A/N- Hello, everyone! Just as a warning to all of you, I was crazy enough to join a group of people who thinks that we can perform Music Man with only a day to learn, another day of auditions, a week of rehearsal, a dress rehearsal, and then performance! And, to top it all off, there are only seven actors, a director named Andy (or Mr. Anderson) (As in Agent Smith's "Mr. Anderson. Surprised to see me?" in The Matrix), an assistant director/lighting guy named Steve, and a music director named Madeline. Altogether, our entire cast and crew only totals TEN MEASLY PEOPLE! We're all going to be killing ourselves working, and, more importantly, I probably won't be updating in the next two weeks. I'll try very hard to, but no guarantees. Sorry.

Disclaimer- Alright, I confess. My name really is Professor Tolkien and I do own The Lord of the Rings. Right, I wish.

A/N- SoRF, whom I know in real life as a MAJOR Éowyn fangirl with minor Frodo fangirl tendencies, should recognize a joke in the first paragraph. Just so you know.

.().().().

Aragorn rolled over, opened his eyes, and smiled. He remembered some sort of bad dream with Legolas verbally biting his head off, but that was impossible. Shaking his head, he called, "Hey, you nancing Elf! You can get your head out of the stars now!"

The 'nancing Elf', however, did not reply with the expected 'You can get out of the mud now, smelly human!' Instead, he dropped from the tree scowling.

That one look of pure hatred made reality come crashing down on the human's head. The conflict last night had not been a nightmare, but a heart- wrenchingly real fight. He did not weep, nor did tears come to his eyes, but he felt the knife of his friend's anger stabbing him nonetheless. In silence, the pair ate some of their provisions, broke camp, and continued the hunt.

Aragorn shot looks at his friend's back, hoping that his friend would turn around, laughing, and explain that this was all just a practical joke. His hopes, however, were doomed to be unfulfilled. Legolas studiously ignored the human behind him, focusing instead on their surroundings.

They rode like this for hours until Legolas heard a screech in the woods. There was only one creature that made such a noise in all of Middle Earth. "Yrch {Orcs}!" he shouted, and then they were upon them.

Aragorn drew his sword quickly, thanking the Valar he had had the sense not to carry Andúril with him this time. He quickly decapitated the first Orc. He rode through the party of thirty or so Orcs, dealing death to each of them. Unfortunately, he had only managed to slay a few before an Orc's blade found his horse's jugular, sending it crashing down. The Orc smiled as it bore over him, but its gloating was cut short as it found Aragorn's sword between its ribs. Using the second he had, Aragorn forced himself out from under his dead horse and saw, to his dismay, the Orcs were closing in on him. He fought with all the skills that he had earned in the Wild, but he saw that it would not be enough. "Legolas!" –swing- "I need" –hack- "a little" –slash- "help" –parry- "over here!" he called.

The Elf heard the call, and almost went over to the Man's side, but then he remembered Aldamir. "You destroyed my heart. May these Orcs do the same for you!" he shouted bitterly.

Aragorn froze, stricken. He knew Elves valued love, but he didn't think that they would turn against their best friend over it. And he had not even committed the offense! He paid dearly for his moment of contemplation when an Orc blade slipped past his own and made a deep wound on his arm. The pain jarred him out of his reverie and into reality. He returned to the attack, and several bloody minutes later, the Orcs were routed. The human looked over at Legolas and saw him to be unhurt, though his horse, too, lay dead some twenty feet away.

Legolas smirked at the wound on the Man's arm. Not fatal, but it was surely causing him pain. Good. No! He is your dearest friend! You know that Aldamir would never leave you! Do not take delight from his suffering! shouted a voice in his head, but he pushed it aside, refusing to be swayed from his anger and grief.

Aragorn walked over to his saddlebags and began to clean his wound. He winced when he saw it fully. It was deep, and it probably needed stitches. "Legolas! Did you happen to bring materials for stitching wounds?" he called.

The Elf glared at him. "Even if I had, I would not waste them on a yrchion's {son of an Orc's} wounds," he spat.

Aragorn winced. Compared to the pain his heart was feeling at his friend's verbal abuse, his wound might have been a paper cut. He shoved aside the pain and began to wrap his wound in the bandages he had brought. After a few minutes, he was ready to depart. "To Rivendell?" he asked, tentatively.

"Yes," stated the Elf, slinging a bag onto his back and walking off into the woods, leaving the Man to run to catch up. The pair walked mush as they had rode the past two days. Legolas in front, silently scanning the woods for danger, and Aragorn behind, praying his friend's foul mood would pass.

They rested for a few hours that night and then pushed on, but that day it became clear that Aragorn was in ill health. "Legolas, please, I must se to my wound," begged Aragorn.

"Be quick about it, then," snarled the Elf, throwing his pack down and leaning against a tree to wait.

Aragorn unwrapped the bandages and saw, to his horror, a bluish tinge surrounding the wound. "Oh, Valar, no!" he breathed. He pulled out some athelas and debated whether or not to boil water. No, he decided. Legolas won't take much more delay. He then chewed on the leaves and applied them to the wound. May their power prove affective, he prayed. Aragorn quickly re-wrapped the wound and stood.

"Finally," said Legolas, starting off again.

The next day went much the same as the days before, but Aragorn grew decidedly more ill with every hour. The athelas did not seem to be helping, but Aragorn continued their use, for he had no better option. The next day, he was barely able to follow Legolas. The world spun as he walked, and then his last reserve of strength snapped. He collapsed, his eyes fever-bright.

Legolas turned and saw the Man lying on the ground, eyes open and delirious. He rolled his eyes and picked him up, none too gently, and began to run towards Rivendell. At least now I can reach there before nightfall, he thought.

Aragorn was unaware of their movement. His world was on fire, and the pain was all-consuming. His family flashed before his eyes, hands outstretched, but he could not reach them. He tried to cry out, but no sound came from his lips. He didn't know who he was, he didn't care. He just wanted the pain to end.

Legolas ran, oblivious to the Man's cries of pain.

.().().().

Lord Elrond sat in his study, enjoying a rare moment of quiet. Moments of peace were few and far between for the Lord, and so he savored every last one of them. Unfortunately, this one was shattered when one of his healers, Celebûr {Silver Fire}, came bursting in to his study. "Milord! It's Lord Aragorn!" shouted the healer.

Elrond was on his feet instantly, running to the Healer's Wing. As he ran, he asked "What happened?"

"He took a wound to the left arm. The blade was poisoned," said Celebûr.

"What are the affects?" asked the Lord.

"He has a high fever and is delirious," panted the healer.

The pair dashed into the room, not stopping until they reached Aragorn's bedside. Legolas was still there. "My lords," he said, bowing.

Elrond ignored the greeting, bending over his foster son. He looked at the wound, and gasped. It had not scabbed, and the skin around it was blue. When he touched it lightly, Aragorn cried out in agony, shying away from the half-elf's hand. "Poison," Elrond breathed.

Then, switching into Healer mode, he began barking orders, facing each Elf to make sure he was understood. "Celebûr, fetch some athelas! Glîn {Gleam of slender, bright shafts of light}, I need sewing supplies to stitch this up! Legolas- Legolas?" asked Elrond, looking about in confusion.

"He's gone. Left a second after you arrived," offered Glîn as she left the room.

Elrond frowned. Usually, if Aragorn was injured, you practically had to drug Legolas so he would leave the room and get some sleep. Why had he left his friend to fight Death alone? Why had he abandoned him?

.().().().

A/N- Aragorn angst is done for now. Legolas angst is coming, and if you think Aragorn's was bad, you ain't seen nothing yet! Also, if you think this story needs to be rated R, please tell me before you report it! I will change it immediately, I promise! I don't want my account closed! Now to reply to my beloved reviewers!

SoRF- Of course I write angst better than love! If I didn't, I would write a MS!

Joshua Nenya- Interesting? Is that a good interesting or a bad interesting? I'm glad you like the idea, though!

Lynn-G- Quite possibly!

Jacquelinestel- Here's more for you!

Jenna- Lucky Estriel! Trust me, it only get worse from here!

Mornflower- Estel explain himself? But that wouldn't be fun to write! I need more self-torture out of my beloved pawns, I mean characters, before I can have a happy ending. (Not that I promise one at all...) As for coming with the idea for my plot, I want to give a huge thank-you to Klaus Badelt for writing the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack. For some reason, I find it amazingly inspiring to listen to it while thinking up plots and writing them down. Also, thanks for adding me to your favorites!

Diva- Thanks! Here's your update!

Grumpy- I don't want Legolas to listen to Aragorn. Where's the fun in that?

Also, thank you to the three that voted on my penname. The score is as follows-

Elf of the Riddermark- II
Moralinde-I

I'm going to keep the polls open until I post the next chapter. I know no one cares, but a vote would be nice!

Also, I've never had eight reviewers all on one chapter! Thank you so much!

Namarie,
Moralinde