Elrond was right.

Legolas' fever continued to rise through the night, and nothing that Elrond did had an effect on it.

Legolas didn't get much rest, his coughing fits coming more and more often. His breathing became labored and he constantly winced, as if in great pain. His mind wasn't very alert, and most of the questions that they asked him went unanswered.

Thranduil was beside himself, terrified by the blank look on his son's face. "Legolas?" he said, wiping his fever-hot face with a wet cloth. "Look at me, ion-nin!

Legolas blinked slowly, before sluggishly shifting his gaze onto his father.

"Can you hear me, Legolas?" Thranduil asked, nervously.

Legolas blinked again, his dazed-state fading somewhat. "Ada?"

Thranduil's face split into a wide grin. "Aye, Legolas! How do you feel?"

Legolas blinked again, seeing Elrond and Aragorn sitting on the other side of his bed. Before he had a chance to answer, he started to cough again.

Elrond and Aragorn both grabbed the elf and sat him up, hoping that the position would make his cough more effective.

"Cough it up!" said Elrond, firmly slapping the sick elf's back, hoping to loosen the congestion. "Try to get it out, Legolas!"

Legolas barely heard the healer, his mind too focused on the sudden pain shooting through his chest. The coughing made it worse, so he tried to stop, but his lungs didn't obey.

"Elrond!" Thranduil said, terrified to see his son in such distress.

Elrond stopped slapping the younger elf's back, frowning when Legolas gave a loud gasp. "Boil the berries," he told Aragorn, who let go of Legolas and rushed to the fire. "Thranduil, the tea!"

Thranduil grabbed the cup from the nightstand and handed it to the healer. Sitting on the bed, he took over Aragorn's place, careful of his son's bad shoulder.

"Drink, penneth," said Elrond, holding the cup to his lips.

Legolas couldn't ever remember feeling as completely awful as he did at that moment. Every difficult inhalation sent pain shooting through his chest, bad enough that he nearly considered holding his breath…if he had any to hold.

Elrond handed Thranduil the empty cup, pulling Legolas to lean against his shoulder as they anxiously awaited the juniper berries. He felt for the pulse on Legolas' neck, and found it racing. Elrond's own heartbeat sped up when the sick elf started to groan along with the gasps. "Where is the pain, penneth?" he asked.

Legolas couldn't spare the breath to answer, so he weakly dragged a hand up to clutch his shirt at the chest.

Elrond closed his eyes, having dreaded that answer.

Aragorn finally came back with the boiled berries, holding the pot before Legolas' face. Anxiety nearly made his own breath short as he watched his friend fight to breathe.

When Legolas felt the steam on his face, a sense of relief filled him. Hanging his head, he inhaled it as deeply as he could.

Thranduil could feel his heart seemingly pounding against his ribs as he watched his son. He'd never seen anyone suffer the likes of this, and he couldn't imagine what Legolas was going through.

Legolas' eyes were closed as he inhaled the hot steam. As well as easing his breathing, the heat felt good on his raw throat.

Thranduil's frantic heart started to slow when he saw the improvement in his son. "Breathe, Legolas," he said unnecessarily, gently rubbing his back. "Just breathe."

Legolas remained motionless for quite a while, as his breath returned to him. The pain in his chest remained, however, and he lifted his head slightly, looking at Aragorn.

The human smiled at his friend, removing the pot.

Legolas closed his eyes again, focusing on breathing. He suddenly shivered…but it was not due to the absence of the hot steam.

Thranduil felt his son start to tremble beneath his hand.

A strange coldness started to take over Legolas' body, and he weakly wrapped his arms around himself.

"Legolas?" said Thranduil, nervously putting a hand under his son's chin and lifting it. "What is it?"

"C-cold," Legolas stuttered, his voice very soft. "Cold…"

Elrond pushed Legolas further into Thranduil's grasp, quickly rising from the bed and rushing towards the closet. "Aragorn, brew more tea so that it is ready for when we need it. Thranduil, get in the bed with your son, he will need your body heat." He opened the closet door and retrieved more blankets, quickly going back to the bed.

"What is happening? Legolas?" Thranduil said, having not yet moved from his position, holding his son tightly as Legolas shivered violently.

Elrond dumped the blankets at the end of the bed, fluffing the pillows so that Legolas would not be laying flat. "Get in the bed!" he repeated, taking Legolas from the king's grasp.

Thranduil obeyed without another word.

Elrond gently leaned Legolas against the pillows, before picking up the other blankets and draping them over him. "Hold him close," he told Thranduil. "He suffers chills that no herbs will cure."

"What?" said the king, wrapping his arms around his son and pulling him to his chest. "Why?! I was led to believe that a cold was relatively harmless! Why is he suffering so?!"

Elrond sighed. "It is no longer a mere cold, mellon-nin; the illness has settled in his lungs."

Thranduil felt despair well up within him, as his son shuddered within his arms. "What does this mean?"

"It is not very common," said Aragorn, returning from the fireplace and nervously tucking the blanket edges more securely around his friend. "But it happens to mortals sometimes."

"Is it deadly?" Thranduil asked, hugging his son closer.

Elrond sighed. "It can be…but usually only in the very young or very old."

"Would you consider nearly three thousand young or old?!" Thranduil exclaimed, his own body shaking in fear. "With humans, the young and the old have weaker bodies, yes? Did you not say that Legolas' body does not know how to fight mortal illness?! Ai!" he exclaimed, pulling his son's head under his chin. "My son is dying!"

"Ada…" came a soft, weak voice.

"Legolas!"

"P-please s-stop," he said, his voice wavering due to the force of his shudders. "I will be f-fine…"

Thranduil hugged his son tighter, if possible, closing his eyes as tears tried to escape. "You had better be, Little Greenleaf," he whispered. "Or else I will find Raenwe and cut his body into so many pieces, that even the orcs won't want what's left!"

"Ada…don't s-say that…"

"You're right, my Greenleaf," said Thranduil, his voice calmer. "I will cut him into pieces even if you live—which you shall!" he said, realizing that his words of death were likely scaring his son.

Everyone was silent for a minute, sorrowfully watching Legolas shake, wishing that there was something that they could do for him. He began to cough again, and Thranduil sat up, pulling his son with him.

Legolas groaned loudly, the pain in his chest growing. His body was shivering so badly that his coughs were erratic and ineffective.

Elrond mixed a painkilling herb in the nettle tea, while Aragorn sat on Legolas' other side, holding the blankets around him lest his shivering cast them off.

The healer approached with the tea and held it to the sick elf's lips, helping him drink.

Legolas couldn't prevent what almost sounded like a whimper as the liquid set his aching throat afire, contrasting with the bone-shuddering cold that filled his body. When will it all stop? he thought, miserably.

When his weak coughing subsided, they gently laid him back against the propped-up pillows again, Thranduil assuming his earlier position, trying to calm his son's shivers.

"Sleep, penneth," he whispered, holding Legolas' head against his chest with one hand and using the other to stroke his hair.

Legolas gave no reply, but his body eventually relaxed, the violent shudders finally abating.

Elrond reached over and felt the young elf's pulse, finding it still racing. He saw that Legolas continued to shiver, but took hold of the blankets covering him and gently peeled them off.

"Elrond!" said Thranduil, shocked. "He is still cold!"

"Hush!" the healer said. "Let him sleep for as long as possible." He paused, being sure that they hadn't woken Legolas before he continued. "We cannot keep him covered, for it will increase his fever. Only when suffering a chill when awake can we allow the blankets."

Thranduil sighed, as Aragorn reached over to feel his friend's forehead. The fever was unchanged, and he motioned for Thranduil to let go of his son.

The king did, reluctantly, and Aragorn wet a cloth and wiped Legolas' face before laying it on his forehead.

"What else should we expect from this illness?" Thranduil whispered, dreading the answer.

"We've seen the major effects already," Elrond answered. "Fever, chills, thick congestion, rapid heartbeat, chest pain…often, patients can become confused or delirious. Shortness of breath is a symptom of the illness, but it is made all the worse by the lung condition that he already suffers from."

Thranduil sighed again. "What is his chance for survival? Have you seen many people suffer this affliction?"

Elrond echoed the sigh. "I have."

"Were they all as ill as Legolas?" Thranduil asked, stroking his son's hair again. "Did any of them die?"

Elrond wished that the elf-king hadn't asked that question. "Some died, but not many. Some were sicker, some weren't…it depended on many factors; age, the condition of their health prior to the illness, and how far into the illness their treatment began."

Thranduil digested the information, saying nothing for a minute.

"Fear not, Thranduil," said Elrond, even as he heard Aragorn sigh. "I feel that Legolas has an important life ahead of him. He will not die."

Thranduil looked up at that, a sparkle of hope in his eyes.

Aragorn smiled at his father's words, as he kept rewetting the cloth on Legolas' forehead. His smile quickly faded at the sight before him; it killed him to see Legolas so vulnerable, so sick. He frowned when the elf suddenly gasped, moving his head on the pillow. "Sodh, mellon-nin, sedho." ("Peace, my friend, be calm.")

Legolas' eyebrows were drawn into a frown, as if he were having a nightmare.

Thranduil reached over, placing a gentle hand on his son's cheek, starting to softly sing Legolas' favorite old lullaby, unaware that Legolas had sang it to him when he'd slumbered uneasily during their journey.

"Kaim, kaim…ion-edhelhen, kaim…("Sleep, sleep…my elfling, sleep…)
Adareth si, nai car al nor… (Father's here, so do not weep…)
Chebathon le band a nella…(I will keep you safe and sound…)
Si na manke nin meleth na hiren." (Here is where my love is found.")

Legolas didn't calm, his breathing rate increasing as well as his distress.

"Is he having another attack?!" said Thranduil, nervously.

Elrond sat on the side of the bed, laying his head on the young elf's chest.

Aragorn checked his friend's pulse, his anxiety mounting to find it racing faster than before.

The amount of fluid in Legolas' lungs sent a shiver of fear down Elrond's spine. Despite the coughing, the congestion continued to increase. He sighed, sitting up and looking at Aragorn. "We need a stronger herb to combat the fluid," he said. "The ones we're using are not working."

Thranduil looked from one to the other of them, fear showing plainly on his face.

Legolas suddenly groaned, moving restlessly.

The fact that his troubled breathing wasn't waking the sick elf caused them great concern. "Legolas," said Aragorn, gently shaking his arm. "Wake, mellon-nin!"

But Legolas did not, his breathing rapid and shallow, the sound of wheezing filling the room.

Elrond slid his arm under Legolas and sat him up. "Estel, retrieve some undiluted juniper oil!"

Aragorn's eyebrows rose at that, but he nodded and rushed to the door.

"What are you going to do?" Thranduil asked, his voice shaking.

"A last resort," Elrond said. "We need to get the fluid out of his lungs immediately."

Thranduil didn't see how the juniper oil would help that, so he said nothing, holding onto his unconscious son.

Aragorn ran back into the room, holding what his father had asked for.

"Heat it up," said Elrond. "Quickly!"

Aragorn realized what his father's plan was, and he ran to comply.

Legolas' wheezes got worse, his lungs wanting to cough but unable to with the elf unconscious.

"Hurry, Aragorn!" Thranduil exclaimed.

Aragorn bit back a retort, watching the oil as it grew hot, the vapors quickly filling the room.

"That is good enough!" Elrond told him.

Aragorn brought the pot to the bed, holding it before the elf's face. The scent of the undiluted, heated oil was overwhelming.

"Wait," said Elrond. He moved in front of Legolas, pulled the elf against him and started slapping his back.

Legolas' head lay limply over his shoulder, but Elrond's blows suddenly started him coughing.

Aragorn held the pot of oil before Legolas' face, hoping that it would prevent his breathing problem from rearing its ugly head long enough for Legolas to get some of the fluid out of his lungs.

Thranduil was more nervous than either of them had ever seen. He looked nothing like the calm, powerful king that had ruled a large kingdom for millennia.

Legolas kept coughing, giving a pained cry when Elrond's hand made contact with his back.

"You're hurting him!" said Thranduil, not thinking, reaching out towards his son.

"Do not touch him!" Elrond exclaimed, not stopping his action. "If he does not get the fluid out, then he very well may die!"

Aragorn winced at his father's words, wishing that they hadn't been necessary.

Legolas coughed harshly, suddenly swallowing with a disgusted expression.

It was a sight that made Aragorn inwardly sigh with relief, for it meant that some of the fluid had finally come up.

Elrond suddenly stopping hitting Legolas' back. "Aragorn, give the pot to Thranduil and come here."

Aragorn obeyed.

"Take over my position," Elrond said. "The blows are not strong enough from this angle."

Aragorn complied, sitting on the bed and holding Legolas the same way that Elrond had.

Thranduil sat on the bed behind the human, holding the pot of juniper oil before his son's face, watching him anxiously.

Elrond stood and began slapping Legolas' back again, more forcefully. He was relieved that the undiluted juniper oil seemed to be doing what he'd hoped; preventing severe breathlessness in the sick elf while he performed the procedure.

Legolas' coughing grew more forceful, enabling more of the fluid to come up. Elrond would've rather that the elf spit it out, but Legolas was not totally aware, so swallowing it was better than leaving it in his lungs.

None of the three knew how many minutes had passed by the time that Elrond stopped. Legolas' coughs grew weak as utter exhaustion set in, but the healer knew that his action had been necessary in order for the prince to survive.

Aragorn sighed as he held Legolas gently, while his friend tried to catch his breath. His own body had jerked with every blow that Elrond had given the elf, and he couldn't imagine how his poor friend felt.

Legolas had yet to utter a word or move under his own power, lying limply against his friend with his head over Aragorn's shoulder, still wheezing as his lungs protested what he'd just gone through.

Thranduil kept the pot of juniper oil before his son's face, relieved to see that it had worked. With his other hand, he wiped his son's flushed face with a wet cloth, wishing that he could trade places with Legolas and spare him such agony.

Elrond waited until Legolas got his breathing under control before sliding his hands under the prince's arms and pulling him away from Aragorn. He leaned him back against the pillows very gently, knowing that major bruising was soon to erupt on the younger elf's back from the force of his strikes.

Aragorn and Thranduil moved closer, the elf-king placing the cloth on his son's forehead. It broke their hearts to see Legolas lying so limply; eyes closed tight, his breathing rapid and pained. Thranduil sat the pot of oil near his son's head, hoping to further aid his breathing.

"Estel," said Elrond, feeling Legolas' pulse and checking his temperature. "Please fetch some cherry bark and miruvor."

Thranduil was glad to hear mention of the elven drink: one that provided strength and rejuvenation to a weakened body. At the same time, though, it scared him to know that his son needed it…..

(Runs from readers) LOL