I Will Always Return

CHAPTER TWELVE

Made to Shine On

Of all the friends I've ever met,
You're the one I won't forget.
And if I die
Before you do
I'll go to heaven
And wait for you
I'll give the angels
Back their wings
And risk the loss
Of everything
Just to prove
My friendship is true.

Unknown (got it in an e-mail forward;))

The warrior skidded to halt, boots sliding on the grass, just before he almost tripped over the prince. Legolas had wound himself into a tighter ball than before and his arms were hugged against him. He was breathing but his breaths were shallow, erratic and spoke volumes of the great agony flaring through his body. The pain was setting him in bonds of its own.

Roth stared down at Legolas with wide eyes. His whole body was visibly shaking and he swallowed back tears. He was scared to touch his friend. Legolas had so many wounds and he was afraid to aggravate any of them and cause his friend further agony. More red accented the prince's mouth and Roth dropped to one knee at Legolas' head.

Legolas felt his friend's presence and cracked his eyes open carefully. He blinked rapidly when Roth's face appeared blurry the first time. Noticing that the warrior was empty-handed, Legolas' face contorted in alarm. Looking at Rothinzil with large, imploring eyes, the prince gasped, "Where…is Estel? Is he…"

Rothinzil quickly assured his friend with a quick shake of his head. "No, no…Elrohir has him, my friend." Prying one of Legolas' hands away, where the Elf had them hugged against his chest, Rothinzil laced his fingers with his friend's. Legolas was too tired to squeeze back and his hand was limp in Roth's warm grip. "I am to carry you, my lord."

Legolas tried to smile, and his lips twitched at the corners, but he could do no more. He simply did not possess the energy and his heart was too heavy to will a smile against his body's wishes as it had in times past. Roth's grip on Legolas' hand relented and the prince let it slide free, hitting the soft grass at his side. "Estel…was he unconscious?"

Rothinzil knew why Legolas was asking this and he wished that he had the heart to lie and say "no", but he did not. "Yes, my lord." In his heart, he knew Aragorn was standing at the brink of death. He could feel it in Legolas and he knew that even in his weakened, dazed state, Legolas recognized it too.

The Elf shuddered before he closed his eyes and squeezed them. They burned with pain and emotion and Roth saw a tear melt out of each corner. They ran back and trickled behind Legolas' pointed ears, becoming absorbed in his dirtied, bloodied hair, and leaving a silvery trail. Rothinzil looked away from his friend, and tenderly rolled Legolas onto his back before folding the prince's arms onto his chest. When he started to gather Legolas up, the prince opened his eyes. "It isn't fair," he croaked, staring past Rothinzil at the sky.

Rothinzil sympathized with his lord, but he was becoming frustrated. He had tried everything he could, and done everything he could and nothing had been enough. Legolas, whom he had always seen as being unbreakable, looked utterly crushed and was actually crying. It made him furious and confused, seeing his lord in a state where he could not be looked up to. Unable to bear it in silence, he found tears streaming down his face as he broke into a tirade. "I tried Legolas! All right? I did my best for you! I did! You have to believe me! I know it isn't fair! Valar take it! He is free now! Everything should be right!" He continued on and Legolas' tears stopped as he watched his friend.

Reaching up a trembling hand, he cupped the side of Roth's face. The warrior could feel the cold, frail fingers shaking against his cheek. The touch alone forced his mouth to close, but the tears continued to flow. "My dear Roth," Legolas murmured remorsefully. "I am sorry. You should have never had to witness this. You did no wrong…we owe you our lives…Don't…don't let this experience…change you…please Roth."

Rothinzil hiccupped slightly and his mouth trembled. He had heard warriors were supposed to be hard and impassive, but he was quickly finding that it was not so. He couldn't conquer this. "How can I not?" he whispered hoarsely, turning his lashes down in respect as Legolas brushed away his tears with a loving finger.

"See the good in everything...as you always have…because I cannot." Legolas' lips twitched in an attempt at a forced smile. Since smiling was a failure, he turned serious. "Promise me."

Rothinzil didn't lift his eyes. "As you wish, my lord."

Legolas frowned and set his hand back onto his abdomen, careful not to upset his wounds. "Promise me as a friend...and a brother."

Rothinzil nodded supportively. "I promise you, Legolas."

This time Legolas didn't have to force a smile, because it was genuine. "Good," he whispered, and then twisted his head to find Aragorn. He saw the ranger lying limply in the cradle of his brother's arms and took in the white features and lifeless expression of the face. His smile slipped away, and he continued watching the human. He saw Elrohir rush forward suddenly, trying not to jar Aragorn at the same time. The twin's face was contorted in alarm and then Legolas saw nothing and the pain simply stopped.

Roth panicked as he felt his friend's body melt against his, and all the tenseness flee Legolas' muscles. Rothinzil called frantically for Elrohir, terrified, even though he was already at his side. The son of Elrond was trying to balance Aragorn in his arms while one of his hands tried to take Legolas' pulse. He managed to clasp the thin, torn wrist between his fingers, but he took him minutes to detect a pulse. However, one minute it was there, and the next it wasn't, having gone beyond the ability to palpate.

"He lives," But Elrohir didn't say how long he thought that would last. Roth seemed reassured, willing to clasp onto any bit of hope, like a life preserver. He held Legolas close. Elrohir had already turned back around and was rushing Aragorn towards the new camp, where there would be some medical supplies. Roth quickly followed, doing his best to see the bright side. It was the last thing that Legolas had asked of him.

:0Ї0:

Legolas and Aragorn were spread out side by side on two blankets, their faces looking equally pale and sad. They looked older than they were, according to their individual races. Legolas looked as though he was a more than a few millennia old, and Aragorn looked immortal and perpetually cheerless. The dried blood stood out in sharp contrast to their paled features. The way their cheekbones jutted out and their eyes seemed sunken in made Roth feel sick.

However, a swarm of enthusiastic and terrified healers came to assist Elrohir in the cleansing and stitching of Aragorn's wound. Elrohir almost found too much help on his hands and was bordering on a nervous breakdown. Legolas was momentarily shoved aside and forgotten about in the haste to save Aragorn's life. Rothinzil grabbed a discarded blanket and draped it over Legolas' exposed form, tucking it closely around his friend's cold frame. He knew that if Aragorn was awake, he would have never allowed Legolas to be forgotten.

Elrohir turned from where he was tending fervidly to his brother and saw Rothinzil fretting over Legolas, smoothing his golden hair back and holding a one way conversation with him. Abandoning his supplies, he realized that the Wood-Elves had been marginalized, even if it wasn't deliberate. Walking over, he placed a hand on Roth's good shoulder. "I am sorry, Roth. I truly am. Here," he started to pull the coverlet away. "Let me help."

Rothinzil shook his head. "I know it was an accident. But, you have to see to your brother…he could die." Elrohir looked back towards the swarm of healers surrounding the young human.

"So could Legolas…and there are enough experienced healers over there." Elrohir stared back at the warrior. "I think we can patch him up again." He spoke to Roth as though he was an Elfling that had torn its teddy bear.

Rothinzil gave a hollow chuckle. "You speak like he is a ripped doll."

Elrohir grinned admittedly, but it looked pained. "I will be right back." He walked away and went over to the throng of healers to ask about water and some rags. He also inquired about some warm brandy. Legolas hated the brew, but it would help him feel better once he came around again.

When he returned, he helped Rothinzil wash Legolas to better expose his wounds and abrasions. The majority of the discoloration of Legolas' skin came from black and blue bruises and the dirt that came off only caused the undamaged parts to glow a sickly white. When Roth started to tenderly mop his face with a warm rag Legolas' eyes fluttered and he jerked when he saw the room. Turning his head, he saw healers with metal instruments as they worked on Aragorn and he panicked. "No! Saessaes…" He couldn't take anymore, he just couldn't. He started to tremble and Roth hurriedly withdrew, speaking softly in Sindarin.

"Peace. You are safe, Legolas." He spoke as though to a friend and not his lord. He had been afraid that this would happen.

Elrohir shook his head and grabbed Legolas' hand. Squeezing it reassuringly, he promised, "It is well mellon nîn. You have nothing to fear here." He could tell that Legolas had undergone horrible experiences with instruments, medical instruments, put to horrific use and he winced. Thankfully, the prince's injuries required very little work with such devices.

Legolas shivered and looked warily at all the men as they stopped to gaze at the wakened Elf. They kept their distance, but all the same, couldn't help but fulfil their curiosity. Feeling ashamed at his vulnerability as a spectacle, Legolas flushed and closed his eyes wearily. His shoulder was throbbing and he felt too weak to even move.

Elrohir left to shoo away the curious eyes while Rothinzil smiled down at his friend. "When your father hears of this, we are all dead."

Legolas didn't seem to hear him and instead he blinked and stared through his friend. Roth shivered at the emptiness behind his friend's dulled blue eyes. "Roth, don't let them use those…those tools on me." His voice sounded like a small child begging their parent not to snuff out the candle when he went to bed.

"They only mean to help you," Roth tried to help his friend see reason. Legolas didn't move, remembering places that Roth would never walk -Valar willing- and would never appreciate. "What did they do to you?" Roth's broken Sindarin pierced the haze of Legolas' black memories and the prince realized that he was trembling.

"Maybe you should ask: "What didn't they do to you?"" he whispered hoarsely. Seeing Roth's chin pucker as he fought back new tears, Legolas hurriedly changed the subject. "Where are we?"

Roth smiled dryly and his distress seemed to melt away. "In a makeshift camp of the Rohirrim." Elrohir returned and resumed scrubbing the dirt from Legolas' torso and chest, trying to be as gentle as possible. Legolas squirmed a little at the smarting touch, but was too tired to argue. Elrohir assessed the brand marks critically through a set of narrowed silver eyes. Infection boiled beneath the skin. Wincing inwardly, he set the cloth aside.

"Can you drink, Legolas?" He asked, going over to a small blanket stretched out on the ground. He selected a mug and his fingers curled around it as he brought it towards the prince.

Legolas pulled away warily and shifted slightly closer to Roth as though for protection (who immediately became defensive). "I don't want to be put into a stupor…"

Elrohir smiled reassuringly. "I don't have to. This will just help to relax your muscles…"

Legolas' eyes still shone with disapproval. To be honest, he couldn't even guarantee that he could keep any substance down long enough for it to take hold. Elrohir slipped his arm behind Legolas' shoulders and eased him up. Pressing the ceramic lip of the cup against the Elf's mouth, he tried to manipulate the prince into accepting it. Legolas pulled back, revolted at the aroma that greeted him. "What is that?" It smelled sour and sweet all at once and his stomach cart-wheeled.

"Brandy. And it is harmless in small doses, I promise you," Elrohir offered the cup again. He felt a sense of triumph when Legolas grudgingly accepted some of the liquid and swallowed after swishing it in his mouth a bit, trying out the flavour.

"This is disgusting," he protested, making a face. "It tastes like vomit."

"Nonetheless, you will finish it."

Legolas had been through so much worse that he decided not to argue over this trivial a matter, but Elrohir was going to regret it when he threw it up later. After draining the contents to the last drop, Legolas lay back down and sighed tiredly. He started to drift into unconsciousness to try and evade the churning of his stomach, but was snapped into full awareness as Elrohir started to try and drain the blisters of his brands.

"Stop, Legolas!" Elrohir's voice was firm and agitated. "You will get really sick otherwise." He selected a scalpel from roll of instruments and Legolas stiffened instinctively. Elrohir shook his head sympathetically. "I would never hurt you Legolas, but they have to be drained."

Legolas remained stiff, but didn't flinch at his friend's touch. He trusted Elrohir completely. The device needed was what he had problems with. Unable to watch as he felt Elrohir performing the necessary procedures, Legolas stared at the ceiling. His jaw muscles clenched and unclenched spasmodically but he made no movement to stop the pain. And when it became too much for his weakened constitution to bear, he slid into the blissful void of unconsciousness.

:0Ї0:

Some hours later, when the procedure was completed, Legolas lay on his cot, swathed in bandages, greased with ointments and buried in blankets. His head was propped up by a rolled up cloak and he was staring blankly at the ceiling. For some bizarre reason, he was shivering and he felt detached from the world, like it pulsing. When he closed his eyes, colours danced around behind his eyelids.

Suddenly, the Elf jerked and shrank back as he felt something cold and wet applied to his forehead. A soft voice droned in his ears, "Shhh…Legolas, you are safe here. You have a fever. We must bring it down."

Legolas blinked vapidly, but his vision remained hazy at best. "R'in'il?" he questioned drowsily, reaching out towards the blurred face he saw in front of him. The warrior answered affirmatively, gently trapping his hand and holding it. "Good…where is…Estel?" Legolas continued in a drone, closing his eyes again. His body convulsed as he felt like his blood was freezing as it boiled.

Roth grimaced and his grip on Legolas' hand tightened. "Right beside you." The tightened hold caused pain and Legolas withdrew his hand. Rothinzil was alarmed that the prince had not noticed. But both Legolas and the ranger were bathed in the heat of fever. Legolas was bordering on delirium, Aragorn was unconscious. Seeing that Legolas was having trouble moving, Roth gently turned Legolas' head so that the prince could see Aragorn lying pale and unmoving next to him. Legolas saw his friend and shuddered as he reached out a frail hand towards the white appendage that lay on Aragorn's chest.

The adrenaline had left them both dry and feeling hollow, and their bodies' defences were down. Right now, both the Elf and ranger were at their most vulnerable. Even Legolas' renowned Elven immune system was having difficulties, having been drastically weakened and abused. Aragorn had extraordinary capabilities for a human that had often left Legolas shaking his head in awe, but now he seemed so frail and actually flimsy. He was obviously still battling for his life.

Roth tucked the blanket's edges around his prince and then moved to Aragorn. "Where 's 'Rohir?" Legolas asked, breathless after the simple words. There was a rattle to his breathing, which was shallow and barely sufficient.

Roth's brow creased as he scrutinized his prince with a critical, anxious eye. Legolas looked so worn out, with hollow dark places were his cheeks should be and bones exposed sharply under his eyes. His body had been far too light and easy to bear. "He is busy," Rothinzil answered simply. "He has…other problems." He didn't want to tell Legolas that right now, Elrohir was very scared and bordering on being terrified. Aragorn was not doing so well and even though he had responded to the treatment and his body was working to rebuild and fix itself, it didn't possess the energy. Legolas' body barely had what was needed and his wounds, though drained, had given him a fluctuating fever that had now reached its peak. Valar willing, it would break and not send him into a coma.

Legolas stared groggily at his friend's face and his drastically achromatic complexion that had developed a sort of sick translucency. Staring at his own hand that overlapped the ranger's, he realized that he himself was just as pallid. They were dying. Swallowing back tears as he realized how much he missed his home, the prince whispered, "I am cold."

Rothinzil didn't move, but the unnatural lines of anxiety in his face became more pronounced. "I am sorry, we have no more blankets." His apology was soft and he wished he could hold Legolas close, and share body warmth. However, Legolas' broken ribs would cause him excruciating pain if jolted suddenly.

Elrohir ducked through the tent flap and came in carrying some dried branches and other things for kindling. Legolas had not bothered to notice the small fire that kept warm air circulating in the tent. Dropping the kindling on the ground, Elrohir side-stepped Roth and crouched first by Legolas, checking his pulse and smoothing back his hair as he removed the sweat-warmed rag from the prince's forehead. Legolas' pulse was steady, but slow and not very strong. He had lost a lot of blood and his blood pressure was still very low, accounting for a lot of his light-headedness.

He then checked on Aragorn and frowned with discontent. The ranger's pulse was erratic and barely palpable. Of course that was to be expected from someone who just got stabbed in the abdomen with a knife, but Elrohir had been hoping his ministrations would have had a greater affect. As a matter of fact, he had expected to see more improvement. Sighing, he sat back on his heels and observed as Legolas tiredly closed his eyes and slipped deeper into his delirium.

"We can't move them yet," Roth protested after hearing Elrohir's assessment and the plans for the next few hours that would run into the next day. "It is too dangerous!"

Elrohir glowered unenthusiastically at his friend. "If we don't, we won't have better facilities to help them when the fever breaks, or anymore medicines. Besides, these wounds are beyond my expertise. There are wounds made by no weapon, Rothinzil." He shook his head and sat down on the ground next to the warrior. Both of them watched their friends dozing motionlessly. "We cannot know a tenth of what they were forced to endure these past few years."

Rothinzil shook his head and did his best to disguise a jaw-popping yawn. He had not taken food, nor slept and he couldn't remember whether he had drunk anything in the past twenty-four hours or not. He had his doubts though. Elrohir noticed and studied him quizzically. "You need sleep."

"And you're a hypocrite." Roth's grumpy retort was to be expected.

"Someone has to stay up with them, someone with more than a rudimentary grasp on healing," Elrohir reasoned, biting back a yawn. Elladan would certainly not approve. He would be telling Elrohir and Roth to go rest while he took the burden upon himself. Ah, well, it was a good thing that he wasn't here then. "Roth, you couldn't prop up your eyelids if Morgoth threatened you with death." At last, exasperated by the warrior's repeated denial, Elrohir exerted his authority over the other Elf. "I am older than you and I am an Elf-lord. I deserve respect and obedience. You are going to rest."

Roth glared daggers and his hazel eyes suddenly seemed more awake than they had for the past few hours. "Yes Nana," his tone was surly and irritated. Elrohir was the last person he had ever expected this from and he was a little hurt.

Elrohir didn't return the glare. Roth followed the invisible line originating from his eyes to discover that the younger twin was enraptured by the rising and falling of Aragorn's chest, the only visible sign of life. Noticing Roth closely studying his face, Elrohir frowned disconcertingly, "I am just a little worried." All his hopes could be dashed this evening. "Get some sleep."

Roth's face was unreadable and he nodded, slinking away to a corner of the tent where a blanket was stretched out on the ground. The heat of the fire had made the room exceptionally warm and he required nothing other than a place to lie down. Even though he was exhausted, he couldn't rest and he continued to fidget and toss around for several minutes before settling on a position that wasn't perfect, but was going to have to suffice. He could still see Legolas from where he lay and his eyes remained riveted on his friend, hoping and praying that against all odds they would be able to return home together. Placing a hand under his cheek, he gave his head some support since they lacked pillows. He couldn't believe that either of his friends was meant to die here.

Sighing, he knew that he would find no rest. His body craved sleep but his nerves were on fire and in tight knots. Elrohir was still enraptured by the steady breathing of Aragorn, so he didn't notice when Rothinzil slipped under the tent's edge.

:0Ї0:

Thengel sat in his tent, alone. He had been indisposed as well as inconsolable since they had arrived and he had looked after his men. True he was king, but that didn't make him any less susceptible to feelings of guilt and pain. This was his entire fault. He had been weak and not protected his people, they had sought protection elsewhere. He was a failure.

A noise at the tent's flap caught his attention and he straightened himself before commanding, "Enter." He may not be feeling worthy of dignity, but it was expected for him to be presentable. His jaw nearly dropped as Rothinzil ducked in, bowing slightly before him. King Thengel winced inwardly, wondering how he could have possibly earned this Elf's respect. After all, Roth's friends had been caught and tortured because of his errors.

"My lord," the warrior addressed politely, straightening up. He stared the king straight in the eyes. The regent diverted his gaze, taking a keen interest in the grassy floor. He couldn't endure the clear hazel eyes that seemed to see right through his very essence, especially after all the horrible events. He had heard Elves had terrible eyes that broke through your core, but he had never truly experienced them until now.

"Master Rothinzil," the king acknowledged softly, beckoning the Elf to take a seat beside him. Rothinzil politely declined. He was on edge and he knew that he would fidget. "How are your prince and friend?" the man asked, looking sadly at the Elf.

Rothinzil didn't speak for a moment and Thengel wondered if he had come to convey news of their deaths. He didn't have very high expectations for their survival. They had simply been through too much too fast, even if the legends of Elves' healing capabilities were true. And Aragorn didn't even have that in his favour. "They are very ill, my lord." His voice was soft.

Surprised, but still worried, the king only nodded. "Why did you come here?" He would have thought that he would be the last person the Elf would want to talk to.

Roth looked uncomfortable. He was still apprehensive about men…at least ones he didn't know and came from a foreign culture. "I just wanted to make sure that you didn't blame yourself...or do something else ridiculous. And…it weighs on you in that tent. It is so…still…" Roth shuddered openly and pulled his cloak tighter around himself.

Silence hung damply in the air…such suffocating silence.

Roth stared at him. "You should know that you aren't held responsible. Prince Legolas and Thorongil always get themselves into this sort of mischief," he added lastly to try and lighten the dark and forbidding mood.

"Best friends?" Thengel inquired, smiling thinly when Roth nodded. "This is strange in a man and Elf."

Roth's smile broadened slightly, and actually reached his eyes. "That is exactly what King Thranduil said at first." Rothinzil's expression became distant. It all seemed so long ago.

The king looked quizzically at the Elf. "How old is your prince?"

Roth smirked slightly at the question, showing the two small dimples at his mouth's corners. "Over two thousand years old."

Thengel's eyes couldn't have gotten any bigger. "Surely you jest Master Elf." But to be honest, he couldn't see the warrior jesting in a time this serious.

"No, my lord, I don't." He looked down at his boots and the grass, before bringing his chin back up and holding the king's gaze. "Elves are immortal, my lord." Legolas might not live to even reach what could be considered an elder Elf. Thranduil was already devastated. If Legolas died, Rothinzil knew that he could never go back and relive all the familiarities about what once was and what would be no more. He would retire from service, and he would live with Helliun and their children in the Lake Town.

Thengel must have read some of Roth's thoughts, and he apologized softly. "I am truly sorry, Master Rothinzil."

Roth shook his head negatively. "You made a mistake, my lord, but you set things right. Your people are saved." All the same, he had to admit that before he had actually known the king, he had been ready to find him and wring his neck. Right now, he felt sorry for him, even though that too was difficult to admit.

Thengel sighed and shook his head, breaking eye contact with the Elf. "For now, but that will change. Sauron doesn't easily forget those who break his trust. His vengeance on us will be great." He looked back up and stared cryptically at Rothinzil, who felt awkward under his searching stare. "You and your people are wise. Can you not tell me what will become of this?" His voice sounded hopeless and Roth grimaced slightly.

"I am afraid that those who could tell you are ones far wiser than me," the dark-haired Elf explained gently. "But trust me; I hardly think that you will live to see it."

The king found no comfort in his words. "So the mistakes of my reign will decide the course of my son's?"

Roth couldn't look him in the eye for a moment, feeling sick to his stomach. He also felt a bit guilty since he was no soothsayer and not even considered to be an aged Elf. "I should think so, my lord." He shifted and his clear hazel eyes caught and held the mortal's. "We all wish we could go back in time at some point or other, my lord. But the fact is that we can't. We just have to correct things to the best of our ability, teach others better, and move on."

"Master Elf, there is no comfort in your words." His voice was dejected and he ran his hand through his hair. Shaking his head, he cleared his throat before changing the subject. "When does Lord Elrohir feel Prince Legolas and Captain Thorongil will be strong enough for travel?"

"As soon as possible, my lord," Rothinzil admitted grudgingly. He didn't want Legolas made vulnerable to the injuries and stress of travel just yet. He was still broiling in his own skin from fever and the ride would be nothing short of misery.

"Go and get some rest, Master Rothinzil," the king commanded kindly, noting the dark circles that accented the Elf's eyes. "You look exhausted."

Rothinzil knew that he must look horrible if even the king was ordering him to rest. Sighing inwardly, he nodded and took his leave. "Good evening and good night to you, my lord." Ducking out of the tent, he made his way through the maze of tents and campfires back to their own.

When he slipped in, he was still unnoticed. Elrohir was watching both Aragorn and Legolas was a frightening intensity and seemed immune to all else in the room. If his bedroll had spontaneously combusted, Rothinzil doubted the twin would have noticed. Aware of how his body was suddenly throbbing with fatigue and pain, Rothinzil crept back to his blanket and lay down. He eventually fell asleep only minutes later, watching Elrohir until his eyelids slid closed and his breathing evened out.

If Elrohir would have turned around and seen Roth's face, which had smoothed out peacefully, he would have thought he looked at an Elfling of only two hundred summers. He was keeping his promise to Legolas, and was fighting the change these last days of darkness were working in him.

TBC…

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