Part 6
Vaulting past Faramir's prone form without a second glance, Gimli rushed to Legolas' side, going to his knees and turning the elf's collapsed form onto his back. Relief swept through his body with an almost physical force as he found him still breathing, the wheezing having quieted and the unhealthy tinge to his lips fading.
"Quickly!" the healer grabbed his attention as he struggled to his feet, stumbling over to the dwarf and elf. "Bring him to the where we can restrain him!"
Gimli put a protective hand onto Legolas' body. "You are not tying him up! Take another step towards him, fool, and I will gnaw your foot from your ankle."
"We have no time for this!" the healer said, exasperated. "He has only passed unconscious from lack of air - now that he has calmed and his breathing has eased, he will awaken soon. Do you wish to have a repeat of what just happened?"
"I do not know what just happened. I just got here!" Gimli snarled.
"Legolas awoke, Gimli, and attacked us," Faramir said from the floor, seeing no point in rising again until matters had calmed and he was sure not to find himself back on his rear for a third time. "I know not why, but there was no recognition in him when he faced us, and he screamed a great many things in his own tongue." The steward paused. "I know my elvish is not superb, but I thought myself relatively adept in it; however, I understood very little of what came out of his mouth, and that which I did should not be repeated."
"I heard it all the way in my rooms," Gimli supplied. "The screaming is what woke me. I believe there was a great deal of Silvan and Quenya mixed up with the Sindarin." Some of the words the dwarf overheard had been long and flowing, complicated enough to tie knots in many a tongue, most likely Quenya, while other words had been clipped, almost unsophisticated, with an ancient quality underlying each sound - this Gimli took to be Silvan.
"Which suggests he was not thinking properly if he believed we would understand him… either that or he did not care," Éowyn surmised.
"This is all very well and good," interrupted the healer, "but now is not the time for it. Look," he pointed his chin towards Legolas' body, which was already beginning to shift as he swam back to consciousness. "I say we must tie him down for now, at least until he regains his wits."
"I will not allow it!" Gimli snarled for the second time. "I am here; he recognized me. All will be well."
The healer sighed. "At least allow me to give him a sedative. Simply something to keep him calm. He does great harm to himself and his recovery with the activity and stress we witnessed here."
Seeing Legolas' long eyelashes begin to flutter, Gimli pursed his lips but gave a curt nod of agreement to the healer. Being a bit sleepy was far better than being tied down, and while Legolas would not thank him for it, he was sure the elf, if thinking properly, would agree.
Rummaging through his sack of supplies, with which he was never seen without, the healer pulled out a small corked bottle filled with pale yellow powder. Shuffling over to the small table set beside the bed, he took up the small metal cup waiting upon it then tapped a small amount of the powder into the tepid water contained within. Swirling the contents around, he moved back over to Gimli and the rapidly stirring Legolas, handing down the cup.
"It would be best if he drank the entire mixture, but if he does not, the more the better," he quietly informed the dwarf.
Furrowing his brow, Gimli brought the cup up to his nose to sniff, finding there was very little scent to the concoction, other than an underlying bitterness trailing along the back of one's senses. He was sure Legolas would detect the difference before he got the cup within a foot of his face.
Bringing his attention back to his friend as his breath hitched slightly, he bent over to look the confused elf in the eyes, making sure to stay far enough back to prevent a purposeful collision of foreheads or a blow to the nose. Gimli was a firm believer in learning from other people's mistakes.
"Legolas," he said the elf's name firmly. "Legolas, are you well?" It was an absurd question, he knew, but he needed to get his attention - have him focus on his voice.
Legolas' bright blue eyes blinked slowly, shoulders shifting uncomfortably on the floor, a frown creasing his forehead after a time. The pale face grimaced.
"Gimli?" he croaked.
"Yes, yes, it is I," the dwarf soothed, gauging it safe enough now to lean closer and slip an arm under his friend's back to help him sit up.
"What happened?" Legolas asked as he was hauled upright. "My chest feels as if it was struck by an orc arrow."
Gimli pressed his lips into a firm line and said nothing. He could not bear to say the words, and did not want to distress Legolas more than he already was.
Unfortunately the elf did not need Gimli to remind him. Casting his eyes about the dimly lit room - no windows in sight - catching sight of Faramir, the healer, and Éowyn hovering nearby, faces tense, Legolas jerked in the dwarf's arms as if he had taken a blow, lower lip quivering.
"That girl, those people," Legolas gasped, breath already beginning to quicken. "They did horrible things to me, they…" the slender body visibly shuddered. "They spat upon me," he finally settled on saying, "and pulled my hair!"
"Hush now, do not worry yourself over it," Gimli attempted to calm his friend down, not wanting a repetition of the elf's previous collapse.
Legolas looked to him with wide eyes. "But, Gimli, then… there was… I," a quivering cough ended his attempts to speak for a breath. Taking in his surroundings once more, eyes skittering quickly over the men and woman in the room, trying to evade looking upon them, Legolas suddenly struggled to stand. "Why am I here?" he demanded. "I do not wish to be here."
Gimli wrestled with the determined elf, attempting to keep him seated while preventing the contents of the cup from spilling over the sides. Despite their best efforts, Legolas was again working himself into a fury. He needed to get the potion down him soon.
"You are back in the city," Faramir told him from his position by the door.
At the man's voice, Legolas swiveled his head to look at him, eyes narrowing, mouth tight.
"You lock me in a room with no windows," he stated coolly. "Take me outside, Gimli," he demanded, not bothering to turn and look back at the dwarf as he continued to hold Faramir's gaze.
"Do not be foolish; you are in no danger here," Gimli informed him calmly. "Now drink this, and it will help your sore chest," he offered quickly, holding out the tonic. Perhaps if he could catch Legolas off balance, the elf would down the offered medicine without thinking upon it too much.
Legolas turned back to him, eying the cup warily, wrinkling his nose at the obviously distasteful odor.
"Where is Lenwe?" he suddenly asked instead of reaching for the cup.
"He is not here," Faramir told him.
"What have you done to him?" With each question and demand, the panic was clearly rising in his voice.
"I have done nothing to him," Faramir replied stiffly, clearly becoming offended at the elf's perceived attitude.
"Where is Lenwe? I wish to see him," Legolas ordered once again. "Why am I not beneath the sky instead of locked in this dark room where you crowd around me like wolves on a carcass?" he continued, this time managing to shrug Gimli's restraining hands from him as he stood shakily.
"We do not know where Lenwe is - somewhere between the forest and here most likely! With company besides! We brought you to the city out of concern for your health. And as to why you are in a room with no windows… we simply did not think," Faramir's voice had risen but trailed off to a more apologetic tone at the last statement.
"I have found recently that men think very little," Legolas declared.
All color abruptly drained from the steward's face. "I will attribute such words to your recent troubles, my lord," he said quietly. "Otherwise, ill or not, I would be forced to take you in hand and toss you from my home. You have already assaulted both my wife and I, and while great, my patience is not limitless."
"Faramir," Éowyn warned.
A puzzled frown crossed the elf's face before he drew himself up proudly. "You would try, son of Denethor. It remains to be seen whether you would succeed."
It seemed Gimli had stood by quietly for as long as he was willing, for he stepped into the large space between the two, breaking the tension.
"Enough, Legolas, Faramir. Cease this idiocy," he stormed. "Faramir, stow your pride, he knew not who you were or what he was doing at the time! And Legolas, calm yourself and see not enemies where none exist." He held up the cup once more. "And for the sake of us all, drink the damn water."
The elf turned his nose up at the proffered drink, chest rattling.
"Please, for my own peace of mind," Gimli finally appealed. "I would not see you hurt yourself."
At the entreaty, Legolas began to weaken, peering down at his friend, reluctantly reaching out with a trembling hand to take the cup. Screwing his eyes shut, he gulped half of the contents before he began to choke and splutter.
"What vile brew is this?" he asked, voice strangled, looking down into the cup as if answers could be found in its depths.
"It shall calm you," the healer finally spoke.
The elf looked around at them all, betrayal creeping into his face. "You tricked me." He flung the cup away from him to clatter against a wall, the remaining water flying about. Both Éowyn and the healer had to duck to avoid the projectile. They did not, however, manage to remain dry. "You said it would aid my breathing!"
"It will," Gimli assured. "The calmer you are, the more rest you get, the better you will feel."
"Will you take me outside?" he asked plaintively.
The dwarf was about to open his mouth in agreement, when the healer, wiping water from his chin, spoke first.
"Absolutely not," he said. "The city's air is flying with debris, animal hair, and the like. The fields are full of pollen. You must rest your lungs after inhaling so much dirt, not strain them more."
Legolas, eyes already beginning to dull, curled his lip. "Do not speak of matters you know nothing about, man. The sun will cleanse me and the grass renew my vigor. This prison and your presence is what sickens me."
This latest outburst seemed to drain what was left of his waning energy, and the elf swayed slightly on his feet. Gimli dashed forward and steadied his friend, taking him by the elbow and helping him over to sit on the bed.
"We will go out this evening," he offered a compromise, "once activity has slowed and the pollen is not flying so high." He gave a quirk of a smile. "You can look at the stars."
Legolas returned the grin with a grateful one of his own, breaths deepening. "It has been days," he acknowledged.
Sighing heavily, he slipped sideways to recline on the bed.
"Are they dead?" he murmured, rubbing his face against the soft blanket.
"Who?" Gimli asked.
"The girl. Her brothers and father. The town's people," he elaborated.
Gimli stiffened and was not certain whether Legolas was asking after one of them or all of them.
"No," he informed him at last. "None of them are dead."
The elf stilled, all movement ceasing abruptly, before rolling over onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling with great concentration, his eyes distance.
"Perhaps they are," he suggested, cocking his head as if he were listening to something.
"No, no," Gimli continued, concerned over Legolas' lack of comprehension. "We left them alive with a magistrate and some soldiers."
"I do not think they will be able to achieve much," Legolas speculated softly, a secretive smile flitting across his lips, there and gone.
"Why not, they know their duty. Worry not, they will uncover the truth of the matter."
"No, you do not understand," Legolas shook his head. "He is here."
"Who is here?" Gimli asked, bewildered at his friend's behavior.
Before he could answer, a knock sounded at the door.
Faramir, tearing his eyes away from the conversation by the bed, with an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach, turned to open it. A servant stood there, flush-faced and out of breath.
"My lord," the servant sketched a hasty bow.
"Yes, what is it?"
"My lord," the servant said again, a trifle bewildered, "there appears to be what looks like a great many elves in the distance." It was obvious the man was in a state of shocked awe.
Faramir sucked in a breath. "How close?"
"Close enough to see their leader," the servant rushed on. "A standard flies above him, trailing behind him with a mane of gold."
Both Faramir and Gimli looked as if a horse had kicked them in the gut.
"It is not possible," Gimli swiftly assured. "He could not have come so quickly."
From the bed Legolas gave a small, tinkling laugh.
"Beware the ways of the Elven King," he almost sang.
