I'm sorry. I know I said I was going to update immediately after I got back from vacation, but airports, storm delays, and crappy baggage returns made that all but impossible. So without any further ado, I give you chapter 12.
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings still isn't mine.
*****
Arwen walked calmly down the darkened halls of her father, Lord Elrond's, house. The halls were empty and still. No living soul appeared to hinder the elven princess' slow but direct march. The resounding echoes of her footsteps were the only things that broke the deep, unlifting silence hanging in the air.
She walked somberly, her face blank and eyes distant, as if she was a quiet mourner in a funeral procession. And in some strange and sad way, she felt that she was.
It was the morning after the declaration of war against the elven realm of Imladris, the day Thranduil would avenge the death of his youngest son by spilling the blood of dwarves. The city of Rivendell was deserted, its people either hiding or preparing to meet the soldiers of Thranduil's army. There had been no time to flee. Thranduil's army had blocked off one of the only possible routes of escape from the elven city. All other mountain passes out of the river valley were still blocked by late winter snows that had not yet melted from the warming temperatures of spring. They were trapped.
A large contingent of warriors had left the city gates early that morning, riding out to meet Thranduil's army in either a last ditch effort of peace or the first stand of war. Every able-bodied warrior not stationed out of reach on Imladris' borders for patrol had ridden out. Only a few small troops of soldiers had remained behind to protect the outer defenses of the city and remaining household of the palace. All else had ridden out.
Among those warriors had been Arwen's twin bothers, Elrohir and Elladan. Though they had just returned from more than two weeks in the wilderness and been devastated by news of Legolas' death, they refused to stay behind while their comrades went to fight and defend their home. With them to battle had also gone Aragorn, his eyes distant and face unreadable. Gandalf had also gone, astride his mighty white stallion, Shadowfax. It was hoped by Elrond that perhaps the wizard's wise and unbias nature could somehow persuade Thranduil at the last moment to relinquish his path of war. But it was a very frail hope nevertheless.
And with them had also gone Gimli, the one whose blood Thranduil's sword thirsted for. On his face when he left was the calm resolve of a man riding out to meet his death. Those dwarves that had accompanied Gimli to the elven haven of Rivendell had also gone. All of Elrond's desperate pleas begging them to flee and seek shelter from Thranduil's wrath had fallen on deaf ears. Living up to their reputation, the dwarves were obstinately stubborn. They refused to stay and hide like cowards. They would go and meet the one that wanted their blood so badly face-to-face; and if it came to it, die like warriors in battle.
The only one to stay had been Glorfindel. The golden-haired Balrog slayer had remained behind in the Last Homely House to lead a final defense against Thranduil should he manage to break through the city's defenses and make a march on the palace and Lord Elrond.
Rivendell had mustered more than two hundred warriors against their invading enemy. But while Thranduil had ridden to Rivendell with only a hundred and fifty, the elves of Mirkwood were infamously known for their cunning and prowl in battle. No other elven realm could boast the kind of fierce tenacity the northern wood-elves had learned to fight with over so many centuries of guarding their lands without the help of any elven rings. It would be a bloody battle indeed.
Turning down another corridor into the north-western wing of the palace, Arwen soon came to a set of tall wooden doors standing open to the entrance of a vast, wide room beyond. She paused at the threshold, as if in a moment of reverent hesitation before slowly moving into the pale grey light beyond.
The smell of burning incense greeted her at the doorway, filling her nose with a mixture of earthy floral scents that put a palpable feeling of sadness and regret in the air.
A slatey grey sky stretched out overhead beyond the large picture windows lining the far side of the room. Storm clouds danced and swirled outside, threatening rain. A low roll of thunder sounded somewhere on the horizon, as though heralding the coming doom Arwen had come to that room to escape and make her final farewell to her dear friend and brother-in-heart.
"Hello, Legolas," she said softly, casting her eyes towards the far side of the room.
She expected no answer, and indeed received none.
The elven prince slept on quietly in his eternal state of death on the low stone alter he had been laid out on, as peaceful and indifferent to the moving world around him as the last time Arwen had seen him. Nothing had changed. His right hand still rested there atop his unmoving chest, lifelessly clutching the mighty silver bow that had served him so faithfully in life; his hair still flowed out beneath his head like a golden curtain of silk over the small pillow cushioning his head against the cold stone slab at his back; his peaceful face still glowed dimly with the waning light of his spirit; his eyes still remained drawn and shuttered like those a sleeping mortal, forever hiding the now empty sapphire depths of his eyes that had once held such life and energy in them.
Nothing had changed...
Arwen approached the base of the low dais holding Legolas' body. Mounting it, she then stepped up beside the lifeless body of her ancient friend. She gazed down at Legolas' placid features.
"Hello, my friend," she said softly, talking to Legolas as though his disembodied spirit might somehow hear her though the empty vessel that had once been his body.
"Things have been different since you left us. It seems we never really knew how much you meant to us until you were already gone..." she said to Legolas quietly, rather uncertain as to how she was suppose to actually make final peace with her departed friend. As an elf, the concept of death was foreign and strange. Though she could see Death's handiwork laying right there in front of her, she still could not fully understand how everything that had been Legolas and had made up his light in life could now just be gone. It did not make sense. How could such a strong and pure life force like Legolas' just vanish? How could it just disappear with nothing left behind to mark his passing but this empty shell and a memory?
Unable to answer these questions or understand how Legolas could have just left like he had, Arwen continued on, speaking the sorrow of her heart as if they were sharing a quiet conversation together as they had done countless times before in life.
"Aragorn misses you – we all do. But he's changed... It's like a part of him left with you. I hardly even know him anymore. He's quiet and I've caught him staring into space as if he's a hundred miles away... It's like he's lost and can't find his way back home. He doesn't see any reason to go on. He won't eat and barely sleeps... It's guilt – that's what it is. He blames himself for your death... Ever since Gimli came back, it was like the final bit that was holding him together snapped. It was horrible. There was a fight and Gimli and Aragorn said things to each other that I never thought them capable of saying. It was like they were trying to blame each other for what happened to you... I wanted to stop them, but I knew I couldn't even if I had tried, there was just too much pain there..."
A stifled sob escaped the elven princess' lips. Her eyes began to mist over, but she fought to control her tears. She could not stop now. In some strange way what she was doing felt therapeutic, like she could finally release all her pent-up sorrow and grief.
"We've all blamed ourselves..." she choked out, catching her voice and continuing on, "We've all blamed ourselves at some point at another for what happened to you, trying to think of what more we could have done to help you..."
"I sometimes wish Gimli had never given you that dagger. At times I almost find myself almost blaming him for what happened. I know it wasn't his fault anymore than it was Aragorn's, mine, or anyone else's and I hate myself for ever even thinking such a thing. But it's like I need a scapegoat – just somebody to blame... And then I find myself almost understanding how your father must feel. I can't imagine the pain he must be going through..."
Another choked sob. Tears were beginning to leak out of the corners of Arwen's eyes, streaking her cheeks. "But while I might understand how Thranduil may blame Gimli – as wrong and arrogant as it may be – I cannot see how he can so blindly blame all those he associates with Gimli. He would rather seek blind and unjust revenge than properly mourn for his own son..."
"The whole world's changed since you've left, Legolas. Everything. Friends fight friends and can only blame each other for their own pain; and the misguided grief of a father threatens to destroy the world with fruitless bloodshed..."
Arwen quickly wiped the back of her hand across her face, futilely trying to smear away the salty rivulets of tears from her cheeks. "I don't know how things got this way..." she told Legolas bitterly, her voice now quaking and hitched with sobs, "I just don't know... You didn't deserve to die like this. I can't help thinking how you wouldn't have wanted your death to lead to such hatred. You didn't deserve to have your memory stained with blood... Everything's just gone so wrong without you here..."
Whatever emotional dam Arwen had constructed inside herself to keep all her sorrow back for the sake of her grieving mortal lover, crumbled to pieces. She broke down, weeping openly. There was no one there to see her mourn anyway. They had all gone off to face Thranduil; all gone to further stain Legolas' memory with blood.
Tears streamed down the fair contours of her face. Building sobs shook the elven princess' slender frame. "I just wish you were still here..." she cried hopelessly, as her hand unconsciously shot out and wrapped around the limp hand folded up over Legolas' chest, as if trying to seek strength and reassurance from the cold lifeless body of her friend.
But as Arwen wept over Legolas' body, she suddenly realized that the hand grasped tightly in her own was not really all that cold, as if a lingering warmth yet remained. Startled, Arwen broke off her sobs and straightened up from beside the blond archer's still form. She stood, momentarily stunned, staring down at the vaguely warm hand held in her own.
A thousand thoughts raced through her head. No... It couldn't be. There was just no possible way... She was surely deluding herself with some desperate hope... And yet... there was still a lingering warmth residing in the elf's cold hand.
Arwen's eyes snapped up onto Legolas' face, searching for any signs of life. The elf's features remained cold and set, cast in the image of a sleeping mortal.
No, she told herself. No. She couldn't be fooled. She could feel it. It was there, that weak lingering sense of warmth in Legolas' body.
And then she saw it. That dim, translucent halo of light glowing up from the elf's exposed skin. For one wild moment of disbelief, Arwen thought she might be imagining it. But no. It was there, that faint glow of the Firstborn, the same glow that should have long ago faded from Legolas' body after his death. But it hadn't. It was still there!
Staring in shock, Arwen heard the pounding of her blood in her ears. Her pale grey eyes swept along the prince's body, searching for more signs to confirm the one impossible thought now throbbing in her brain.
And then there, barely visible above the collar of Legolas' soft grey velvet robe, a small creeping patch of sickly blue skin on the side of Legolas' neck caught her eye. It almost looked like a bruise from her angle, but as Arwen bent lower to examine it and tentatively pulled down the collar of Legolas' robe, the elf-maiden let out a small squeak of surprise. He heart leapt into her throat.
"Father!!" she cried out, "Father, help! Please come quick!" Her shrill screams reverberated off the stone wall back into the room before finally echoing out into the silent corridors beyond.
Arwen stood there waiting in a maddening state of suspense for what felt like forever. She held Legolas' hand tightly, as if trying to reassure the blond-haired elf to just hold on a little bit longer and that everything was going to be alright. Helpless tears stained the elven princess' cheeks as she desperately prayed that what she believed was not some cruel false hope.
Finally, just as Arwen thought she would go insane from waiting, the hurried sound of running feet caught her ears. She spun around towards the sound just as her father, Lord Elrond, burst into the room from the darkened hallway beyond. Close behind him ran Glorfindel, also brought running by Arwen's shouts.
"Arwen, what is it? What's wrong?" Elrond exclaimed, his parental instincts automatically assuming his daughter's screams were from her somehow being hurt or in danger. His ancient grey eyes immediately alighted on Arwen safely standing on the other side of the room beside Legolas' body. He quickly noted her tightly holding the dead prince's hand. His panic swiftly changed to confusion. "What are you doing? Arwen, you shouldn't be –"
"Legolas...he's still warm!" she sputtered hysterically, "Please, father, help him!"
Elrond looked at his daughter uncertainly. "Arwen, I know you are upset about Legolas' death, but– "
"Father, please!!" she cried out desperately, cutting him off. Why couldn't he understand? Didn't he see he needed to hurry? "He's still warm! The poison– " She pointed down frantically at Legolas' neck. "Please help him!"
Still doubtful but peeked with curiosity, Elrond calmly approached the dais. As he stepped up onto it and came to Legolas' side, Arwen obediently slipped out of his way to the other side of the alter. Her face was pulled taunt and strained with anxiety.
Elrond looked down at the elven prince's peaceful face. He still looked the same as ever. "Now what did you...?" But before he could ask Arwen what she had seen, he saw it himself. Just above the collar of Legolas' robe on the left hand side of the prince's neck was the top of a small bluish patch of skin.
"Oh, my gods..." His hands flew down and pulled back the edge of Legolas' collar, exposing more blue stained skin beneath. The ancient healer's eyes widened in shocked disbelief. "Glorfindel!" he cried out over his shoulder to where his march warden was still standing on the other side of the room.
The golden-haired Balrog slayer was immediately there by his side. "My lord," he bowed, casting a questioning glance down at Legolas' inert body, wondering what the others had seen to have caused such sudden alarm.
"Go to my study and bring me back the vial of water Mithrandir brought back with him from his journey. Quickly!"
"Yes, my Lord." With no other words, Glorfindel was gone.
"Father...?" Arwen whimpered in a small and frightened voice.
"By Elbereth's veil..." Elrond muttered as if he had hardly even heard her. He quickly removed the bow from Legolas' ungrasping hand and dropped it to the floor beside his feet, then threw back the white silk sheet from over the lower half of Legolas' body. Grasping the collar of the prince's robes and unbuttoning the first several clasps, the elven healer then slipped his other hand beneath and pulled Legolas' left arm free from its sleeve, right up out of the robe's neck hole so that it's hem stretched down under the elf's armpit.
What it revealed made both Elrond and Arwen gasp.
Legolas entire left arm was a dark, poisonous blue. Near the tips of his fingers, his hand had turned a gangrenous colored black. The sickness reached almost half-way up the side of Legolas' neck and spread out all the way across his naked chest to his sternum.
Elrond looked down in a mixture of revulsion and aghast horror. The last line of progression he had seen of the poison before deeming Legolas dead had been just at the base of his collar bone, the blue only just beginning to spill out over his chest. But now... Now the poison's path had consumed almost the entire left half of Legolas' torso. It was still spreading! But how could that be?! How could a poison still spread when there was no heartbeat to pump it through the bloodstream?!
At that moment, Glorfindel returned. In his hand, he held the vial of water Gandalf, Gimli, and Toreingal had brought back with them from the enchanted waterfall of Eronel's cave. He must have run as fast as his legs could carry him for the amount of time it took for him to return. Though he did not quite understand what was going on, he had immediately picked up on the desperate urgency in Elrond's voice. As he held out the vial to the elf-lord, Glorfindel let out a startled gasp, finally seeing the grotesque bluish hue of Legolas' exposed arm and neck.
"By the Valar..." Glorfindel uttered in a low, horrified whisper.
Ignoring his march warden, Elrond took the proffered vial from Glorfindel and slid an arm beneath Legolas' shoulders to cradle the limp body up against his chest. The elf's head rolled lifelessly into the crook of Elrond's elbow as Elrond uncorked the vial with a swift flick of his thumb and held it to Legolas' lips. Tipping Legolas' head back over his elbow, Elrond slowly began to empty the contents of the vial into the prince's mouth. He poured with agonizing slowness, trying not to pour too fast so the water would just run right back out the corners of Legolas' mouth.
Arwen and Glorfindel watched in silent transfixion as Elrond finally removed the empty vial from the elven prince's lips and began to deftly massage the elf's throat, forcing the water down his esophagus. Finally succeeding in forcing the last of the enchanted water down Legolas' throat, Elrond abandoned his ministrations.
A tense, heavy silence filled the room as the three elves stared down at Legolas, waiting in breathless anticipation. They didn't know what exactly they expected to happen, but they could feel a certain finality hanging in the air if this did not work. They didn't know how, but they knew this was their last chance.
"Come on, Legolas... Come on..." Elrond coaxed under his breath, unconsciously petting the hair away from Legolas' face as though trying to quietly wake a sleeping child. Legolas' lay motionless, his eyes closed and mouth slightly open but drawing no breath. "Come on. Wake up..." His ancient grey eyes bored into the prince's slack face, desperately searching for any minute flicker of life. Arwen and Glorfindel huddled close beside him, all of them tensely waiting for something to happen.
Time ticked slowly by.
Elrond stared in unwavering fixedness on the elven prince' face, but still no sign of life stirred in the motionless body. Becoming desperate, Elrond pressed two forefingers to the underside of Legolas' jaw, feeling for a pulse. His fingers dug into the soft flesh, frantic to feel even the faintest of heartbeats. But as the seconds continued to tick by without feeling even the smallest throb of life beneath his fingertips, the ancient healer suddenly knew it was a lost cause. The fragile hope that had been growing in his heart since first seeing the spreading blue track of poison on Legolas' neck shattered to pieces.
"No..." he breathed in weary defeat, hanging his head over the lifeless body. Damn it, he cursed himself. He had almost begun to believe that by some incredible miracle there had still been some chance of saving Legolas. But he had only been fooling himself; this he now saw. What had he expected; Legolas just to sit up and stretch as if he had just awoken from a long nap? What foolishness. Legolas was dead. There was nothing he could do to change that. No amount of magic could resurrect the dead. None. What a fool he had been...
"I'm sorry, father..." Arwen whispered as she turned her face shamefully away from her father and the lifeless body held in his arms. "I'm sorry. I just saw the blue and thought– "
"No, Arwen," Elrond reprimanded with a solemn shake of his head, "Don't. You did the right thing... It was good you saw it. Thranduil will come for Legolas' body... He does not need to know the poison that killed his son is still spreading... No father should. It would only cause him more pain. We need to hide it befor–"
Elrond stopped mid-sentence.
His one hand still lay across Legolas' throat with his fingers still pressing lightly into the soft flesh of the prince's neck. He froze, not quite sure whether he felt what he just thought he had. He stared down at Legolas' face with an unreadable expression etched into his ageless face.
Arwen and Glorfindel both looked at Elrond in confusion, having caught the startled hitch in the elf-lord's voice just before his abrupt halt in speech.
Elrond's breath stilled as he pressed his two forefingers back into the soft underside of Legolas' jaw. The world around him seemed to slow and grind to a halt as he stood in perfect stillness, desperately waiting for confirmation of the one thing he was now almost afraid to believe. He waited there in a tortured suspense for what felt like forever. And then, just as he was about to give up his desperate hope and admit defeat, he felt it again. Shallow and faint, the weak murmur of a heartbeat fluttered under the tips of Elrond's probing fingers.
The ancient elf-lord almost pulled his hand away in surprise. But as another impossible throb of life pulsed up against his fingers he found himself unable to move, frozen in disbelief. Again another faint heartbeat. And then another. They came in distant intervals of each other, each several long and agonizingly slow seconds after its predecessor. But as Elrond continued to stare down at Legolas' unchanging face with an agape expression of utter disbelief and amazement, he felt the faint and weak heartbeats beneath his fingers begin to build and quicken, as if Legolas' heart was slowly beating itself back into rhythm.
A sudden jerk from Legolas' slender body startled Elrond out of his trance.
"Father, look!" Arwen gasped as she clamped a hand over her mouth and pointed down at the prince's body with the other.
Elrond followed his daughter's pointed finger and saw that it was Legolas' left hand that she pointed at. As he watched, he saw the tips of Legolas' poison-blacked fingers suddenly twitch, as if they had just been jolted by a tiny electric shock. Elrond, Glorfindel, and Arwen all stood in transfixed shock, staring down at the dead elf's moving fingers.
The pulse beneath Elrond's fingers continued to build and quicken like the drum of a slave ship beating its oars-men into ramming speed. As Legolas' heart rate began to race wildly under his touch, Elrond felt another small jerk from the limp body in his arms.
And then, with no further warning, Legolas erupted into life.
Like a diver breaking the surface of water after a long submersion, Legolas' back arched backwards over the strong arms supporting his back. His mouth flew open and a loud and mighty gasp of air sounded. His chest exploded upwards, his lungs inflated like balloons as he drew in the impossibly long drag of air. But as his lungs filled to capacity, the elf was immediately seized by a fit of violent coughs. He coughed and sputtered in Elrond's arms, helplessly choking on the stale air still filling his respiratory track.
Broken out of his trance by the wild thrashes of the suddenly lively cadaver, Elrond jumped into action. Even in that moment of utter confusion and shock, Elrond retained the calm composure of a trained healer. He pulled the sputtering elf closer to his chest and began to calmly talk to Legolas as the prince desperately fought for breath in his arms. "Legolas. Legolas, you have to calm down and breath... That's it... Just breath... Breath..." he coached. As he spoke, he cupped the back of Legolas' head in his hand and expertly cradled it up at an angle that would allow better airflow into the elf's seizing lungs. "That's it, Legolas. Just breath..."
As the elf's coughing began to slowly subside, Elrond was suddenly struck by sheer ridiculousness of what he was telling Legolas to do – the paradox of it! He was telling Legolas to breath. Breath! This to an elf who only minutes ago had been considered as dead as a mortal ten years in the grave!
He had to keep repeating it to himself to make the words sink in. Breath...Breath... Legolas was breathing... He was alive...
Panting weakly, Legolas fell limp in Elrond's arms. He lay motionless, his head hanging over the elf-lord's elbow. But unlike the first time Elrond had taken the elven prince into his arms, Legolas was no longer the lifeless body he had been only moments before. Elrond could now hear the soft whisper of breath whistling between Legolas' partially opened lips. He could see and feel the shallow rise and fall of the elf's chest. And though the elf's eyes remained closed, Elrond could see a weak furrow now creasing Legolas' brow, as if he were in some state of exhaustion or pain.
Bending down over the still form in his arms, Elrond gently touched the side of Legolas' cheek with the back of his hand. Met with no resistance, Elrond slowly turned the elf's face towards him. "Legolas? Legolas, can you hear me?" he called softly, speaking with amazing calmness for the maelstrom of shock and disbelief storming through his head. "Legolas, answer me."
Like the first slip of light appearing over the horizon at dawn, the twin sapphire orbs of Legolas' eyes slowly appeared beneath the thin slits of his eyelids. Called forth from out of the darkness, the youngest prince of Mirkwood's eyes slowly eased open and gazed up into the face of his awakener with half-lidded eyes.
He stared up at Elrond blankly for a long moment, as if unable to immediately place the strangely familiar face hovering over him. Blinking with a drugged sort of lethargy, Legolas' lips began to move soundlessly like a beached fish, as if trying to speak.
"Elrond...?" he finally managed to croak out in a dry, sandpapery rasp. His voice was so frail and weak it was barely even audible. Legolas' eyes stared up glassy and unfocused. He looked as though he were a second away from slipping back into unconsciousness.
The elf-lord stared in dumb-struck shock, unable to comprehend what he had just heard. Legolas had just spoken. He was talking. He was breathing. He was alive.
The last thought kept running around and around in Elrond's head, as if his mind was unable to comprehend the impossible reality of what just happened.
Legolas suddenly began to shiver, as if his corporal senses were only now beginning to catch up with him. Whether from shock or cold, Elrond did not know.
Blinking slowly, Legolas' eyes seemed to come more into focus. His dimmed blue eyes slowly swivelled away from Elrond's face and looked around as if in search of something. "Gimli...?" he called out in a dangerously weak voice. His voice sounded like two stone rubbing up against each other. Elrond involuntarily winced at the harsh sound of the younger elf's dry and raspy voice. With Elrond supporting the back of his neck in the crook of his elbow, Legolas sluggishly rolled his head to the side, as if half-expecting the one he called for to already be there at his side. Met with no response, Legolas called out again, his tone more pleading and urgent, "Gimli?" A distressed whine escaped the elf's lips as he was again denied the presence of his friend. He began to weakly struggle in Elrond's arms, driven by the single-minded need to locate the missing dwarf. Closing his eyes with the effort it took to muster the energy, Legolas cried out in growing desperation. "Gimli!"
Seeing the elf struggling to sit up on his own power, Elrond restrained Legolas against his chest. "No. No, Legolas, don't. He's not here. Gimli's not here right now..."
The blond elf cried out weakly in dismay.
"It's ok, Legolas. It's ok. You're safe now," Elrond tried to sooth as he stroked the side of Legolas' cheek reassuringly. Legolas was now shivering uncontrollably in his arms. His entire body shook as if it had been plunged into a vat of ice water. It was not hard for Elrond to almost believe the poisonous blue of Legolas' left arm had actually been turned that color by exposure to extreme cold. Shivering helplessly, the resurrected elf collapsed limply back into the healer's arms, whimpering with exhaustion and distress. "Shh... Shh... It's alright, Legolas... You're safe now. It's alright," he soothed, unconsciously beginning to rock the shivering form in his arms as if trying to comfort a crying child.
Legolas weakly tossed his head against Elrond's chest. "No... Gimli..." he called in a frail voice, as if his stubborn refusal to accept that the dwarf was not there to answer him would change the fact of the matter. His throat burned and his tongue felt like a dry, swollen mass in his mouth. He would have given anything for a glass of water, but the urgent need to find his missing friend was driving away any such other thoughts from his mind. "Please... Gimli..."
"He's not here," Elrond asserted gently, unsure wether Legolas really understood anything being said to him right then.
Straining to keep his bleary eyes in focus, Legolas fought to keep the heavy weights of his eyelids from sliding shut against his will. He clutched at the front of Elrond's robe with his poison-blue hand and looked up at him pleadingly with glassy, unfocused eyes. "Please..." he whispered, struggling to sound coherent, "Please... Where is he? I have to warn him... Eronel – she's planning something... Please... Have to warn him. Where is he?"
Elrond held the shivering body to him closer. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't tell Legolas where Gimli had actually gone – not now with Legolas in his current condition. He was in no shape to know what had transpired since his...demise.
"Shh... It's ok. We'll find him, Legolas. Don't worry. We'll find him," Elrond assured complacently, wanting only to the hush the younger elf's plaintive cries before he exhausted himself any further in his already dangerously weak state.
"Please. I have to find him... Eronel... Have to warn Gimli...Have to stop her..." he slurred persistently, unaware that he was beginning to babble in his incoherency. "Please...Gimli!"
Elrond hugged the elf tighter. "It's ok, Legolas. We'll find him. I promise."
As if appeased by Elrond promise of finding his missing friend, Legolas finally relinquished his struggles and wearily sagged back into the elf-lord's arms. His head rolled limply against Elrond's chest. Shivering violently, he clutched at the front of Elrond's robes. "Please help... I'm so cold..." he whispered in a dying voice, as if slowly fading out of consciousness. He huddled closer to the older elf, as if seeking warmth.
Elrond instinctively pulled the shivering creature closer to him, trying to offer Legolas what little heat and reassurance he could. "Oh gods..." Elrond muttered as he felt the elf continued to violently vibrate up against him, "He's freezing..."
Reaching down towards Legolas' feet, the ancient healer grabbed the thin white sheet that had once served as a burial mantle for the young prince and pulled it up over the shivering mass in his arms. Legolas moaned vaguely in pain as Elrond's fingertips accidentally brushed over the exposed skin of his infected blue arm, but fell quiet again as the elf-lord continued to wrap him in the makeshift blanket. Fatigue and exhaustion were quickly stealing the resurrected elf of his only recently regained consciousness. His head rolled heavily into the hollow of Elrond's shoulder and remained there, his eyes slowly drifting shut. He desperately fought to stay awake. He had to; he needed to find Gimli... But his eyelids were so heavy... And he was just... so... tired...
"How can this be...?" Glorfindel murmured in unmasked wonder and disbelief as he watched Legolas slip into a shallow, fitful sleep. He stared dumbly down at the shivering blond bundle cradled in Elrond's arms as if unable to comprehend what he saw. "I don't understand how this is possible... He has been dead for almost a whole week now... How did this happen?" He looked up at Elrond, as if expecting the ancient elf-lord to hold the answers to these questions. Arwen, as if finally shaken out of her trance too, looked up at her father with the same questions burning like fire in her pale grey eyes.
Elrond shook his head in grim disgust. A theory had begun to form in his mind of how such a miracle could have taken place, but he was afraid to recognize it. What it meant if he was right was something so terrible he did not even want to think it. But there was just no other explanation. He had said it himself: no amount of magic could resurrect the dead... None. Which meant only one thing...
"Legolas was never dead..."
Glorfindel and Arwen stared at him as if they were not quite sure if they had heard him correctly or not. "What...?" Glorfindel murmured.
"He was never dead," Elrond repeated, looking down at the shivering bundle in his arms as he spoke, "The poison was still spreading. Don't you see? There would have been no other way for it to have kept doing so if Legolas had not been alive."
"But...but you examined him yourself," Arwen persisted skeptically, "You were there with Aragorn when you found him dead. There's no way you could have missed such a thing if he were still alive."
Elrond winced slightly at the unintentional call against his competency as a healer. "No, I wouldn't have if he had retained anything along the lines of a normal heartbeat... He must have been in some kind of deep sleep or coma where his heart was beating just fast enough to keep him alive. If that was the case, then it must have been beating so slow that I either did not catch it or was so weak I did not feel it at all."
"Are you saying Legolas has been laying here alive this past week?!" Glorfindel exclaimed in utter horror. His eyes immediately alighted onto Legolas' shivering form curled up in Elrond's arms as if unable to believe how the prince could have survived such an ordeal.
"But what could have put him in such a state?" Arwen demanded, "The poison could not have sent him into such a death-like sleep."
A shadow passed over Elrond's face. "Gimli mentioned when he returned to Rivendell that Eronel said she was the one that supposedly killed Legolas – not the poison. If there was but the smallest shred of truth in what she told Gimli, then it was her doing that put Legolas into such a state."
A frown identical to her father's appeared on Arwen's face. "But why would she have done such a thing?"
"She wanted to be released. She had already convinced Gimli that she could bring Legolas back if he died and could not afford for them to then return with the enchanted water and cure Legolas. She needed to make sure Gimli had a reason to return to her. With Gimli so distraught over Legolas' death, he played right into her plan and released her without even realizing how she had manipulated him."
"But you said Legolas was never dead," Glorfindel pointed out. "Why didn't she actually kill him?"
Elrond's frown deepened. "That is what confuses me about this. How could Eronel have attacked Legolas when she was still imprisoned in her cave almost a two days ride outside of Rivendell? There is no possible way she could have attacked Legolas unless she was somehow able to extend her magic beyond whatever force was holding her captive in that cave. But that doesn't make sense. If she was able to reach out her power, why did she not try to escape before? Why only now? Surely she would have been able to contrive a much less complicated scheme of freeing herself if she was capable of doing such a thing... Unless perhaps since Legolas was poisoned by the same weapon she had tainted with her magic and very essence, she was in some way connected to Legolas and only able to extend her powers out to him. It is possible she did try to kill Legolas but was not able to. She may not have been strong enough from such a distance and only able to induce a death-like sleep to make it appear as if Legolas was dead... And when we gave Legolas the enchanted water, her magic was finally broken. Either way, the result was essentially the same. Gimli was tricked into releasing her, and had Arwen not seen the blue on his neck, Legolas would have eventually died from the poison whenever it finally did reach his heart..."
A heavy silence fell as the three elves struggled to comprehend all that had just transpired.
"By the Valar..." Glorfindel swore under his breath, "He has been alive this entire time..."
Leaning out across the stone alter, Arwen gently touched the side of Legolas' pale cheek with the back of her hand like a mother feeling the brow of a feverish child. But Legolas was not feverish by any measure. "My gods... He's freezing."
"Legolas has been laying here on this stone slab for the past week..." Elrond muttered under his breath as he hugged the shivering blond elf closer to his chest in a subconscious act of paternal concern and protectiveness, "It would have been no different than laying on a brick of ice. He is probably suffering from some form of exposure..." He reached up and gently pressed the back of his fingers against the side of Legolas' cheek much like his daughter had just done. The prince's skin felt like black ice and his complection was far too pale for Elrond's likes. They needed to get Legolas somewhere warm. And fast. He did not know how much longer Legolas could hold out. Even without any formal examination, Elrond could see the elf was dangerously weak and dehydrated and in need of immediate medical attention.
"Gimli...?"
Startled out of his thoughts, Elrond looked down at the shivering blond mass in his arms.
Awoken out of his fitful doze by Elrond's touch, Legolas' again called for his friend, frail and plaintively. "Gimli...?" The blank stare from behind the half-lidded slits of his eyes revealed no sign of understanding or coherency. He called out like one half-conscious or delirious and still caught in the grips of some lucid sleep. His breath quickened as he called out again in growing desperation, "Gimli!"
"Quickly," Elrond directed to his on-lookers as he began to hurriedly gather the limp elf up into his arms, "We must get Legolas someplace warm. He is still extremely sick." Sliding one arm beneath Legolas' knees while supporting his back with the other, Elrond lifted the impossibly light bundle up into his arms. Like a bridegroom carrying his new wife over the threshold of their house, the elf lord swept towards the doorway of the room in a whirl of flowing red robes and train of trailing white silk from off the bundled form in his arms.
"My lord..." Glorfindel called after Elrond before he could get very far.
Elrond stopped and looked back over his shoulder. His daughter and march warden still stood at the head of the stone altar, unmoved. "What, Glorfindel?"
The golden-haired elf shifted nervously. "My lord, what of Gimli?"
"What do you mean?"
"He is still set to meet Thranduil in battle today. No one else knows of Legolas' resurrection but us; they all still believe him dead..."
The meaning of Glorfindel's words immediately struck Elrond like an iron poker of dread through the heart. The war... Thranduil and everyone else still believed Legolas was dead. Legolas' father was still moving to seek revenge for a death that never really happened. They didn't know Legolas had returned. The war was still on.
"Oh gods..." Elrond muttered. "I'd almost forgotten..." He looked down at close-lidded face of the young elf in his arms then back up at Glorfindel. "We must send word of what happened," he said in grave urgency, "They must know Legolas still lives. If we can just get word to Thranduil that his son is still alive, we may be able to prevent this bloodshed..." The ancient elf lord shook his head sharply and looked to his daughter and march warden. "Quickly, Arwen, come with me. We must tend to Legolas. Glorfindel, dispatch a messenger to Gandalf, Aragorn, and my sons at the defensive line immediately. We must let them know what happened. We must stop this war from happening. We must stop Thranduil."
With that, Elrond turned and swept towards the open doorway of the room. He did not wait or even pause at the threshold to see if Arwen and Glorfindel followed him, for he knew that they did. For in his arms he held the one living hope of them all. The last small glimmer of hope in a world of darkness and despair. Legolas was still alive. And there was still hope...
Now it was only a race against time.
*****
TBC...
*****
*Ducks head behind computer screen* Ah! Don't hurt me! I know I made you wait a long time for that, but wasn't it worth it? Legolas is back! Aren't you happy? *Ducks as another random object comes sailing past her* Ok! Ok! I know there were a couple people out there rooting for Legolas to permanently stay dead, but I have to point out that he never was truly dead. *Ducks again as some other random thing is thrown at her* Ah!
'Till next time...
P.S. Can I please have a review? Please...?