Hey everyone! Thanks for your great reviews! In this chapter, we finally find out what's wrong with Legolas! :)
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Elrond quickly strode through the halls of his home, clutching a piece of paper in his hand. When he arrived at his destination, he opened the door without knocking.
Aragorn lay asleep in his bed, and the position that he was lying in would have made Elrond laugh if he didn't have such grave news for his son.
"Estel."
Aragorn jumped, startled by his father's sudden voice. Finding himself looking at Elrond's upside-down face, Aragorn carefully lifted his head from where it lay hanging off the side of the bed, wincing at his protesting neck muscles. "What is it?" he asked, when he saw his father's serious expression.
Saying nothing, Elrond simply handed him the paper.
Elrond and Aragorn,
Legolas is missing. Please make all haste to Mirkwood, to aid us in our search. Even if my son is found before your arrival, I fear that we may need your healing services.
Thranduil
Aragorn jumped out of the bed, the paper falling to the floor as he rushed to dress.
"I will ready the horses," Elrond said, heading for the door.
Aragorn nodded, grabbing what he needed for the journey. Legolas is missing…Legolas is missing…Shaking his head, he tried to still the panic threatening to well up within himself as he threw a quick look around his room, being sure that he had everything that he needed before rushing down the halls and out the door.
Elrond was already mounted and waiting, and he watched wordlessly as Aragorn mounted his own horse, and they left Rivendell, riding hard. Neither of them spoke, worried thoughts plaguing both of their minds.
How long has Legolas been missing…is he hurt…is he alive?
Elrond ran scenario after scenario in his mind, wondering at the potential extent of the prince's injuries…if they found him.
As darkness fell, they still had yet to speak. They both wished to continue their urgent journey overnight, but knew that it would be too difficult to cross the Misty Mountains in the dark.
Aragorn had no appetite, unable to eat due to his anxiety. He simply sat, quietly staring into the fire.
Elrond watched him with a sigh. He knew that his son loved Legolas like a brother…Elrond likewise loved Legolas like a son. If death had claimed the golden-haired elf, their lives would be forever changed.
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"Ion-nin…please wake."
Healers bustled around Legolas, but Thranduil paid them no mind. It had been a day since Legolas had been found, and he was still unconscious, with no sign of waking.
Thranduil sighed, gently holding his son's right hand. His left arm was under the bedcovers to be sure that it was not jostled, as they had still been unable to relocate Legolas' shoulder. The swelling of the joint was so great that it literally did not fit in the socket. The healers had given Legolas herbs to reduce inflammation, but they'd had no effect as of yet.
Sighing again, Thranduil reached forward to push a lock of hair out of his son's face. His hand brushed Legolas' forehead, and he frowned.
Legolas had a fever.
One of the healers saw the king's worried expression, and reached over with his own hand. Frowning at what he felt, he rushed to a table of herbs.
Sighing, the king dropped his head into his palm, clutching his son's limp hand with the other. Hurry, Elrond, he thought. Please hurry…
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When Aragorn and Elrond rode towards Mirkwood's gates, they opened immediately, without any of the guards inquiring as to their identity.
The significance wasn't lost on Aragorn or Elrond, who knew that their arrival had obviously been eagerly awaited.
Quickly dismounting from their horses, they ran up the palace steps, bursting through the doors.
"Has he been found?!" Aragorn shouted.
"Yes!" they heard.
Turning, they watched as Heredil hurried towards them. "Legolas has been found, but is in dire need of your healing services! Come!"
Aragorn and Elrond followed after him, relieved that Legolas was alive, but terrified at the other elf's words.
Aragorn's heartbeat quickened when he realized that Heredil was taking them to the palace's healing rooms. Whenever Legolas was injured, he preferred to stay in his own room to recover...for the elf to be in the healing wing told of the seriousness of the situation.
Thranduil jumped to his feet when the door was thrown open, and his expression of worry changed to one of relief. "You have come!"
"Of course, mellon-nin," said Elrond, quickly approaching the bed. "What is his condition?"
Thranduil sighed, sitting back down in his chair. "He has a fever…it has burned incessantly for three days!"
Aragorn laid a hand on his friend's forehead, frowning at the heat that emanated from the pale skin. "When was he found?"
"Four days ago," Thranduil told him. "The fever started the day after." He sighed, shaking his head. "The healers suspect poison, but nothing that they have tried has helped! If anything, his condition has worsened!"
Elrond pulled the sheets off the wounded elf. "What are his injuries?"
"His left shoulder is dislocated," Thranduil said. "They have been unable to relocate it."
Elrond looked at the king, shocked at his words. "Why?!"
"It is very swollen," Thranduil said. "Nothing that they gave him for the inflammation has helped!" He squeezed his son's hand, in despair.
Elrond patted his friend's shoulder, understanding his emotions. "Be calm, I will do my best to help Legolas."
Thranduil nodded. "I know." Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. "His other injuries consist of cracked ribs and a wound to his head," said Thranduil. "As well as many cuts and bruises. They do not appear to be healing!"
Elrond inwardly agreed. For injuries that were at least four days old, they should've already been partly healed. The situation with Legolas' shoulder puzzled Elrond, but before he started with that, he unwrapped the bandage on the injured elf's left arm.
What he saw surprised him. "Have they not treated the poison from this location?"
Thranduil stood, to see that the slash on his son's arm was red-rimmed and inflamed. "It did not look that way when it was tended!"
Frowning, Elrond lifted Legolas' shirt. Taking a knife from a nearby table, he sliced through the bandage surrounding the elf's torso and exposed his chest. Purple bruises stood out on his skin, testifying to the location of the injured ribs.
"This is not right," Elrond mumbled. "Injuries that do not heal…herbs that do not help…"
Aragorn's fear for his friend mounted. It was not often that Elrond admitted to confusion about a patient.
"In all your years," said Thranduil. "Have you ever seen anything like this, Elrond? Do you know what ails my son?"
Elrond sighed. "I am not quite sure, mellon-nin…"
Heredil stood by the door, watching. The conversation between the king and healer greatly worried him, and he prayed that Elrond would discover what was wrong with the Mirkwood prince.
Hearing a noise behind him, Heredil turned to see a servant entering the room.
"A message for the king," the servant told him.
Heredil took it, frowning at the sight of an unfamiliar seal. "King Thranduil."
Everyone looked up as the Mirkwood captain approached them.
Thranduil took the message wordlessly, sparing a glance at his son before opening it.
As the king read his letter, Aragorn and Elrond began to examine Legolas further, but stopped abruptly when the king let out a loud cry of shock and despair.
"What is it?!" Elrond exclaimed.
Thranduil's face had gone nearly as pale as his son's. Hands shaking, he handed the letter to Elrond, seeming speechless as he dropped back into his chair.
Elrond took it and quickly began to read, nervously wondering what had caused such a reaction in the usually unshakable king.
I am sure by now you've noticed that something is very wrong with your elfling. He suffers from vanwacoi—inflicted by my hand. I know that with your vast knowledge you will manage to find the cure, especially if you employ the services of our old friend Elrond. Why, you ask, have I done this? It was supposed to be you, Thranduil; for millennia, you were the one that I wished to curse with this affliction. For a long time, I planned out exactly how I would make it so. However, through an admittedly foolish mistake, I myself accidentally ingested the drug. I have no doubts that you and Elrond will work tirelessly to find the antidote for poor, innocent Legolas—as I recall that it exists—and after you have found it and administered it to your ailing elfling, you will then relinquish it to me.
No doubt those last words make you laugh, Thranduil, for what person would not joy in the adversity of their enemy? You would give the cure to Legolas and deliberately forget about my plight with joy. However, vanwacoi is not the only problem that your son has; I have also administered a slow-acting poison that will kill Legolas in six months. You have that long to find the cure for the vanwacoi or he will die. When you do discover the cure, you will then relinquish it to me and I will give you the antidote to the poison.
Raenwe
Aragorn was reading the letter as Elrond held it, but the healer lowered it in shock, and the human grabbed it out of his father's hand to finish reading.
"Why?!" Thranduil suddenly exclaimed. "Why has Raenwe come back to haunt me after so long?! Why must my son suffer for something that he had no part of!"
Elrond, speechless for the first time in probably decades, put a hand on the king's shoulder. He looked over at Aragorn, in time to see the letter slip from the stunned human's hands.
"Vanwacoi…?" said Aragorn. He recognized the word as being Quenyan, but wasn't sure of the exact translation.
Elrond let out a heavy sigh. "It literally means 'lost life'…Legolas has lost his elven way of life, physically." He felt Thranduil's shoulder tense under his hand.
"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked, anxiety knotting his stomach.
"It means that his body is now no different than a mortal's!" Thranduil hissed.
"You mean that he has lost his immortality?!" Aragorn exclaimed, his expression one of horror.
"No," said Elrond. "Thankfully, vanwacoi does not strip that from him. Rather, it destroys his elven healing ability, making his health as any human's."
Aragorn sighed and closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Then his injuries are healing, but at a human's pace."
Elrond nodded. "Aye. And it is not poison that grips his body with fever; the vanwacoi has allowed Legolas' body to fall prey to infection!" Elrond realized. "The same can be said of his shoulder; it swelled because his elven healing ability was not present to prevent it."
Sighing deeply, Aragorn looked at his unconscious friend. He was in a state of shock over the situation; unable to grasp that something of this nature had befallen the elf.
Thranduil was in a similar state, only much worse. He knew almost as much about vanwacoi as Elrond did; he knew that Legolas would now be prone to suffering the illnesses and slower healing rate of men.
Elrond sighed, giving the king's shoulder a squeeze before letting go and approaching his patient. Quickly assessing him, he started sorting through his herbs, trying to decide which of them would be right for Legolas.
"Adar?" Aragorn said, having picked up the letter that he'd dropped. "What is the cure for vanwacoi?"
Elrond's hands stopped their movement. He'd been so stunned over the news of Legolas' affliction that he hadn't remembered the worse part of the situation.
Aragorn saw the changed expression on his face. "Ada?"
Elrond sighed inwardly, closing his eyes. The words that he was about to speak were enough to cause an actual pain in his chest. "I do not know, ion-nin…"
Thranduil looked up.
"When Legolas was an elfling," Elrond continued. "Vanwacoi was banned. The affliction had been an accidental discovery, and for obvious reasons was considered a terrible fate for an elf. All mention of vanwacoi was ordered destroyed…and…" he paused. "That included the records of the antidote."
Thranduil shot to his feet. "Are you telling me that there's no known cure in Middle Earth?!"
Elrond sighed. "Mellon-nin…I remember how pleased I was with the ruling, and how happy I was to destroy the papers that I had on the subject…"
"If the antidote is not found, then Legolas will die in six months from Raenwe's poison!" Thranduil exclaimed, terror and desperation lacing his voice.
The notion almost took Aragorn's breath away, but he fought to remain calm when he saw Elrond raise a hand.
"Wait," the healer said. He frowned as if thinking, before looking at Thranduil. "I seem to recall not heeding to the command to destroy all."
Thranduil and Aragorn said nothing, almost afraid to hope.
Elrond suddenly smiled. "I copied down the antidote and hid it in one of my books."
Thranduil's face erupted in a huge grin. His eyes filled with tears of relief, and he seemed unable to speak.
"Which book?" Aragorn asked. "I do not ever recall finding anything like that hidden in one of them."
Elrond thought for a minute. "That is where the problem lies, ion-nin…I need time to think. I cannot recall at the moment."
Thranduil looked upset at that, but he controlled himself. "It has been close to three thousand years since that day. I understand that it will take you some time to remember…" He closed his eyes, sighing. "But for Legolas' sake, please remember quickly…"