those children with him flame-of-Smaug-hot on his heels. They ran as swiftly as they were able till they reached the room where the lost soles had been laid, and were beginning to be treated. What Thranduil saw did shock him, and he faltered for a second.
Aragorn, the only man Thranduil could say he truly cared for, was a pale blue sort of hue. The young ranger's thin, lifeless body was being bundled up by the Mirkwood healers in as many blankets and layers as was physically possible as an elf in the background began running a steaming hot bath, desperate to bring his body back to a livable temperature as quickly as possible. The man was dark hair was soaking wet and plastered to his scalp, and Thranduil could almost feel the coldness radiating from him, could almost visibly see it. Valar knew whether he'd be able to survive at all. And Legolas...
Thranduil felt his breath catch in his throat as he looked upon the still, deathly-still body of his youngest child. Greenleaf was not being swathed in blankets, and the King puzzled at this for a moment, before he saw the gruesome wound afflicted to the archer's right shoulder and arm. It was plain that Legolas had lost a dangerous amount of blood through the injury, and if one added the freezing temperatures, the amount of time they'd been stranded in a Mirkwood winter, and who knew what other complications...
Thranduil felt a gentle hand upon his elbow, attempting to steer him from the room, and turned his dark head to see Selmanias gazing at him, with sympathy gracing his silver eyes but an urgency there also. "Thranduil," he said quietly to his best friend, calling him by the name usually reserved only for others of the Royal family, but in this time of need the Head Guard took no note of formality - he was speaking to the King as the close friend he was. "We have to let the healers do their jobs." Wiseoak was torn, and he did not answer for a moment, watching as the youngest prince steadily disappeared under an increasing number of healers, all doing whatever they could to save him. But he knew why Selmanias was doing what he was doing, and so allowed himself to be pulled away from the heart- stopping scene before him, allowed himself to be pulled away from two of the beings he loved the most, and deposited in a room down the hall, along with all his other children.
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Tusinduil thought himself to be going steadily mad. He feared if he had to wait in the same small room that he and his family had been waiting in for Valar knew how many long hours, with no news still on either Aragorn or Legolas, he might just kill someone.
He stopped pacing the length of the room to cast sad grey-green eyes across the other forlorn members imprisoned along with him: Aricesla, Niandias and Evylenn sat together - it had been a definitive blow to the youngest princess to discover that not all would be well, and there *had* been something to worry about after all, and so it was no wonder Aricesla leaned into Niandias so close. Evylenn had finally been told, and was sitting with her hand in Niandias', hazel eyes wide and vacant. Tusinduil had not wanted her to know about the disappearence earlier in case all actually *was* going to be well, and it had all merely been a large misunderstanding, but once they had learned that it was not, the young elf-maiden had been the first to have been told... she was Legolas' best friend, after all. The prince's and Aragorn's other close friends had not been allowed into this inner sanctum by the healers just yet, for it was feared there would be too many people, but Tusinduil knew that they all stood in the courtyard of the palace, waiting for information, along with many others of the realm who were simply concerned for their prince, loyal subjects without a doubt. It was touching to know that so many cared for the Royal family.
Fienngil stood by the window, too nervous to sit down. He kept running a hand through his long, thick locks, rubbing his face and then sighing. Under normal circumstances, Tusinduil would have chided him half-heartedly, for it was an annoying habit the Second Prince had when anxious or saddened - and it drove their father up the wall. But Thranduil was simply sitting quietly alongside the twins, who both looked a little lost. Andariun and Arianduil did not deal with worry well - Tusinduil could remember the long days of waiting when their mother had been poisoned... the twins had very nearly fallen into the same mortal illness that had nearly claimed Legolas after Liennia's death. The two stealth-warriors were not used to their large hearts hurting, and it was all far too painful for them to deal with. Ithilmir was sitting nearby, reading a book - he also did not do well with anxiousness, and so tried to escape by immersing himself in worlds not his own, trying to distance himself from that which hurt him, and a pale Esladiya kept shooting concerned glances his way, trying to guage whether he was upset enough to embrace or not.
Tusinduil shook his dark head again, and resumed pacing, heaving a sigh along with Fienngil as he did so. Suddenly, the oaken-door to the room opened once more, and a bedraggled healer - the Head Healer, Felrofin - entered. The Royal family, Esladiya and Selmanias leapt almost as one to their feet, nearly closing in a threatening circle around the healer. "What news?" asked Tusinduil harshly, before he could help himself, his nerves too sharpened for protocol. He could not for the life of him figure out the expression of the elf he faced.
"We have managed to warm Estel up, and his body is back at a normal temperature," said Felrofin with a half-smile as the Royal family all heaved sighs of relief. However, it seemed that this was one of the only pieces of good news the healer had to divulge. "But, he is now battling with a very high fever, and it shakes him constantly."
"W-will he be alright?" asked Aricesla, deep blue eyes wide yet hesitant.
Felrofin paused, "We have pots of Athelas simmering in his room, m'lady, and if he makes it through the night, he should make a full recovery." All present had heard the emphasised *if*, and though they were comforted by the fact that Aragorn was no longer as cold as ice, it worried them that he should be so ill because of his prolonged exposure.
"And what of Legolas?" Thranduil asked, frowning in his anxiousness. He felt his heart thud dully against his chest when a look of sorrow seemed to pass across Felrofin's wise face. Surely, nothing could have happened to his little leaf?
"The prince... well, his condition is more complicated. We were able, after much work - the reason it has taken so long for news to reach you - to remove all splinters of bone from the injury, and set the limb to heal... we treated it with Emsill and Relroot paste to try to aid the torn flesh and skin to repair itself. We have stitched the wound up as best we can, and that is really all we can do." Felrofin shifted uncomfortably, but not once did his dark eyes leave the Royal family's, and he continued, "*But*, Prince Legolas had already lost a large amount of blood, and the temperatures and conditions he was exposed to did not help... I am afraid that his body has almost completely shut down on him to protect itself." At Evylenn's choked breath and the Royal family's horrified expressions, he was hastened to add, "Yet we have managed to avoid his body *continuing* to shut down, and so his condition is fairly stable... I will be honest, though, and tell you that he already has stopped breathing once or twice, and is likely to continue to do so until we can contact someone to draw him from the state."
"Wait, can't you do it?" asked Andariun, confused that not everything was being done to save his youngest brother.
The Head Healer favoured the warrior with a sympathetic look, "I lack the talent," he admitted softly. "Only healers of great skill are able to reverse this process... It is my suggestion that Lord Elrond of Imladris should be sent for."
"We shall do it!" Arianduil offered both his and his brother's services up immediately - anything he could do to help was welcome by him. And so it was agreed that they travel as fast as they could to Rivendell to call upon Thranduil's good friend, Elrond, to try and help them.
As Tusinduil followed the rest of his family into Aragorn's room, where they were destined to wait for a long time it seemed, he thought about what was happening to his littlest brother. Because Elves were such wonderous beings, and it was such a priviledge for Middle-earth to have them gracing it's lands, a process was inbuilt into their bodies which was their body's main defence system. In order to protect the precious spirit within, an Elven body would close and halt all it's other systems to try and prevent more damage being done to them. Yet it seemed this intelligent idea was flawed: many Elves actually did die because only an extremely skilled healer was able to bring them back from this self-induced state, and eventually, if all the systems in the body were shut down for long enough, an elf could not quite recover from it. It was a harsh truth, one that Tusinduil did not fully understand... and it scared him.
He took solace in finding Aragorn looking a little better, and the soothing, caressing aroma of Athelas did much to calm him. The ranger was no longer a pallid, terrifyingly-blue colour, yet now a sheen of sweat covered his forehead and chest, and moisture clumped his dark locks together at the base of his neck. His stubbled cheeks were flushed a deep red, and small shakes and tremors racked his lithe frame as he twisted in his sleep. Nevertheless, he did look better, though Aricesla remarked that she could feel the heat coming off him from where she stood. Tusinduil sighed, and settled down to wait with his family as the twins and his father left, the twins hastening to call upon Elrond, and his father being led to the room where Legolas was lying, upon the brink of death - the Royal sons and daughters had been advised not to go see their brother just yet, but had been assured that they would be able to soon.
Tusinduil, wringing out a cool cloth of it's excess moisture and pressing it gently upon Aragorn's flaming forehead, pushing back the damp, dark locks tenderly, hoped that soon would be soon enough.
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Aragorn could not focus his mind. Swirling red and orange images filled his skull, confusing him to no end. He wanted to detach himself from the intensity of his own brain, and struggled to do so. Slowly, he began to feel something other than flames licking the sides of his body and began to see other things than a thick black fog, a smoke screen burned through with dancing fire. Slowly he began to notice a white sort of light reaching him through his eyelids, which he also noticed were closed and leaden-heavy. He noticed for the first time the horrid aches in his tired legs, the pins and needles in his arms and the soreness of his head.
He drew his closest hand to his face and, eyes still stubbornly closed, rubbed at it, feeling more than a few day's growth across his rough chin and jaw. He moaned quietly without really meaning to, and struggled to open his eyes. Light rushed to meet him, though it did not hurt him - it was a nice sort of light, warm and welcoming. Lifting his dark head only a little, Aragorn realised he was in a bed, a soft bed that seemed to caress every curve in his weary body, surrounded by cool sheets. He was warm, but not uncomfortably so, and he was surrounded by people who loved him.
Surveying the room silently, Aragorn also realised that none of those in his company had seemed to notice that he was awake just yet. Sitting closest to him was Tusinduil Grownoak, and looked as though he had been resting with his elbows propped up on the bed, except at that moment the Crown Prince was turned to his closest sister, Niandias Whiteblossom, talking about nothing in particular with the eldest princess. Watching them faintly, a smile gracing her beautiful face, was Esladiya Sunbeam, curled up in the plush armchair at the foot of Aragorn's bed with her knees drawn up to her chest and her deep-red skirts billowing out about her. Sitting upon the floor and leaning back against the chair, reading a book but chuckling softly at the arguments taking place over him, was Ithilmir Moonjewel, and Aricesla Evensun was sat upon the deep windowsill at the far side of the room, gazing out at the forest and not really taking any note of anything else.
"Well, this is a happy little party, I must say - all for me?" Aragorn managed to find the strength to speak aloud, even jest. He watched with satisfaction as his friends all reacted. The all leapt up and rushed at him, their joy at finding him awake evident upon their ageless faces.
"Estel!" cried Tusinduil, grinning as happily as a child would, not looking at all like the noble elf set to inherit a forest that he was at all. "How do you fare, mellon nin?"
"I feel better," Aragorn grinned in return. It suddenly came to him that he had no real recollection of how he had come to be back at the Mirkwood palace - how on earth had he got back here? "How long have I been out?" he asked.
"You've been caught by fever for two days straight, now," replied Aricesla softly, and suddenly the strain of the past few days seemed to show in the dark-blue depths of her eyes and the taughtness of her fair features. "There was a moment there that we didn't think you would wake."
Aragorn realised how worried she must have been about him - the Evensun was like his little sister, which was an extremely odd notion if one considered how long she had been walking Middle-earth before him. "I am well," he assured her, trying to ease her nerves just a little... but he could see that such assurances were not working, and so he held out his left arm weakly, motioning an embrace. The Last Princess quickly darted forward and hugged him eagerly, finally convinced that the ranger really was fine. She pulled away, and he spared a glance around the room - he saw many of the Royal family missing... then he suddenly understood. "What of Legolas? Where is he?"
The look of sorrow that passed over the room scared him half to death. Surely not... his heart seemed to stop, and his starry-grey eyes widened. "No..." he stuttered, unable to comprehend what was his worst nightmare.
Niandias, wise in the feelings of others, was the first to understand what he thought, "Nay! Estel, he is not dead- "
"Yet," added Ithilmir quietly, in an uncharacteristic display of hopelessness. He looked down to his feet guiltily at the sharp looks sent his way by his brother and sisters.
"Well, w-what...?" Aragorn was bewildered and frightened. His heart slid all the way down to his bare feet as Tusinduil explained Legolas' foreboding condition - surely there was no hope to be found? But when he was told that the twinsYoungoak and Deepstream had been sent to get his father, his heart lifted a little: his father always made everything all right... but would he be able to this time? "I have to see him," the headstrong ranger stated, and began to weakly push aside his blankets and sheets, struggling to get out of bed.
"But you can barely even stand!" Esladiya protested, concerned as always by the wellfare of her human friend.
"I don't care!" cried Aragorn, slate-grey eyes ablaze with desperation. He sat up straight, and battled against the strong wave of dizziness that washed over him: he *had* to see Legolas - to see what he had done to his best friend. For he believed it to be all his own fault that they had been landed in such situations, and such consequences had occurred. He waved off the Second Princess' helping hand, determined to get to Legolas.
"Wait," said Tusinduil, not wishing the young ranger to sustain any more damage than was neccessary, but realising that Aragorn would not merely give in so easily. "I have an idea." He cast a faintly amused, greeny-grey glance at Aragorn, "But it might mean a little loss of dignity on your part, mellon nin." There was a hidden question in this statement.
The sharp ranger just looked up at the prince defiantely, jaw firm and eyes burning. "I have to see him," he shrugged, trying to get across his desperation, his frustration at the shakiness of his limbs. The Crown Prince, however, did seem to understand him, because Grownoak simply nodded silently, leaned down, and quickly scooped up the thin young man into his arms and began to make his way out of the room.
Aragorn tried hard to hide his surprise at being carried like a small child, especially by a being no bigger or stronger looking than himself. It sort of bruised his masculinity and ego to have someone who he had persisted in calling a 'weak, prissy elf-princeling' carry him so easily. He obviously didn't hide his thoughts well, as Tusinduil noticed his look and raised one dark eyebrow, a sly grin taking over his face, "I did say, Estel," he chided quietly, sounding scarily like Legolas.
The ranger did not bother to argue with him as they were nearing Legolas' room. Aragorn took note when they entered how sombre everyone looked: Fienngil was stood tensely by the open bay windows, strong body striking a silhouette against the bright light, a hand to his face; Selmanias the Head Guard was leaning wearily back against the opposite wall, staring at the ceiling. King Thranduil sat in the bench at one side of the bed, dark head held in his hands, and the very lovely Evylenn sat at the other side, her large hazel eyes never straying from the form who occupied it.
For in the bed, lay Legolas, as still as if there were a death-hold over him.
The prince was so pale he seemed to fade away into his sheets, closed eyes dark and the orbs sunk into his skull as though he had been punched. His long golden hair had been plaited so that one single plait fell over his shoulder, that is, the shoulder that wasn't bound to the elbow by clean, white bandages and laid in a sling across his barely-moving chest. Evylenn clung onto his left hand as though it were her only lifeline.
Aragorn felt his breath knocked out of him: never had he seen his best friend looking so ill, and his heart flamed within his chest as though consumed by fire. He motioned for Tusinduil to set him down, and was able to stand on his own feet, though he wobbled a little. Evylenn glanced up, and the moment she saw Aragorn she shot up as an arrow from a bow and in a second was with him, pulling him into an embrace of thanks, smile wide and eyes shining. Aragorn hugged her back readily, already calmed by her mere scent - the auror that surrounded the elf-maiden - she had always been able to make him feel better, lighter at heart somehow. They drew strength from one another, and he knew that she and himself would be having a nice, long talk later on. He felt a hand upon his shoulder and turned to find Fienngil smiling down upon him and nodding, and indication of his relief.
"Thought you'd never make it, human," the Second Prince joked, and recieved a slap to the chest from Evylenn, who frowned darkly upon such a choice theme for humour. Fienngil merely rolled his eyes at her to Aragorn, who chuckled weakly and swiftly avoided her darkly-flashing eyes as well. But in doing so, he met the hard, deep slatey-blue eyes of Thranduil Wiseoak. The King had stood, and was now looking at Aragorn, stern face giving away nothing as to what he was feeling. Aragorn could not, for the life of him, figure out what was running through the dark-haired elf's mind, and it was a little scary. Fienngil and Tusinduil, howevet, knew implicitly what such a look meant, having grown up with such confusing signals. "Eeep," said Fienngil, "We're leaving." At Aragorn's startled, helpless look, Morningstar grinned a little, laying a hand again on his slim shoulder, "Don't worry, Estel: you've survived a Mirkwood winter, you can survive this." And he left with his brother, Evylenn and Selmanias, shutting the door behind them.
For just a moment, nothing happened, and Thranduil continued to stare Aragorn right in the eye, giving absolutely nothing away, not even a hint. Aragorn himself was petrified, the tension being almost too much for his already-fragile system - yet he liked to think he showed no outward fear, and that the shaking in his legs was merely a result of standing up for the first time in a few days. He could not know that Thranduil was so relieved that Aragorn was even alive that he could not speak, and his face was simply set in it's natural position, which seemed to be one of a stern manner. The young ranger thought that the King blamed him for the condition of his youngest son, as he did with himself, and immediately jumped to the conclusion that Thranduil was enraged with him - a position he most decidedly did *not* wish to be in.
It was a surprise to him, then, when Thranduil came at him quickly: Aragorn took a frightened half-step backwards, before he was pulled into a tight, breath-imparing, embrace, his face pressed close against the King's chest. It was such a surreal moment for him, and he was still stunned into submission when the mighty elf pulled him away to hold him at arm's length and smiled warmly at him. "How are you feeling?" asked the King kindly, grey-blue eyes warm and sparkling.
Aragorn couldn't even string together two words, let alone voice his opinions on the unexpected outcome.
Thranduil took this as an indication of Aragorn's health, and his smile swiftly faded away to an expression of concern. "Estel? I wonder... has your fever lessened at all?" And, seeking an answer, he laid a cool hand gently upon Aragorn's forehead, he frowned at his findings. "Hmmm, still warm, ion [son] - I shall have to keep my eye on you." The ranger felt a giddy laughter bubbling up inside of him, and he breathed harshly in an effort not to let it explode from his chest, eyes wide and dark brows raised, a smile beginning to spread itself across his rugged features. The King noticed his look, and peered closer into the young man's face, and asked (with, apparently, all seriousness), "Estel, is it possible you lost your mind out there in the forest?"
That was the final straw. Sagging in relief, Aragorn lay his head upon Thranduil's strong chest and hugged him in the self-same unabashed way he had when he was still a young child, wrapping his arms as tight as possible around his waist. The King, somehow sensing Aragorn's need for comfort after his ordeal, merely wrapped his arm's around the ranger's slim back without saying anything other than: "Well, you did knock that skull of your's about a bit... better to be safe than sorry...". Which made Aragorn laugh outright despite himself, and hold him all the more closer.
After a moment, they broke apart and looked upon Legolas. "Is he *very* ill, My King?" asked Aragorn after another moment of silence, trying not to let the extent of his worry seep through into his words, yet failing most miserably. A horrid slab of guilt had formed in the pit of his stomach, and he foresaw that it would not be leaving him anytime soon.
Thranduil favoured him with another one of his familiar, elusive-to-discern gazes. "I shall be truthful, Estel, and tell you that it could go either way," he said softly.
Aragorn's proud shoulders slumped a little at this foreboding statement. He did not wish to tell the mighty King and loving father that *he* was to blame for Legolas' state, so instead he swallowed and asked, "How long will it take for my father to come?" Aragorn, though now a young man at seventeen years of age, held the firm belief, as he had done all his life, that Lord Elrond was capable of making everything better, *anything* better. It was a decidedly human notion, which he held, that Elves were infalible, that they could not be injured... and Aragorn was having difficulty coming to grips with the confronting reality that they were no such thing, and he might actually lose Legolas.
"The boys set off the night you were found, which was over two days ago." The ranger turned to Thranduil. He couldn't believe it! That meant, only if Arianduil and Andariun had been riding with the wind behind them and their steeds at their fastest pace, they would only just have reached Imladris! How long would it take for his father to get here and bring Legolas back to them all? Aragorn knew the answer: too long. Thranduil saw his disappointment, and laid a hand upon his shoulder, "Do not fret, ion: Legolas is as tough as old boots... he'll be all right, you see." He was speaking more for the human's sake than with real truth behind the words. While Legolas did continually surprise them all by recovering swiftly from fairly-serious injuries over and over again and bouncing back, this time Thranduil wasn't at all sure they *would* be all right.
Nevertheless, he sat with Aragorn upon the cushioned bench beside Legolas' bed, and talked warmly with one another for many hours as they usually did when Aragorn came to Mirkwood, keeping the demons away, until finally the King looked down to find the young ranger fast asleep, head resting lightly upon the elf's shoulder, the day's stresses and his previous condition getting the better of him. Thranduil smiled softly and, reaching out, pulled a blanket over them both, laying his own dark head back upon the top of the bench, he let his eyes drift steadily out of focus. And his dreams were filled with images of Legolas waking.
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Thoughts? Advice? Abuse? Let me know and I shall take it all on board. Thankyou very much again to everyone who reviewed the last offering, and I hope this one moderately satisfied you... notice the absence of a cliffhanger? You proud o' me? lol YOU BELTING PEOPLE HAVE PUSHED ME OVER THE 100 MARK IN REVIEWS! I think we ALL deserve a round of applause... couldn't literally have done it without y'all! Thanking you! And also thankyou to everyone who let me know they read Vignettes - I'm guessing their trying to tell me to shut up, yeah? Yeah...
Jebb: The fire/flood/minor disaster area of Aragorn's in the West Wing of the Palace is a very interesting notion, and I shall definately consider it... but I reckon I've already got something in mind for the ending. Maybe the snowball fight, maybe not.... I do like to have and make references in all my stories... I like 'em all to have a little connection between them.
Gwyn: I do the exact same thing you do... I rejoice in stories where people are hurt, not breathing, dead.... heh heh, that's not sick, is it?
Templa Otmena: Again thankyou so very *very* much. You seem to be the most fervent supporter of Legolas' family, and I really do appreciate it. Grin.
Barbara Kennedy: Welcome! I'm glad you decided to review and let me know you're here!
Isadora: You should have spoken up before! I so didn't know you were here! Thankyou for letting me know.
Beth: You get funniest reviewer reward. For everyone else who has no idea what I'm taking about... good ol' Beth, here, has been away from ff.n for a while, and caught up with my stories recently, including this one. And then proceeded to REVIEW EACH AND EVERY CHAPTER! It took some guts, but she did it, and I found it hilarious to see your attitude change as you read each one, Beth. And thankyou so very VERY much for the review you left for me in Vignettes... it was sooo kind.
Mirfaen: I think I've found my talent - being able to give my readers 'strokes and heart attacks at the end of every chapter'! And as for more fellowship stuff... well, I've got a couple of ideas that you might enjoy... don't know yet, but I so enjoy writing them that it's hard not to imagine me doing more, isn't it?
Thankyou again to everyone else who reviewed, I couldn't fit you all here, but I know you're out there!