I. Am SO. Sorry! T-T I just couldn't write for six months! I don't know why – that's quite possibly the WORST bout of writer's block I've ever gone through! But you'll all be pleased to know, I CAN WRITE AGAIN:D

It's very strange though - I was only able to write this after my first GCSE exam, which was on Monday - an exam which I'd been preparing since before Christmas... I wonder if that had something to do with it?

I hope everyone who is reading is well; grab some popcorn and sit comfortably – it's...

.: Chapter Three :.

The night passed painfully slowly, but thankfully without incident. Legolas had remained unconscious all the night, his parents by his side. As dawn had broken, there had been a brief collective drawing of breath as the young Prince stirred, but it was nothing. Falasan had said it had been a good sign though, that he might wake up soon. If that happened, they could figure out where to go from there.

By mid morning, the news had spread around all of Mirkwood. It was difficult to keep such things secret in such a close-knit community, especially when it involved the Royal Family. Of course, this also meant that rumours were in circulation too.

Hallataulë and Miarthan were walking to the library. The older prince had wanted to stay with Legolas, but on trying to sit with his family had felt very awkward. He didn't like seeing Legolas that way, and he could feel the tension between his parents simmering just underneath the surface. He had to get out. So instead, he was now channelling his energy into finding out what the elusive cure was.

The corridors were longer than he remembered – the ceiling seemed much lower, making the journey a claustrophobic one. Heat burned the back of his neck and forced a queasy feeling into the pit of his stomach, and yet Hallataulë had no reason to feel this way, except for worry. He wondered how he'd allowed this to happen, and guilt simply made him feel worse.

Eyes to the floor, he carried on walking, never looking up. The patterns in the stone floor twirled and broke apart, going their separate ways before melding back together as one. He felt physically sick.

Such was the distraction that Legolas' predicament was causing him, Hallataulë didn't realise that the vast length of the corridor had been crossed, and it was only Miarthan's hand on his arm that stopped him.

"Hal? We're here already," said the dark haired Elf, looking at him with concern. Hallataulë looked at him absently.

"Oh..." he said slowly. "We are, aren't we?"

The heavy door swung open, and they walked into the library, with its great shelves heaving with dusty tomes, all of which shared leather bindings of various dull colours and a strange musty smell. Miarthan looked about the massive room and wrinkled his nose.

"So, where do we start?"

----

Legolas stirred in the unnatural sleep he had sunken into. He could feel his pyjamas and the sheets of the bed sticking to his skin despite the surreal floating feeling he was encountering. He could hear every voice in the room clear as a bell as they spoke about him, but never directly to him.

Well Falasan?

Falasan... he was the head healer. So that must mean he was in one of the healing rooms. What got to him however was that he couldn't remember how or why he'd gotten here, and why it seemed that, no matter how hard he tried, his eyes just wouldn't open.

What is it?

It dawned on him that it was his father speaking. He could help him – he could get him out of this place! Legolas tried to yell. Not a sound. He tried to say something. Again, nothing.

He couldn't even whisper.

What was wrong with him?

It's a poison; a rare one...

'What?' he thought. Poison? Was that why he was here? Had he been poisoned?

His mind suddenly propelled into panicked overdrive, trying to remember what had happened to him in a futile attempt to figure out what was wrong. So much so in fact, that he missed all but the last sentence of the rest of the conversation.

The victim's body overheats and they die...

He didn't want to die! He tried to shout again, tried to kick and scream and get out of this dark place – this abyss he was in where he couldn't open his eyes, or speak, or move. But the only thing that seemed awake was his mind. His body simply didn't feel like his own any more.

And then he heard his mother crying.

'Ama?'

But no words came out.

'Ama! Ama! Help!' he thought desperately. 'H-help me!'

The cruelty of the poison wouldn't even let his tears fall.

----

Hours passed. Gradually, the table at which they sat filled up with stacks of books, groaning quietly under their weight. Hallataulë added yet another to the growing pile of books which held no answers at all.

He sighed and placed his head in his hands. This was becoming a fruitless task.

The entire time his mind had been repeating the things which had happened which could have possibly poisoned his brother, and the people. He couldn't believe that Oersen would have done it... she'd known Legolas since he was a young Elfling, and had been friends with their mother as well. Surely she wouldn't?

The only other person he could think of was, and he hated to say this, Miarthan. But it couldn't be him, not when he was helping so much. Not when he was Legolas' friend. It hurt to think that after all the fuss over Estel that perhaps yet another person that Legolas had called a friend would cause him pain; this time physical rather than emotional.

Estel... now there was someone he'd not heard from for a good while now. He wasn't clear on the circumstances around Legolas' falling out with him, but it seemed to be something to do with the fact that the human had simply up and left one afternoon, not even saying goodbye to his friends or the family that had raised him for twenty years. Hallataulë was somewhat suspicious of this – Estel didn't seem the type to do something like that on purpose – but he'd written to Elladan and Elrohir who simply avoided the subject and discussed other things, and whenever he'd tried to talk to Legolas about it, the younger Elf's eyes simply went cold and he refused to say anything more.

He hoped beyond all hope that it wasn't Miarthan. He wasn't sure how Legolas would handle a second betrayal of trust in such a short time.

And besides, what was he supposed to say? 'Oh, by the way Miarthan, thanks for your help – just thought I'd better tell you that you're one of the prime suspects in all of this.' No; not only was it stupid, it would also cause even more problems that he had to deal with already.

And so, once again, he could draw no strong conclusions; only assumptions.

"Any luck?"

Miarthan dumped another large pile of books onto the table and flopped into his chair. "Phew! That took some work..."

Hallataulë looked at Miarthan closely, trying to see some sort of hint of deception. Miarthan frowned.

"Something wrong Hal?" he asked, voice low, an intense questioning look in his eyes.

Hallataulë broke his gaze and returned to the book. "No. Nothing that you don't know already."

A long drawn out silence heralded an awkward moment as they both went back to reading the books they had pulled from the shelves. It was late afternoon now, the sun beginning to set beyond the mountains, and still they searched the masses of books in the hope of finding an answer.

"He'll be alright. You know that, don't you?" said Miarthan quietly. His eyes flitted up so they now looked over the top of the book. They were icy, with a hint of sadness in their depths.

Hallataulë looked at him. He said nothing.

Miarthan shrugged. "After all, he always is," he said before returning to his book.

----

Sólia was sitting by Legolas' bed, holding his hand, stroking the back of his hand lightly with her thumb. Her eyes were red and puffy, but she was still holding strong, if only for the fact that he could wake up at any moment. She held onto that hope like a snowdrop held onto its petals through a spring storm; with steadfast determination and courage.

Thranduil looked in on her from the doorway, the frame of which he was leaning against. He felt so very tired – this had been one of the worst days of his life, riding up there with the day he'd thought his wife might die giving birth to their youngest, or the few months when their eldest had been missing.

He walked slowly across the room to the window, one of the few in Mirkwood that was set in the actual wall, and stared out at the stars.

'Why them?' he thought. 'Valar, why do you take it out on my family? What have they done?' He gripped the window frame until his knuckles went white. "Curse you," he hissed almost silently. "All of you..."

----

Hallataulë sighed and threw yet another book onto the desk. The sun had set long ago and the useless search for clues had made him irritable. Grabbing another book from the unread pile, he flung it open.

Unfortunately, some of the delicate pages of the ancient book fell from its spine and spilled onto the floor, his rough handling of the tome breaking their hold. He grumbled and bent down to retrieve them.

Miarthan, on seeing the pages fall, stooped down to help Hallataulë out, picking up various pages and attempting with little luck to sort them into some kind of order. Taking one, he was about to add it to his growing collection when he noticed something written in hasty handwritten script on it in the margin:

Pryalin – small plant, purple flowers, grows in trees in N. Mirkwood. leaves poison. flower pollen - cure.

"Hal! I've found something!"

I hope that was alright for you - once again, I apologise for my terrible lateness with updating!