A/N: Blessed Eru, I've written it! The next chapter! Forgive me for the
unacceptable, ridiculous delay. I am ashamed of myself...Nearly 2 months! I
am so sorry...
I'm alive, though! Hopefully I will update Brother in Heart very soon as
well.
I was a bit disappointed, however, that the last chapter of this fic did not receive many reviews or many detailed reviews. The last chapter, in my opinion, has been the best so far, and I put allot into it. So please, if you have not already, read chapter 8 and review for it. It would mean so much to me. ^_^ Thank you.
And to all of my wonderful readers and reviewers, thank you! You have no idea how much your support means to me. It is one of the things I cherish most in life. So thank you.
I hope you enjoy this chapter! ^_^ And please, if it's not too much to ask, when you review, I'd really love to know what you specifically like or dislike about the chapter – all of your reviews have been great so far, I'm just truly interested in your specific thoughts.
On another note: A recently wrote/posted a little one-chapter fic called Love Bound, concerning Leggy and my OC Thuarnoviel – if you've read through Brothers in Heart, she'll be no stranger. And if any of you are interested in Pearl Harbor, the film, I updated my fic in that fandom as well...
~*~
Chapter 9
Aragorn nearly jumped, startled by a pair of lambent, blue eyes suddenly opening in the darkness of his mind. They alone were light, sharp and piercing. He knew whose they were. Something glimmered in their depths; he felt a twinge in his stomach. Hands moved from his wrists to his own hands, fingers curled around his own, breathing was audible. The eyes remained in the darkness, staring at him. He gained a new intuition in his palms; he felt life. He felt breath and blood and flesh; he felt pain and damage. He felt weakness and vulnerability, and he could feel responsibility creep up into his palms and into his core. This creature beneath his touch was fragile and needed to be protected, healed, and handled tenderly. He shuddered as he felt a ripple in the flesh beneath his hands. The Elf's soft moan spread through him.
"Aragorn." It came as a whisper. He opened his eyes to stare down into the same ones that had filled his mind. Something seized him as those eyes penetrated his own. "It's all right," the Elf continued. "You can let go." Aragorn looked steadily at his best friend for a moment, before shaking his head slowly.
"No," he breathed, Strider coming out in him then. "I know you. You don't feel all right to me." His gray eyes were unwavering.
"You're right," Legolas admitted after a pause of silence. "I won't be all right until your brothers are." This struck the ranger; he gave a slow, short nod.
"But they're just as much your brothers as they are mine," he said to Legolas. "And you are more my brother than anyone else – even the twins." The archer's face softened. Aragorn bowed his head to watch his own thumb move over a patch of Legolas' belly – over part of the wound. Legolas closed his eyes as the ranger did so and welcomed a vision of the fields. He glided over the swaying tops of long grass, chased the wind and something he didn't know. Laughter echoed in its flow, always ahead of him. His fingertips brushed along the grass – gliding, gliding. He couldn't feel the pain here.
Aragorn bit his lip to stop himself from releasing a small moan – he had come in contact with the Elf's pain. He barely shifted his fingers against the silken tunic Legolas wore; yet Legolas took in a breath as he felt it. He could see his best friend's fingers moving over the smooth fabric just as he felt it, and he also felt the warmth from Aragorn's fingertips go beyond the silk and to his flesh.
Gliding,
Gliding,
Gliding.
Laughter sounded as chimes in the wind, and he followed. His own slender fingers graced the swaying grass and he felt as if he were flying low over the field tops. He flowed on steadily, watching the way light and shadow shifted with each sway. When he looked up, he could see the horizon approaching...
"Legolas," the ranger whispered. "Thuia." //Breathe.// And Legolas inhaled audibly, taking in another wave of warmth. He reached the hilltop, and the twins flew down below before his eyes. His eyes grew wide, glimmering. 'Twas their laughter that rang out o'er the land. They kept running, Elladan chasing Elrohir, Elrohir peering back over his shoulder laughing with mirth burning on his youthful visage. They did not seem to know he was there with them, and he only watched with fear. They were leaving. They had already left. He dropped his gaze as realization struck, and, with parted lips, his eyes searched space. He must have left already as well. He didn't understand anything, only that he had to go back, but the twins were showing no sign of wanting to.
Legolas shuddered and closed his eyes as he felt strong, familiar arms encircle him from behind. Estel's eyes were closed as well, with his head against Legolas', upon the Elf's shoulder. The wind surrounded them, playing with their hair and the grass that danced about their knees.
"Come," the ranger beckoned mildly in his ear.
"But your brothers...," the Elf started, sounding afraid for the twins.
"Shhh," Estel hushed. "They will follow if they must." His gray eyes had lifted, and they stared out glassily.
"You mean they might not?" the archer asked, watching the sons of Elrond play.
"Perhaps it is their time," Estel suggested calmly, sounding somewhat old. Legolas' eyes glimmered, his lips parted as if he wanted to protest. "We cannot know."
The vision broke in a second when Legolas' body jolted with a spasm in reality. He had been abruptly pulled away from the fields, from the pleasure, from the twins, from Estel's arms. It felt as if he had been plunged into cold darkness, and he gasped and arched up a little as the stab of pain returned.
"Legolas, why won't you look at me?" Elladan's voice was quiet and lenient; his eyes were searching.
The cold seemed to spread up into his every limb from where it had seized him in his core. He whimpered with a shudder as it passed through the pain, creating a strange sensation indeed. He could see and yet darkness engulfed him. It was not like the fields; he could hardly feel his fingers moving through the water.
"I love you, Legolas," Elrohir murmured, as he curled up next to the prince. "Only Elladan comes before you. Both of you understand me." Somehow he knew they were both looking up in thought that was not there; he knew Elrohir's head rested on his shoulder and hand on his belly. "I wonder if I understand you."
He didn't think he was swimming. Yet he watched the ripples in the black velvet below him. Another jolt riveted through his body, through his mind. A flash of something he did not know streaked through his vision – a man of Gondor battling yrch...falling victim to three arrows. Legolas inhaled sharply, and music poured down into the pools of his being from some unknown place. Voices of melancholy flowed throughout his soul. Another flash, and he saw himself about to weep, though he knew not why. Another premonition showed him smiling down to a Dwarf, of all creatures. He felt himself sinking deeper into the darkness.
"For Frodo." A whisper rippled the water again, uttering a name he did not know. And suddenly, a fire burned a short distance away – and closer, he saw a man near the flames, about to be burned. And he looked so familiar to the Orc victim...
"There is still hope." Arwen Undomiel's whisper carried a nameless sorrow that he did not understand.
"Even the smallest person can change the course of the future." The Lady of Light lay her lips to brown curls.
"They follow you because they would not be parted from you." A mortal woman with hair of pale gold spoke unto Aragorn, who looked much older. "Because they love you."
The Elven voices sang of golden leaves, falling. Smiles melted one into another. The plains of Rohan stretched across his view, and a band of horse lords were still in their midst.
"All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given you." He recognized Mithrandir's voice. He was floating easily down, deeper, deeper into darkness. Another vision stood longer in his mind – a great army, such as he had never before seen, moved across an open plain – toward the White City. War broke out, battle raged, so that the warrior soul of Mirkwood's prince rose up in restless desire to partake in it. Death fell over everything, and people of all races appeared to him, in tears. He did not know them, yet somehow their despair touched him.
"Hannon le." Estel thanked him, and he felt the man's familiar hand upon his shoulder. Upon his best friend's head rested a crown. What was he to be thanked for?
"We are the sons of Elrond," Elladan said, stepping forward, holding a banner of Imladris. A host of the Dunedain stood flanking him.
"And our hearts desire to go to war," Elrohir finished.
"Noro lim, Asfaloth," Glorfindel urged. His hair, his robes, his horse's mane all whipped back in the speed Asafaloth galloped at. The Balrog-slayer peered over his shoulder at the Nine Wraiths, and Legolas noticed a small, hooded figure in front of him.
"No longer is it Mirkwood," said his father, overlooking the aftermath of a great and bloody battle – in the very midst of Mirkwood, to Legolas' dismay. "But Eryn Lasgalen."
"C'mon," Legolas said, his arms outstretched for Aragorn. The ranger threw himself at the Elf, who caught him in short, gripping embrace. He looked at the man for assurance to know Aragorn was al right, before they turned and followed the others who were with them, running from something he had no time to see.
"Forgive me," said the Elf. "I was wrong to despair."
"There is nothing to forgive, my friend," Aragorn answered in Sindarin. They embraced as warriors did, and the Elf saw they were clad for war.
"You must rest," the archer urged. "You are no good to us half- alive." The ranger looked at him over his shoulder but had no chance to answer. Half alive? What had happened to his best friend?
"Legolas, run," Aragorn shouted, giving the Elf a look as a hoard of Orcs appeared and approached. Legolas was frozen, looking between his brother and the enemy beasts with wide eyes. "Run," Aragorn repeated, before turning and striding toward his attackers. Legolas did not understand why, and he could not move to stop him.
"Leave the dead," ordered a man whose name he did not know. His head snapped to look hard at the mortal, who only gave him a pitying look in return. "Come," he said, laying a hand on the Elf's shoulder, before leaving him. He turned back to look down into the water below. Why was the Evenstar jewel in his hand?
He was pushing and shoving his way through the Orcs that surrounded him, never giving them a second thought. He had to reach Aragorn; he had to save him. He screamed his name as his best friend lay there, about to be crushed and killed – yet no sound could be heard.
"Aragorn." Legolas' eyes snapped open, as he bolted up. The man was brought put of his healing trance as well and opened his eyes. He steadied the Elf, who was panting with searching eyes.
"I am here," he reassured the Elf. "What have you seen?"
"Things I do not understand."
"Erestor, we need more bandage," Glorfindel cried, as he took the wad of cloth away from Elladan's chest and plunged it back into the water bowl. The already crimson water darkened with new blood. "And fetch more water."
Elrond dabbed his own cloth at Elrohir's wound with great concentration. The younger of the twins lay still on his stomach, while Elladan was lay motionless on his back. They both were pale, with eyes shut and dark lashes upon their cheeks. They had no idea what was being done to them; they had retreated to a dream – to death. Elrond and Glorfindel had been able to revive them, yet they lingered on the threshold of death still.
She stood in the wind and smiled at the twins, whose laughter was pleasing to her ears. Her golden hair was carried in the breeze much as their own raven tresses were. Her hands were folded below her waist, against the white fabric of her skirts. Her blue eyes glittered mischievously.
"You wicked sons of mine," she called out to them in her melodious voice, making them freeze and return her smile. "You have come already."
Glorfindel and Elrond stitched up the wounds simultaneously, Erestor caught in the middle, looking from one to the other. Their hands were quick, and their ages of skill worked to be in time. Legolas sat slumped a bit beds away, with Aragorn's hand on his shoulder still.
"Get the miruvor," Glorfindel said, and Erestor leapt away to comply.
"What was it?" Estel questioned in a low tone.
"Too many things to remember," the archer replied. He pressed his hand to his head, which was plagued by a dull ache. "They made no sense; none of it connected. Everything was so fast – in flashes." The man listened attentively, looking at his best friend with his gray eyes observant. Legolas look up at him. "I saw the twins."
Erestor clambered back to Glorfindel's side, nearly tripping over himself in his anxiety. The bottles of miruvor clanged as they stumbled onto the table Glorfindel had thrown next to Elladan's bed. The blonde grabbed both, threw one to Elrond, who caught it, and pulled the cork out of the one he kept with his teeth. Erestor lifted Elladan's head, tilted it a bit, and Glorfindel put the bottle to the unconscious Elf's lips. His eyes glimmered with anticipation, as he tilted it forward for the liquid to pour slowly into Elladan's mouth. A bit of it trickled out from the corners of his mouth, yet Erestor tilted Elladan's head back and began to rub his neck in order to get him to swallow.
Elrond had seated himself on the bed beside Elrohir and taken his son in his arms. Elrohir's head hung back over his father's arm, his lips parted. He barely breathed, and his body was limply spread across the length of the bed. Elrond looked down into his son's face, and Elrohir was a child again in his eyes, the way it always was when any of his children were in a helpless state such as this. The lord of Imladris mentally prayed to Eru for grace and lifted the bottle to Elrohir's lips.
Aragorn's eyes were locked with Legolas', and neither said anything. The man recognized the fear in the Elf's eyes with ease. The prince held his breath without realizing it, his lips parted and his heart pounding. Without another word, he got on his feet and dashed away, pushing the door open only enough for him to slip through it and away.
"Legolas," the ranger called after him, standing as well. Yet his best friend did not heed him; he disappeared. Aragorn's eyes glimmered as he stood still where he had been left; for some reason, he did not go after the Elf just yet.
Legolas ran through the corridors, the halls, streaking down the floors. He panted as he made his way across the open terrace, with three floors left to get to the ground. His hand was held against his aching wound, as the waterfalls of the valley pleasantly roared in his ears. Visions flashes through his mind again, filled with falling leaves of gold and laughter and voices in perpetual song.
"'Tis spring in Imladris, Naneth," Elladan exclaimed, looking up at the she-Elf. And she only smiled and replied,
"Isn't it always?"
Legolas kept running, closing his eyes as he felt his own feet barely touching the floor, before springing away again. He listened to his own breaths, loud in his mind. Leaves, gold, laughter, voices. Gasp, gasp. Footsteps unheard by every other being, though he heard the pattering like rain drops in the summer twilight. Oh, Eru, it hurts. Oh, Eru, Oh, Eru. His hand tightened around the wound. His eyes lifted open again, and part of him felt as if he was out of his body, watching himself run. He reached the end of the terrace and disappeared down into the next.
"What is it you sense, Undomiel?" Galadriel questioned as she stepped down in to the grass, approaching Arwen, who sat upon a stone- carved bench. Elrond's daughter looked up into the wind.
"Something stirs in my home," she said.
Legolas finally reached the place in the midst of the trees that he sought and fell to his knees before it. He clutched his wound that throbbed beneath his fingers and looked up into a stone face, panting for want of air.
"You must give them back, Celebrian," he said to her. She smiled in the golden wind.
I was a bit disappointed, however, that the last chapter of this fic did not receive many reviews or many detailed reviews. The last chapter, in my opinion, has been the best so far, and I put allot into it. So please, if you have not already, read chapter 8 and review for it. It would mean so much to me. ^_^ Thank you.
And to all of my wonderful readers and reviewers, thank you! You have no idea how much your support means to me. It is one of the things I cherish most in life. So thank you.
I hope you enjoy this chapter! ^_^ And please, if it's not too much to ask, when you review, I'd really love to know what you specifically like or dislike about the chapter – all of your reviews have been great so far, I'm just truly interested in your specific thoughts.
On another note: A recently wrote/posted a little one-chapter fic called Love Bound, concerning Leggy and my OC Thuarnoviel – if you've read through Brothers in Heart, she'll be no stranger. And if any of you are interested in Pearl Harbor, the film, I updated my fic in that fandom as well...
~*~
Chapter 9
Aragorn nearly jumped, startled by a pair of lambent, blue eyes suddenly opening in the darkness of his mind. They alone were light, sharp and piercing. He knew whose they were. Something glimmered in their depths; he felt a twinge in his stomach. Hands moved from his wrists to his own hands, fingers curled around his own, breathing was audible. The eyes remained in the darkness, staring at him. He gained a new intuition in his palms; he felt life. He felt breath and blood and flesh; he felt pain and damage. He felt weakness and vulnerability, and he could feel responsibility creep up into his palms and into his core. This creature beneath his touch was fragile and needed to be protected, healed, and handled tenderly. He shuddered as he felt a ripple in the flesh beneath his hands. The Elf's soft moan spread through him.
"Aragorn." It came as a whisper. He opened his eyes to stare down into the same ones that had filled his mind. Something seized him as those eyes penetrated his own. "It's all right," the Elf continued. "You can let go." Aragorn looked steadily at his best friend for a moment, before shaking his head slowly.
"No," he breathed, Strider coming out in him then. "I know you. You don't feel all right to me." His gray eyes were unwavering.
"You're right," Legolas admitted after a pause of silence. "I won't be all right until your brothers are." This struck the ranger; he gave a slow, short nod.
"But they're just as much your brothers as they are mine," he said to Legolas. "And you are more my brother than anyone else – even the twins." The archer's face softened. Aragorn bowed his head to watch his own thumb move over a patch of Legolas' belly – over part of the wound. Legolas closed his eyes as the ranger did so and welcomed a vision of the fields. He glided over the swaying tops of long grass, chased the wind and something he didn't know. Laughter echoed in its flow, always ahead of him. His fingertips brushed along the grass – gliding, gliding. He couldn't feel the pain here.
Aragorn bit his lip to stop himself from releasing a small moan – he had come in contact with the Elf's pain. He barely shifted his fingers against the silken tunic Legolas wore; yet Legolas took in a breath as he felt it. He could see his best friend's fingers moving over the smooth fabric just as he felt it, and he also felt the warmth from Aragorn's fingertips go beyond the silk and to his flesh.
Gliding,
Gliding,
Gliding.
Laughter sounded as chimes in the wind, and he followed. His own slender fingers graced the swaying grass and he felt as if he were flying low over the field tops. He flowed on steadily, watching the way light and shadow shifted with each sway. When he looked up, he could see the horizon approaching...
"Legolas," the ranger whispered. "Thuia." //Breathe.// And Legolas inhaled audibly, taking in another wave of warmth. He reached the hilltop, and the twins flew down below before his eyes. His eyes grew wide, glimmering. 'Twas their laughter that rang out o'er the land. They kept running, Elladan chasing Elrohir, Elrohir peering back over his shoulder laughing with mirth burning on his youthful visage. They did not seem to know he was there with them, and he only watched with fear. They were leaving. They had already left. He dropped his gaze as realization struck, and, with parted lips, his eyes searched space. He must have left already as well. He didn't understand anything, only that he had to go back, but the twins were showing no sign of wanting to.
Legolas shuddered and closed his eyes as he felt strong, familiar arms encircle him from behind. Estel's eyes were closed as well, with his head against Legolas', upon the Elf's shoulder. The wind surrounded them, playing with their hair and the grass that danced about their knees.
"Come," the ranger beckoned mildly in his ear.
"But your brothers...," the Elf started, sounding afraid for the twins.
"Shhh," Estel hushed. "They will follow if they must." His gray eyes had lifted, and they stared out glassily.
"You mean they might not?" the archer asked, watching the sons of Elrond play.
"Perhaps it is their time," Estel suggested calmly, sounding somewhat old. Legolas' eyes glimmered, his lips parted as if he wanted to protest. "We cannot know."
The vision broke in a second when Legolas' body jolted with a spasm in reality. He had been abruptly pulled away from the fields, from the pleasure, from the twins, from Estel's arms. It felt as if he had been plunged into cold darkness, and he gasped and arched up a little as the stab of pain returned.
"Legolas, why won't you look at me?" Elladan's voice was quiet and lenient; his eyes were searching.
The cold seemed to spread up into his every limb from where it had seized him in his core. He whimpered with a shudder as it passed through the pain, creating a strange sensation indeed. He could see and yet darkness engulfed him. It was not like the fields; he could hardly feel his fingers moving through the water.
"I love you, Legolas," Elrohir murmured, as he curled up next to the prince. "Only Elladan comes before you. Both of you understand me." Somehow he knew they were both looking up in thought that was not there; he knew Elrohir's head rested on his shoulder and hand on his belly. "I wonder if I understand you."
He didn't think he was swimming. Yet he watched the ripples in the black velvet below him. Another jolt riveted through his body, through his mind. A flash of something he did not know streaked through his vision – a man of Gondor battling yrch...falling victim to three arrows. Legolas inhaled sharply, and music poured down into the pools of his being from some unknown place. Voices of melancholy flowed throughout his soul. Another flash, and he saw himself about to weep, though he knew not why. Another premonition showed him smiling down to a Dwarf, of all creatures. He felt himself sinking deeper into the darkness.
"For Frodo." A whisper rippled the water again, uttering a name he did not know. And suddenly, a fire burned a short distance away – and closer, he saw a man near the flames, about to be burned. And he looked so familiar to the Orc victim...
"There is still hope." Arwen Undomiel's whisper carried a nameless sorrow that he did not understand.
"Even the smallest person can change the course of the future." The Lady of Light lay her lips to brown curls.
"They follow you because they would not be parted from you." A mortal woman with hair of pale gold spoke unto Aragorn, who looked much older. "Because they love you."
The Elven voices sang of golden leaves, falling. Smiles melted one into another. The plains of Rohan stretched across his view, and a band of horse lords were still in their midst.
"All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given you." He recognized Mithrandir's voice. He was floating easily down, deeper, deeper into darkness. Another vision stood longer in his mind – a great army, such as he had never before seen, moved across an open plain – toward the White City. War broke out, battle raged, so that the warrior soul of Mirkwood's prince rose up in restless desire to partake in it. Death fell over everything, and people of all races appeared to him, in tears. He did not know them, yet somehow their despair touched him.
"Hannon le." Estel thanked him, and he felt the man's familiar hand upon his shoulder. Upon his best friend's head rested a crown. What was he to be thanked for?
"We are the sons of Elrond," Elladan said, stepping forward, holding a banner of Imladris. A host of the Dunedain stood flanking him.
"And our hearts desire to go to war," Elrohir finished.
"Noro lim, Asfaloth," Glorfindel urged. His hair, his robes, his horse's mane all whipped back in the speed Asafaloth galloped at. The Balrog-slayer peered over his shoulder at the Nine Wraiths, and Legolas noticed a small, hooded figure in front of him.
"No longer is it Mirkwood," said his father, overlooking the aftermath of a great and bloody battle – in the very midst of Mirkwood, to Legolas' dismay. "But Eryn Lasgalen."
"C'mon," Legolas said, his arms outstretched for Aragorn. The ranger threw himself at the Elf, who caught him in short, gripping embrace. He looked at the man for assurance to know Aragorn was al right, before they turned and followed the others who were with them, running from something he had no time to see.
"Forgive me," said the Elf. "I was wrong to despair."
"There is nothing to forgive, my friend," Aragorn answered in Sindarin. They embraced as warriors did, and the Elf saw they were clad for war.
"You must rest," the archer urged. "You are no good to us half- alive." The ranger looked at him over his shoulder but had no chance to answer. Half alive? What had happened to his best friend?
"Legolas, run," Aragorn shouted, giving the Elf a look as a hoard of Orcs appeared and approached. Legolas was frozen, looking between his brother and the enemy beasts with wide eyes. "Run," Aragorn repeated, before turning and striding toward his attackers. Legolas did not understand why, and he could not move to stop him.
"Leave the dead," ordered a man whose name he did not know. His head snapped to look hard at the mortal, who only gave him a pitying look in return. "Come," he said, laying a hand on the Elf's shoulder, before leaving him. He turned back to look down into the water below. Why was the Evenstar jewel in his hand?
He was pushing and shoving his way through the Orcs that surrounded him, never giving them a second thought. He had to reach Aragorn; he had to save him. He screamed his name as his best friend lay there, about to be crushed and killed – yet no sound could be heard.
"Aragorn." Legolas' eyes snapped open, as he bolted up. The man was brought put of his healing trance as well and opened his eyes. He steadied the Elf, who was panting with searching eyes.
"I am here," he reassured the Elf. "What have you seen?"
"Things I do not understand."
"Erestor, we need more bandage," Glorfindel cried, as he took the wad of cloth away from Elladan's chest and plunged it back into the water bowl. The already crimson water darkened with new blood. "And fetch more water."
Elrond dabbed his own cloth at Elrohir's wound with great concentration. The younger of the twins lay still on his stomach, while Elladan was lay motionless on his back. They both were pale, with eyes shut and dark lashes upon their cheeks. They had no idea what was being done to them; they had retreated to a dream – to death. Elrond and Glorfindel had been able to revive them, yet they lingered on the threshold of death still.
She stood in the wind and smiled at the twins, whose laughter was pleasing to her ears. Her golden hair was carried in the breeze much as their own raven tresses were. Her hands were folded below her waist, against the white fabric of her skirts. Her blue eyes glittered mischievously.
"You wicked sons of mine," she called out to them in her melodious voice, making them freeze and return her smile. "You have come already."
Glorfindel and Elrond stitched up the wounds simultaneously, Erestor caught in the middle, looking from one to the other. Their hands were quick, and their ages of skill worked to be in time. Legolas sat slumped a bit beds away, with Aragorn's hand on his shoulder still.
"Get the miruvor," Glorfindel said, and Erestor leapt away to comply.
"What was it?" Estel questioned in a low tone.
"Too many things to remember," the archer replied. He pressed his hand to his head, which was plagued by a dull ache. "They made no sense; none of it connected. Everything was so fast – in flashes." The man listened attentively, looking at his best friend with his gray eyes observant. Legolas look up at him. "I saw the twins."
Erestor clambered back to Glorfindel's side, nearly tripping over himself in his anxiety. The bottles of miruvor clanged as they stumbled onto the table Glorfindel had thrown next to Elladan's bed. The blonde grabbed both, threw one to Elrond, who caught it, and pulled the cork out of the one he kept with his teeth. Erestor lifted Elladan's head, tilted it a bit, and Glorfindel put the bottle to the unconscious Elf's lips. His eyes glimmered with anticipation, as he tilted it forward for the liquid to pour slowly into Elladan's mouth. A bit of it trickled out from the corners of his mouth, yet Erestor tilted Elladan's head back and began to rub his neck in order to get him to swallow.
Elrond had seated himself on the bed beside Elrohir and taken his son in his arms. Elrohir's head hung back over his father's arm, his lips parted. He barely breathed, and his body was limply spread across the length of the bed. Elrond looked down into his son's face, and Elrohir was a child again in his eyes, the way it always was when any of his children were in a helpless state such as this. The lord of Imladris mentally prayed to Eru for grace and lifted the bottle to Elrohir's lips.
Aragorn's eyes were locked with Legolas', and neither said anything. The man recognized the fear in the Elf's eyes with ease. The prince held his breath without realizing it, his lips parted and his heart pounding. Without another word, he got on his feet and dashed away, pushing the door open only enough for him to slip through it and away.
"Legolas," the ranger called after him, standing as well. Yet his best friend did not heed him; he disappeared. Aragorn's eyes glimmered as he stood still where he had been left; for some reason, he did not go after the Elf just yet.
Legolas ran through the corridors, the halls, streaking down the floors. He panted as he made his way across the open terrace, with three floors left to get to the ground. His hand was held against his aching wound, as the waterfalls of the valley pleasantly roared in his ears. Visions flashes through his mind again, filled with falling leaves of gold and laughter and voices in perpetual song.
"'Tis spring in Imladris, Naneth," Elladan exclaimed, looking up at the she-Elf. And she only smiled and replied,
"Isn't it always?"
Legolas kept running, closing his eyes as he felt his own feet barely touching the floor, before springing away again. He listened to his own breaths, loud in his mind. Leaves, gold, laughter, voices. Gasp, gasp. Footsteps unheard by every other being, though he heard the pattering like rain drops in the summer twilight. Oh, Eru, it hurts. Oh, Eru, Oh, Eru. His hand tightened around the wound. His eyes lifted open again, and part of him felt as if he was out of his body, watching himself run. He reached the end of the terrace and disappeared down into the next.
"What is it you sense, Undomiel?" Galadriel questioned as she stepped down in to the grass, approaching Arwen, who sat upon a stone- carved bench. Elrond's daughter looked up into the wind.
"Something stirs in my home," she said.
Legolas finally reached the place in the midst of the trees that he sought and fell to his knees before it. He clutched his wound that throbbed beneath his fingers and looked up into a stone face, panting for want of air.
"You must give them back, Celebrian," he said to her. She smiled in the golden wind.