Legolas fell into Elrond's arms, the fair hair gathering in wisps on the lord's shoulder and sleeve.
"What happened, Aragorn?"
The Master of Imladris pulled the prince from the horse while his son dismounted; sweat had formed on both their foreheads, and even though the ranger's hands had calloused from his long years of riding, his hands were now red and swollen from Roheryn's reins.
"What happened?" Elrond demanded again, when no one offered an explanation.
"We don't know, Adar," Elrohir ventured.
His father turned on him suddenly, his brows furrowed in suspicious doubt, but he said nothing yet. He and Aragorn took the prince in their strong arms as they made their way up the large marble stairs to the Entrance Hall, and entered the Healing Parlor, the twins following closely.
Not a word of the journey was spoken; only Elrond and his sons mumbling to each other: "Hold his head up!"—"Try not to move him around this corner..."—Be careful!"—"Set him down there..." They gently, but hurriedly laid the archer on one of the various cots that lined the wall, under one of the copper-plated windows.
It was then that Elrond seemed to become possessed by a demon. He practically tore off his outer robes, freeing his arms and legs, sloshed water over his hands, and dashed for the medicinal cabinet on the opposite wall. Elladan later remarked that he had never seen his father move so quickly.
"It's almost as if he expected something to happen to us," he whispered to an equally stunned Elrohir, the hair on the back of their necks steadily rising.
But all other thoughts were soon driven from their minds. Their father sent them in search of Lindir, another healer and dedicated assistant of his lord. Elrohir nearly fled the room in apprehension for his friend's illness—the tension in his father's voice frightened him—but Elladan stayed behind at the last moment as his father's voice stopped him. Aragorn was sitting next to his increasingly pale counterpart, Legolas' hand in his own, all attention given over. Elladan could see that he would have no help from his little brother; the account was left to him.
He did not respond immediately, but slowly unfastened the quiver-strap still around his chest, and quietly set it down.
Even in his disconcerted haste, Lord Elrond noticed his son's despondent and hesitant state of mind. "Elladan?" His voice deepened.
"Adar?"
The dark eyes narrowed, silently warning him not to avoid the subject.
His eldest could not hold his stare, and dropped his eyes. "We don't know what is wrong with Legolas, Adar. We found them like this—"
"—Them!"
"Adar, Estel is fine!"
Aragorn looked up at his father's worried exclamation, and patted the strong hand that grasped his shoulder. "I'm not hurt, Adar," he said, sadly it seemed. He turned back to the fair one lying next to him. The Ranger did not move...only a single tear spilled from his eye, his face suddenly contorting in inner pain. He turned his tortured grayish eyes to his father, silently begging him to help his gwaedor. "You can help him, can you not, Adar?"
"I'll do my best, ion-nin. Elladan," the piercing eyes snapped back to him, "Can you tell me anything?"
Elladan looked at the ground in defeat and shame. "Nay, Adar...We know nothing."
Master Elrond looked displeased, but he did not chide. He nodded slowly, almost (by Elladan's observation) as if he was affirming something to himself. An unwanted apprehension arose once again, an apprehension that...his father knew something, something he had not told anyone.
His thoughts were interrupted, however, when his other half and Lindir walked up beside him.
"You sent for me, hir-nin?" Lindir was at Elrond's side in a flash, his attention completely on his lord's face.
"Lindir, I need your assistance. Hurry!"
So began the long night that lay before them. Elladan and Elrohir would later make mention that neither of the healers voiced the smallest complaint or murmur as they tended to the stricken Thranduilon. They stayed beside him through the night, never ceasing to rest or clear their mind; Lindir did not move without his lord's permission, never allowing himself to be a hindrance or snare to Master Elrond's hurried movements and administrations. And Elrond himself moved with all the grace, love, and skill that the twins had come to expect from him, and more so. It made them proud.
And yet, with each resurgence of determination that arose in their father throughout the long night, a new cloud of doubt and fear crept into their own hearts. Something was terribly wrong. And Estel? His brothers did not even want to think about what effect it was having on him. They had been through so much together—what must he be thinking? If they had known what had caused this malady, perhaps it would help. But to be in the dark, to have questions that had no answers...it must be horrific for him.
Aragorn too, refused to leave his friend's side. He remained kneeling on the marble floor the entire evening, and long into the night, his eyes rarely leaving the wan face and bluing lips. Indeed, until he dozed from his own fatigue, the ranger did not move once, only whispering encouragement at times, begging his friend to hear him and awaken. Nevertheless, Legolas remained silent, and still.
/\/\/\
Elrohir paced the floor for the twenty-seventh time that morning. He looked again at the leaf-pattern of the marble-slated floor of the Outer Hall, noticing again the solidness of the stones beneath his feet. A breeze blew through the open colonnade once more, stirring his dark hair away from his face. He flicked at it in annoyance. "What's taking so long? He said he'd be here by now."
"Patience, Dhil, patience...Adar knows we are waiting." Elladan calmed his brother once more, how many times he had previously done so, he did not know. In truth, he was just as worried and impatient as Elrohir, but he knew one of them needed to keep a level head, or they would impulsively rush in upon their father and stricken friend in a heartbeat, and who knew what mischief they might cause.
It had been a tiresome evening; neither had even tried to rest, as they had known it would be useless. From their rooms, they had ceaselessly looked out over the gardens to the Healing Parlor across the way, to the lamplight that never dimmed, to the family that never left the building.
Elladan tapped his fingers against the stone bench, trying to curb his own restless spirit. It hadtaken too long; Adar said he would meet them in the morning, at the Outer Hall overlooking the garden. The dark hair shifted across his back as Elladan looked behind him to the Parlor, again. There was still no sign of life from inside; the windows remained closed and barred (not even a shadow moved past them) and the lamp that had not dimmed during the night was still aglow, though it must have almost no oil left. To all appearances it was abandoned, mournfully looking out over the Last Homely House and its brooks, courtyards and gardens, which in some distant memory, had once been teeming with peace and happiness.
Elrohir broke into his thoughts. "Do you think Estel's alright?"
Elladan did not answer for a moment. He honestly didn't know what to hope for his youngest brother.
"There's no way of knowing, Elrohir. He is strong though; I'm sure he's alright."
There was a pause. Elladan could feel his twin's piercing black eyes staring down at him. "You don't sound sure."
"I'm not."
"Ionnath..." The long-awaited voice snatched their attention.
"Adar!"
Elrond stayed them with a movement of his hand. "Please, yn nîn...wait..." He moved under the archway slowly, and sunk to the bench beside his eldest, and put his tired face in his hands. The anxious twins heard him sigh heavily; it struck fear in their hearts: it was the same sigh they had heard for years after their mother sailed, the sigh of broken-heartedness, such as no elf should ever need bear. It made their hearts ache.
When it was almost too much for them to wait any longer, their father lifted his head, and gazed at them both tiredly. He did not speak for several minutes, just looking at them in admiration and love. They were such fine sons...he did not deserve them. They gazed back at him curiously, their heads tilted in puzzlement, but they did not speak. They seemed as little elflings again, their eyes confused and questioning, like they had been when they tried to figure out how birds flew, or how the Trees of Valinor had grown simply from Yavanna's voice singing to them. Elrond smiled at them, sad, but comforted by their presence. They had become such fine young elves.
Finally, Elrond broke the silence. "Well, yn nîn, he is in the hands of Este now. There is...nothing..." He shook his head. "I can do nothing for him. We must beg Her now."
"Ada..." Elladan enfolded his father, his lithe arms encircling his wearied body. Rarely had Elrond needed such comfort; he had always been the strongest in spirit, but now his sons saw his dire need for comfort and assurance. They only wished they knew how to give what as was so desperately needed.
Elrohir knelt in front of them and embraced them both, his head in Elrond's lap, his arms around their waists. The tears, rarely shed, now ran unheeded down the three faces that bore so much resemblance, and the sobs were welcomed without shame. The three held each other with all the comfort they could. As one voice, their hearts cried out to Manwe and Este, begging, pleading for help and consolation and for their beloved friend's life...There was nothing more they could do.
/\/\/\
"It must have been Saruman!" Elrond almost screamed in the Wizard's face. "You know it, Gandalf, but you won't admit it!"
Gandalf remained silent, but raged within. It couldn't have been Saruman, it couldn't! He had known him for millennia, had traversed all of Aman and Endor with him, he had trusted him—No, it couldn't be. Saruman may have erred in finding and using a seeing stone, but this…no, it wasn't true.
"We have no proof, Elrond. Aragorn cannot tell us anything. According to him, he and the prince never left the campsite that morning. How can you blame Saruman for any of this?"
"Because it's the only explanation!" Elrond hung his head as he leaned over the railing in his study. He sighed heavily, wearied from fatigue and worry. "Gandalf, my sons and Legolas were within half a league from Orthanc." The lord looked up into the Wizard's doubting eyes. His voice, though soft, held resolution. "They were close enough to be a target."
The Wizard stared back at him. "I cannot believe that."
Elrond slammed his fist against the balustrade. "Then why did you send them in the first place!" He turned away in frustration, and began pacing the length of the room.
"Elrond, when your sons returned from riding with the Dunedaîn, I knew that I could trust them on this mission. And Aragorn of course insisted that Legolas accompany them. I told him to be on guard for Saruman's..." he paused.
"Lies?" Elrond's voice was cynical.
"No!" the Wizard's voice rose angrily. "To be on guard for Saruman's enticements. He is fearful of the Dark One, and if he believes there is nothing to be done against him, I was afraid he might be trying to join league with Him. But only because he does not see another way out! If this were the case, I would ride out myself and keep him from doing so. That is why I sent your sons, to see what sort of mischief the Dark One has planted in Saruman's fearful state of mind."
Elrond calmed. "Is that why you believe he has one of the palantiri?"
"Aye. He said once that the seeing stone would be useful to us; it would help us to check His movements, and prepare for the War that is to come. That is Saruman's weakness: he does not realize the power of Morgoth and his Evil Ones. He even asked me to find..." the Wizard suddenly stopped.
Elrond's head snapped up. "Gandalf..." his voice deepened in warning. "Does he know about...?"
The Grey One met his eyes; they were full of foreboding, more than Elrond had ever seen. There was a disturbing silence, even the birds had hushed their song, and the rushing waters their raging. Gandalf turned away, his gait now shuffling and slow; he seemed to age right before Elrond's eyes.
The Maia sighed tiredly, his hands behind his back, his face overlooking the entranceway of Imladris. "Yes, Master Elrond, he knows of its existence. He does not yet know where Isildur's Bane lies, but he knows that it is a powerful weapon. As I said before, he does not realize how powerful the tools of the Enemy are, and only seeks them from a desire to do good." He faced Elrond again. "Saruman is our ally, mellon-nin. He may be frightened for a time, and do regrettable things, but if we can convince him there are other ways, he will remain true to us."
Elrond sighed, whether from weariness or relief he was not sure. Whatever the reason, he stood for a moment, still staring into the weathered face of his long-time friend. Could he believe everything he had heard? Elrond wasn't sure, but he was determined to trust Gandalf on this one. He did not want to believe that Saruman had betrayed them either; he was one of their own, one they had trusted. Gandalf must be right: Saruman was their friend, frightened, but not treacherous.
The Peredhil nodded, and motioned with his arm for the Wizard to follow him down the Interior Corridor. When Gandalf stepped in beside him, the lord had to voice one last question. "How do we explain Legolas' illness?"
"I do not know, mellon-nin. There are a limited number of possibilities. There are no symptoms?"
"None. Lindir and I sought for everything, but all to no avail. By all appearances, Legolas is simply in a deep sleep."
"You mean as a man sleeps...eyes closed, no thoughts?"
Elrond looked at the ground. "Aye, that is precisely what I mean."
Gandalf said nothing more the rest of the stroll to the Parlor, but Elrond could feel the Wizard's thoughts running wildly, struggling for answers; it made Elrond even more disconcerted and uneasy than he already was. He prayed to the Valar once again; their situation was getting worse.
Gandalf was stopped a few feet before the entrance by a sudden pull on his arm. He turned to see Elrond's face drawn and rigid, his eyes wide and alert.
"What is it?"
Elrond leaned forward slightly, listening to something. Suddenly, fear sprang in his eyes, and he leapt into motion, pulling Gandalf with him. "Something is wrong in there!"
All at once Gandalf sensed it too. A chill came over him, a dark shadow creeping over his spirit. Something was happening.
The Entrance to the Parlor loomed before them; it seemed dark and cold somehow, as if the sun had stopped shining upon it. Clouds seemed to cover the columned causeway as they dashed across it, the darkness seeming to slow them down, the gap ever widening between them and their destination. Finally, after what seemed an eternity to them both, Elrond and Gandalf rushed into the Parlor...and stood aghast at the horrific scene that played before them.
Pandemonium had broken loose. Legolas, once pale and weak, now stood in the center of the room, strong and undaunted by the commotion of the other elves dashing around him. All his attention was on the one he held before him...In his right hand, Legolas held the life of his friend: Aragorn, his gwaedor, the one he had loved as a brother, was being choked under his own hand.
Aragorn's breath was short and raspy. His feet were several inches of the ground, and one of his arms was pinned behind him by Legolas' other hand. The sudden strength the prince had was incredible, and Aragorn knew he had no hope of bending it. He clasped the warrior's hand that strangled him, desperately struggling to release his hold, but it was useless.
Legolas' eyes were aglow with fire, a swirling redness of evil and hatred. He stared at the gasping edan in his hand. He felt the life-blood slipping through his fingers. The elf smiled...It felt good to kill.