Chapter 3
3 days After Elrond started for Mirkwood
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Legolas was getting increasingly concerned. "He has not even had a small seizure for two weeks. I cannot believe it is good for him to continue to live in this bizarre twilight that he now inhabits. He is not eating and barely has one coherent thought in 24 hours!"
The chief healer agreed. "It is time to stop the syrup. The cycle of seizures has been broken long enough that he should not relapse. The amount he received this morning is the last he will be given." He swept off to attend to other patients.
Legolas sat at the side of Estel's bed and tried to speak with him. But the happy Estel had been replaced with one that lived in a kind of semi-consciousness, rarely responding to questions or conversation. He was so unresponsive that Legolas felt confident that it would take many hours for the boy to begin to throw off the poppy's effects.
"Estel, I have been neglecting my duties these past weeks. There are a few things I must take care of this afternoon, but I will be here this evening when hopefully, the effects of this potion will have begun to wear off. The healers will be checking you constantly, as always, so if you have any need or desire you have but to ask."
Estel made no reply, merely plucking weakly and fretfully at his blankets. Legolas sighed and left the room, looking back uncertainly. Surely the boy would manage without him for a few hours. At that thought he felt a strange frisson of apprehension, but shrugged if off. In spite of their personal feelings, the healers were scrupulous in their care of the young man.
Under normal circumstances, Legolas would have had nothing to worry about. However, an unhappy juxtaposition of events conspired to place Aragorn in deadly danger. The first disaster was a rock fall that seriously injured many elves while they worked to construct an aqueduct to bridge a stone chasm. At the same time, Legolas found to his disgust, that the elf his father was to sentence that day insisted on the presence of his 'friend' Legolas throughout his lengthy exposition on why he had done what he had done. As far as Legolas could see, his statement included the entire history of his House from the time they refused to follow the Valar to Aman. Legolas had had little to do with the elf since they were children, but his sense of duty and decency forced him to stay since so much was at stake. By the rules his father had set long ago, anyone who came before him with a possible sentence of banishment could have their say, however long it took. Legolas fretted inwardly while trying to look interested.
Three hours passed and no healers had gone to visit Aragorn. The chief healer was leading triage in the area where the rock fall occurred. At the moment he was shouting for aid as an old friend bled scarlet rivers that refused to slow, despite the frenzied pressure of fingers and hands.
It had now been seven hours since the last dose.
Aragorn was coming out of his syrup-induced haze quickly. The boy looked around, hoping to see his friend; he was beginning to feel the euphoria the first week of treatment had induced in him. He sat up and looked at the beautiful day outside his window. If Legolas was not here just now, he would take a walk outdoors. Just a short one, to….to…yes! The fumes wreathing around in his brain cleared still further. He would go see his horse! No doubt Legolas had been too busy taking care of him and with state affairs to check on him regularly.
He wavered to his feet and found the mental well-being extended to his physical body as well. His steps were short and uncertain, but he made his way to the wardrobe and struggled into some outdoor clothes. He opened his door for the first time in weeks and staggered into the hallway; he seemed strengthened as he went, and a belief that he was fully restored to health took hold in his mind.
At the stable, the few elves present (most had gone to help with the injured) looked askance at the gaunt, strange-eyed human. He went to the stall of his horse, Sadoreth, the little black horse coming eagerly forward to reunite with his Chosen one. But as he drew closer, he stopped and snorted. He shifted restlessly; his man smelled wrong. It was he, the one the other two-leggers called Aragorn and Estel, but a sweet, sickly redolence overlaid the familiar scent he had longed to breathe into his nostrils again.
Estel mistook the restlessness in his horse for something else. His eyes narrowed accusingly as he watched the elves going about their duties. It was obvious no one had exercised his horse for a long time. He had not intended to ride when he left his room, but he felt so well that surely a short ride would not hurt. He retrieved his tack and went into his horse's stall. He staggered when he tried to fasten the girth and had not the strength to tighten it. That was all right: like elves, he rode bareback more often than not.
Aragorn tried to mount, but was still too weak. He signaled his horse to kneel, as all the battle-trained horses of Imladris could, and clambered on to his horse clumsily; when Sadoreth regained his feet the horse had to shift quickly to keep Estel's weight centered where it needed to be. Sadoreth reacted to the nudging of the boy's heels by going into a smooth, rocking canter. The horse felt a sudden desire to meet with the companion of his Chosen—the one with the yellow mane.
As time went on, Aragorn began to think that someone was watching him from the forest. He urged his horse to greater speed but the normally fiery steed was curiously unwilling. Still, even at a canter they covered ten miles in an hour.
At the palace, Thranduil called a halt to the interminable ramblings of the elf on trial. He had received a message about the rock fall two hours ago, a message which said that all was well in hand and everything that could be done was being done. He had restrained his kingly impulse to stop the proceedings and go to the scene; it was not this wretched elf's fault that at least 20 of his subjects were injured, dying, or dead. Finally, however, his impatient nature, coupled with sincere concern for his subjects, caused him to rise to his feet and declaim, "Thank you for your statement. I have decided to give you one further chance to redeem yourself. Yes, yes—you are welcome—yes, thank you—yes—no doubt, now if you will excuse me…" Still talking, he paced out of the throne room with Legolas at his side.
"Are you going to the accident site?"
"Yes, at once. I would like you to accompany me."
"Of course! I will go to see Estel while the horses are being brought round." Legolas ran swiftly through the halls to the healing wing. He immediately noticed the silence and lack of busy elves, and cursed himself for stupidity: nearly every healer had left to tend the wounded on site. Those remaining were busy preparing the multiple bed wards for the influx soon to come. He ran still faster and threw open Aragorn's door. The empty bed did not surprise him. All afternoon a sensation, not quite an itch, yet very like, had been bothering him. He did not bother to waste time in regretting the morning's decisions. He jettisoned his plan to accompany his father. Later, he would say that naturally Thranduil would not want his son to leave a guest, and the child of a fellow ruler at that, to come to harm in the dangerous lands surrounding the palace. That is what he would say, but not what he would mean. There was no power on earth that would keep him from going after Estel. He ran for the stables, knowing well the first place the boy would go.
His prayers that Estel would still be petting and fussing with his little black horse went unheard. He did not bother to stop to ask questions where there would be no answers. He shouted for a mount and leapt into the saddle of a plunging horse that an elf led to him at a run. He roughly turned the beast about and drove in his heels. They sprinted down the main track while Legolas rode halfway down the horse's side, searching the ground for the distinctive small oval marks that Sadoreth would have made.