Chapter 9 – To the Breaking Point

The journey back to Minas Tirith was largely uneventful. They spared time at Edoras to exchange Shadowflame for Arod, because though it took time, Legolas knew Arod was a much faster horse than Shadowflame, and would more than make up time that was wasted in retrieving him.

The first three days passed uneventfully, though Legolas was finding it more difficult to stay awake each night. The third day, Legolas slowly began to have a harder time staying on Arod's back, and was finally forced to stop while the sun was still on the horizon. He jumped off and tied Arod to the only tree in sight. Then he crouched on the ground to build another campfire.

"Isn't it a little early to be stopping?" Gimli asked. "I should think we still have plenty of light left."

"I know we do," Legolas snapped. He was feeling miserable, and it was not helping his mood. "I simply thought Arod needed extra rest. It was only recently he recovered, you may remember."

"I remember," Gimli said, "but you did not stop early for him before now. Are you sure-"

"Yes, I know what I'm doing!" Legolas threw the last stick onto the pile, knocking it over. He growled as he rushed to pull the wood back up, but his speed prevented him from accomplishing anything.

"If you need any help…"

"No, I do not need help!" Legolas picked up the entire pile and thrust it back onto the ground, forcing it to stay together. "I am doing just fine, so just leave me alone!" He pulled out the flint and started angrily striking it.

"You do not seem fine to me," Gimli said slowly. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

"No," Legolas said through clenched teeth. He kept striking the rock.

"As you wish, then," Gimli said reluctantly. He pulled out a piece of Lembas and sat nearby, quietly watching Legolas work.

Legolas still wasn't getting any sparks, and he began striking even harder. He glanced over at Gimli. "What are you looking at?"

Gimli quickly glanced down and finished his Lembas.

Legolas growled and kept striking. He heard a sudden crack, and his striking hand scraped against something sharp. He looked down at his hands. The flint was broken in half, and his knuckles were red with blood. He threw the rock onto the ground and curled his knees up into his chest.

Gimli stood up and came over beside Legolas. He put his heavy hand on Legolas' shoulder. "Are you sure you do not want to talk about it?"

Legolas sat still, staring absently over the horizon. "I'm sure," he muttered. He sat quietly for a long time, not moving a muscle. Then he stood up and walked to the other side of the stack of wood. "Get some rest," he said. "You will need it."

The next evening went no better. They did not have another flint, so once again Legolas went without a campfire. He sat in a tight huddle with his cloak drawn tightly around himself, trying to get himself warm. It was not a cold night, he could tell just by looking at Gimli. The dwarf was sleeping with his cloak only half over himself, but was clearly not at all cold. Legolas clenched his teeth to try to stop them from chattering. Something was obviously wrong, but he was not sure what. He could not possibly be sick, could he? As an Elf, he had never been sick before, so he had no idea what it was like. But he had seen sick mortals a few times. They had always felt so hot, even to his Elven hands, but they had always shivered from cold at the same time.

He pressed a hand to his head. All this thinking was making his head hurt. He lay down, still huddled for warmth, and tried resting his head on the hard ground. But he could not find a comfortable position for his head, and it was starting to pound harder. He closed his eyes and ground his teeth with all his might. Surely it would be over soon. He could not bear it much longer! For the first time since they had left Minas Tirith, He truly wanted to go to sleep.

He spent the rest of the night like this. The constant pain from his head would not allow him the relief of sleep until the sun was starting to light the sky. He had been asleep for less than an hour when he felt something on his shoulders, making him shake violently. He moaned as he tried to force his pounding head to register what was going on. The shaking got harder, and now he thought he could hear a voice. Legolas let out another moan and weakly tried to move out of the grip on his shoulders. The shaking still didn't stop, and Legolas finally managed to open his eyes. Sunlight poured in, and he quickly closed them again as his head protested sharply. "Stop, make it stop," he muttered.

"Legolas, we have to go," came Gimli's voice. "We can make it to Minas Tirith today if we hurry!"

Legolas opened his eyes again, ignoring the sharp protests inside his head. "Minas Tirith?" he mumbled.

"Don't you remember? Aragorn?"

Legolas groaned as he remembered. "Oh, yes, Aragorn." He slowly sat up, and nearly fell back onto the ground.

Gimli quickly grabbed onto him. "Legolas, are you all right?" He put an icy hand on Legolas' shoulder and frowned. "You're burning up!"

"Am I sick?" Legolas mumbled somewhat incoherently.

"All the more reason to get moving." Gimli pulled Legolas to his feet, and practically dragged him over to Arod. Legolas' feet moved like lead, and he felt as though he would fall over any second.

When they were finally over to Arod, Legolas pulled himself up onto Arod. Gimli quickly untied him and climbed up behind Legolas. He kept his arms around Legolas to make sure he wouldn't fall off. Legolas barely noticed. All he was aware of was the cold and his aching head. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore.

The day passed in a painful blur. Occasionally Legolas would revive enough to notice his precarious position on Arod's moving back, but most of the time he sat limply in the front, completely unaware of where he was. At last, he vaguely felt everything stop, bringing his attention back to what was happening around him. Minas Tirith was visible, less than an hour away. Legolas managed a smile before suddenly noticing that his stomach wasn't feeling very well. He barely managed to thrust his head over the side before vomiting all over the ground. He struggled to sit back up, then fell limp against Gimli's arm. All of his strength was gone, and everything was starting to go black. He scarcely noticed that they were moving again.

He revived just as they pulled to a stop in front of the Houses of Healing. Legolas pulled himself up, and nearly fell as he tried to dismount. He put his hand heavily on Arod to keep himself on his feet.

"I will take it," Gimli insisted. "I will send someone for you."

"No, I must do this," Legolas said weakly. He carefully took his hand off of Arod and struggled up the steps into the Houses of Healing. He staggered inside and through the halls, going even slower as he progressed. When he was only a few doors away, he fell to the ground. He tried to push himself back to his feet, but no longer had the strength. He gritted his teeth and concentrated what little strength he had to get up onto his hands and knees. He moved a hand forward, then a leg, then a hand again. He kept this up until he was at Aragorn's door. The hallway was getting dark, but he mustered all of his remaining strength, raised his hand to the door, and knocked. Then he collapsed to the floor as everything went black.