A/N: Yay! Here's Chapter 3! Please R/R! Thanks!
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Chapter 3
Once the door had flown shut and set the tapestries fluttering, Legolas looked back to Faramir. He was tempted to resent that healer but decided it best to keep Elfaen on his side. Too many had fallen ill, and the burden was heavy on the healers. He understood, having the gift of healing himself. Faramir's face glistened in the candlelight. A new burden had risen up to challenge Legolas now. His heart bade him ride for the White City, but apprehension lingered still. He couldn't be led to believe that his presence was so imperative that he did not have a choice. Surely, the staff of Elven healers could handle the situation for a few days, whilst he sought Elessar's counsel. However, Legolas feared that it would get out of hand soon if he didn't ride. Yet as he weighed his choices in his head, Elfaen's words echoed. He wasn't really the best healer in Ithilien, was he? He had never believed so, but perhaps his modesty belied his skill. And in no way could the epidemic already be out of hand. It couldn't be too late – Elfaen must be exaggerating. Yet Elves were not so inclined to lose hope... Legolas began to doubt his own faith.
His thoughts were broken, and he flinched at the noise coming from the corridor. The door muffled the footfalls, and he looked toward it again. The lantern swayed below his hand, reflecting in his darkened eyes. He had overstayed his visit. The Elf swiftly leaned forward and touched his slender hand to the Steward's brow. The man's skin warmed his own, and translucent eyes searched a still face.
"May the grace of the Valar keep you," he whispered.
"Faster! Go! Go!" A man's surly shouting interrupted the archer, who snapped his head toward the sound for an instant. As the shouting penetrated the thick quiet of the chamber again, the prince's hand left his friend's brow, and Legolas hurried to the door. He resisted the temptation to look back and slipped out into the corridor. A rough looking man stood down the way, his soiled boots violently contrasting against the rug that ran the length of the hall. The man turned his head to look at the Elf, who stood against the door almost guiltily. His grizzly eyes met the archer's and did not break away until more men leapt out into sight and fled down the corridor without an inkling of the Elf's presence. Their voices echoed even once they had disappeared around the corner, and Legolas was almost shrinking against the door under the burly Man's scrutiny. Yet the Elf had to suffer it no more than a moment longer, for the Man turned on his heel and stalked off into the shadows. As Legolas loosened, Elfaen stepped out in the wake of the Men.
"They're burning the West End," he gasped. His silken hair fell around his neck, caught in the halt of his motion. "The Men are from the wilds, they're the only ones left." Legolas stared at him with wide, fear struck eyes. "They go to put it out," Elfaen reassured. "Madness has claimed the survivors."
"Elfaen," someone shouted in the distance. Both Elves looked toward the sound. "Elfaen." The healer sprang down the corridor without a second glance to his prince, and Legolas was left alone with his returning wits. He wasn't sure why the man had reduced to him cowering against the door, but those eyes had only made his stomach turn in a way he hadn't felt for years. The people were burning the city; that must be why those men had rushed away with buckets. Perhaps Elfaen hadn't been exaggerating circumstances. Legolas pried away from the door, his heart still with Faramir, and followed the invisible footsteps of Elfaen and the wild Men. One thing occurred to the Elf as he ran - the healer had failed to mention why they had come to Ithilien.
By the time Legolas reached the West End, the band of wild Men were well into putting out the flames that consumed one particular house. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was but one. He had imagined the entire western border of Ithilien to be burning as he had rushed down the white streets. Yet if it had not been for the mortal strangers, the flames would have easily spread, and Legolas knew it. The prince only stood motionlessly before the house, watching as the Men jostled back and forth and in and out. He noticed Elfaen among them, wondering why in Valar's name the head healer was endangering himself when the ward overflowing with patients. It did not occur to him, as he watched the activity with a shrieking woman behind him, that he could help in extinguishing the blaze. Perhaps it was his knowing that chances of escaping someone's protection of a royal were none too high. He let his eyes wander up to the dancing flames that licked the sky and the smoke that fumed up like towers of destruction.
"We need more water," one of the Men called out.
"Keep the people away," Elfaen shouted over the crackling. His eyes met Legolas' for a breath, before he whipped back around. And it seemed that as soon as the healer turned away from the prince, someone hurtled himself at Legolas, throwing the Elf to the ground. Legolas grunted in surprise and discomfort, as his shoulder collided with the stone road and the weight of another being winded him. Just as he hit the ground, an explosion roared in his ears, as the flames billowed out from the window at the top of the building.
"Your Majesty, you cannot linger here," the Man shouted, sliding off of him. Legolas only looked at him, disoriented, soot already smudging his face. Screaming still rang out amongst them, and no one bothered to shut the woman up. She clutched her face and watched the flames, as her screeching sent madness into her eyes.
"Legolas," someone yelled, a familiar voice. The Elf snapped over on to his stomach and looked back up the road from whence he came. The ivory sleeves of Eowyn's gown flapped in the distance, beyond the smoke streams. She was rushing toward him, as he lay on the stones, and he did not realize time. In the next moment, her hand was flung into his own, pulling him to his feet. She eyed the fire in disbelief for a moment, before tugging at Legolas. "Come on," she beckoned, starting back up the road.
"No," he protested after catching himself, pulling back. " We can't leave them to this." Their eyes met, and she looked from him to the fire and back again.
"They already have it under control, we can't stay here and endanger ourselves," she said. "The people are going mad, we must leave." Her insistence was characteristic of her bloodline, her tone reminding him of Eomer and Theoden. He did not reply, and the screaming filled his silence. His eyes glimmered, before he turned back to look at the burning once again. Elfaen was just beyond the thin layer of smoke, the only recognizable face among those who worked to put out the fire. For what seemed like an eternity of tension, Legolas waited in his place, as if expecting something. "Legolas, we must go," Eowyn urged. Suddenly, a beam collapsed, and Elfaen vanished. As if on cue, Legolas sprang forward like a hunted deer. "Legolas," Eowyn screamed. He bound forth through the smoke without hesitation, almost diving into the debris, as Eowyn gawked after him in horror. Another explosion shook the foundations of Eowyn's composure, and she screamed the Elf's name in a stream of unanswered pleas.
"Milady." She snapped her head back over her shoulder and looked into Elven eyes. "It is the Steward," he said, his tone as stoic as any Elf's. And her eyes were stricken.
With the mad woman's screams piercing the flames, Legolas flung himself through the smoke, clutching Elfaen's limp body to his chest. Eowyn was startled back to her senses, as the archer stumbled at her feet. Blood ran down the side of Elfaen's face, his head lolling against Legolas' shoulder. The prince gasped, trying to catch his breath, and the healer standing at Eowyn's shoulder moved to steady him.
"The Men have it," he said, reassuring Eowyn, as the nameless healer took Elfaen from him.
"Legolas," she began. "It's Faramir." Their eyes met for an instant, where foreboding hung between them and threatened. He snatched her hand in his and fled back up the road without a second glance at the fire, followed by the healer carrying Elfaen. The screaming faded away the farther they were from the fire and the closer they became to the ward.
Legolas convulsed into a coughing fit as they burst into the healer's chamber, and the nameless healer flew past with Elfaen. Another healer grabbed Eowyn the instant she appeared and led her away hurriedly to Faramir, whilst yet another Elf took Legolas by the shoulders and sat him down on the nearest bed. The first healer was already tending to Elfaen, and Eowyn was gone before Legolas had a chance to say anything. After a long moment, the archer still had not ceased to cough, and it began to alarm him. The healer who had gone to him had given him a glass of water but looked concerned for the prince. Legolas could taste the smoke in his lungs, even as he tried to drown himself in one glass of water.
"Elfaen," he uttered, once had taken control of his fit. "How is he?" he spluttered. The healer who had helped him peered back to where Elfaen lay, the other healer bent over him meticulously. He turned back after a minute and reassured Legolas that Elfaen would be fine, hoping he was right. He left and returned with a bowl of water and a rag, the third set Legolas had suffered to see that day, with the second being used on Elfaen at the same moment.
"Im Finnelion," he said softly, as he began to dab away the soot on Legolas' face with one dampened corner of the rag. I am Finnelion.
"Ten bain eneth," Legolas said sincerely. It is a fair name. Finnelion smiled faintly, holding the prince's chin gently in between his thumb and forefinger. The archer's eyes wandered from Finnelion's fair face to beyond, where Elfaen lay. "Faramir thinna," he murmured. Faramir fades. Finnelion barely nodded, his face suddenly darkening. "Bedithon an Minas Tirth treneri i-aran," Legolas whispered, his tone so quiet, it was nearly inaudible. I will go to Minas Tirith to tell the king.
"No," Finnelion exclaimed, his eyes widening. He seized Legolas by the shoulders absently. "Le turu, nin ernil." You cannot, my prince. Naked fear stared into Legolas' cerulean orbs. "Dartha ,"he pleaded. "Egor Ithilien dannen." His own whisper was barely audible, even to Legolas. Stay, or Ithilien is fallen.
"Nin ernil." My prince. The Elf looked turned his torso toward the door behind him to look at his caller. The healer that had led Eowyn away lingered in the doorway. "Tolo." Come. His tone was quiet, and Legolas thought he sensed sadness in his face. The archer got to his feet, pausing for a moment with Finnelion's eyes still fixed on him. He held the younger Elf's gaze for a moment, before clasping Finnelion's shoulder reassuringly. "Hannon le," he said, before leaving with the other healer. Thank you. Finnelion was left standing in his place, the damp rag still in hand.
Legolas followed this new healer silently, and the other Elf did not look back at him as they approached the door of Faramir's chamber. Each pair of Elven footsteps was soundless on the rug, and no other sound reached Legolas' ears. He knew in his heart that it wasn't good. He knew Faramir was fading beyond the door. The prince continued to follow the healer, bowing his head and watching his boots in an almost sullen manner. He lifted it once more when the healer reached the door and slipped in before him. Eowyn was sitting at the bedside, bent over in grief. Her ripples of golden hair hid the tears that Legolas already knew fell. The door clicked behind him, and the lamplight was the same.
Legolas approached the bed warily, as if afraid of the man who lay motionless in the sheets. He did not go to Eowyn but stood at the foot of the bed, as the sound of her weeping scraped at his ears. He stared into Faramir's face, unchanged from when he had last been here, and became unaware of the healer. The Steward's face looked as if a hidden fire burned beneath the surface of his skin, and Legolas' eyes shone in the candlelight. The Elf almost expected for the flames to come up out of the man's skin, but Faramir only lay still. His chest barely moved, for his breath was that faint. It was in that moment that Legolas realized his friend was truly dying – right there, as he watched him.
"Can nothing more be done?" He felt as if it was someone else's voice.
"Nothing that we know of," the healer replied. "The fever worsened whilst you were away, and his breathing slowed even further. His entire bloodstream must be infected now. We cannot know the cure for a sickness we have never before encountered. Nothing is left for him." And just like that, Faramir was resigned to hopelessness. Eowyn sobbed out loud for the first time since she had met Legolas, and the Elf's glazed stare was yet fixed on the Steward. He seemed to stand on the edge of hope and despair for eternity, as Rohan's Shield-maiden succumbed to grief and the healer was silent in his defeat. Yet in Legolas' mind, a form of hope still lingered.
"Leave us," he said. The healer's eyes glinted, and Eowyn looked up at the prince in befuddlement. Legolas, however, did not move his eyes from Faramir. Silence fell over the room like velvet, and the lamplight flickered in the shadows. "Leave us," he said again, after a long pause. His voice shaped the velvet into a snake slithering toward the Steward.
"Why do you ask this of us?" Eowyn questioned tearfully.
Legolas' eyes glimmered in their blank stare. "If you want him to live, leave us." She did not answer nor move for a minute, but Eowyn eventually stood. She gazed at Legolas with her blue eyes painting the canvas of her visage with tears, her lip quivering. "Come," she said and turned toward the door, the healer helplessly following. Yet she paused halfway out into the corridor, peering back at Legolas. "Save him," she said to the Elf's back. One more moment of waiting, and Eowyn left her beloved in the Elf's hands.