Disclaimer: (shrieks and points at something over Tolkien's head. Grabs the rights to LotR and runs. Police run after and capture. Led away in handcuffs) Well, I tried. They're not mine.
AN:(Edited 5 April, 2010) I'm sooo sorry it's taken me so long, but I made the mistake of starting another fic, and now I'm desperately trying to keep them straight, going back and forth between the two doesn't exactly get anything done, ya know? No internet access will also complicate things. And I'm stuck. I had only planned half of chapter one, so I'm going on instinct now. Forgive me for the long lapses of time please!
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Estel felt Legolas simply drop, as though his legs had been cut out from under him. The human tightened his grip, just barely saving the elf from cracking his head against the stone floor.
Elladan went running back along the corridors yelling for Elrond, leaving Estel to carry the limp elf into the room. It frightened him how light the elf was, light enough for him to pick him up with almost no difficulty.
He kicked the door open and strode in, gently depositing Legolas on the bed. The elven prince was totally unresponsive, yet his eyes were wide open. Not slightly glazed over as if he was sleeping, just blank. Somehow this frightened Estel more than anything.
Estel placed his fingers against Legolas' limp wrist, searching for a pulse. A faint but steady thumpreassured him there was no immediate danger. But then—
"What happened?" Elrond flew into the room, closely followed by his sons.
"I don't know, he just… collapsed. But he was fine a few minutes ago!"
Elrond unbuttoned the elf's silver tunic and unwrapped the bandages around his left side. Even the seasoned healer couldn't hold back a sharp intake of breath as the ragged slash came into view.
The surrounding skin was swiftly turning black, with shoots of red snaking away from the center. Legolas' elven healing had, if anything, been repelled, pushed away from this area.
Elrond paled slightly. He remembered this, from somewhere, more than three thousand years ago, a bare hundred before the Battle in which the Ring was lost. "Poison."
"What?" his sons were aghast at the idea, and Elrohir protested violently. "But Ada, you must be mistaken!"
"Yes!" Elladan jumped in, quickly. "Orcan poison works within hours, and it has been over three days! No type of poison the orcs have does this!"
Elrond was taken aback at the venom in the twin's voice. "I am not mistaken, ion-nin.I wish I were, but there is no—"
"You must be wrong!" Elrohir sat heavily down in a chair, voice cracking.
"Wait!" Elladan rushed up to his father, turning the elder elf and looking into his eyes. "If you know what it is, you can get the cure, right?"
Estel pulled gently at his brother's arm and guided him to a chair. He did not understand what was so wrong. His brothers neverbehaved like this. "Let him explain! I don't know what's wrong with you, but jumping down Ada's throat won't help anything! Honestly, you ought to know better! You're 2, 807 years old for the Valar's sake! Act like it!"
Silence fell in the room, as all turned to look confusedly at the young human. Estel rarely snapped, or criticized his (much) older brothers.
"Ada, what's wrong with him?"
Elrond sighed and sat on the end of the bed. "There is nothing I can do to help him. This is a poison of the will."
"Then, there is nothing…." Elladan asked numbly.
His Ada shook his head. "No, the fight takes place mentally, as well as physically. The poison dominates the will and erases the determination to live, the spirit. It's battle of the mind, and cannot be fought with mere herbs."
"Then he has a good chance!" Elrohir exclaimed excitedly. "Legolas is the most willful, stubborn, obstinate elf I've ever met! That poison won't stand a chance! Right?" he added uncertainly as his Ada did not answer.
Elrond was staring off into the distance, an odd look on his face. "It was late in the Second Age last I saw this. Elves died, many of them. The poison does not affect Men or Dwarves, just the Eldar. Elves watched as their friends and family wasted away, dying right in front of their eyes. Herbs, medical knowledge… no use." He stared at each of his sons, pinning each of them with the intensity of his gaze. "Only six of the two thousand that were diagnosed survived."
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Silence reigned in the little room. The twins sank back in their chairs stunned and silent. At least, for a few seconds. The Elrohir was gone, out the door to search for references in the library, and Elladan all but attacked his Ada, asking tons of questions about the survivors and if they had any things in common.
Estel watched half in amusement, half regretful. His brothers were obviously going to be fighting along with their friend, if not for him, at least in spirit. The last the human had seen Legolas was seven years ago, and only then for several weeks. While he and the prince had become friends, he did not share the special bond that the twins did. After all, several weeks doesn't compare to two and half thousand years of friendship.
Nevertheless, Estel was determined to help his old partner-in-crime. (Legolas had teamed up with him to prank the twins many times.) Turning, he went out of the room to go help Elrohir look in the library.
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Swirling blackness lifted ever so slightly, revealing shapes, with indiscernible features, yet he knew them somehow…
Rough voices in a grating tongue reached his ears, along with a defiant reply in Sindarin. The slimmest figure was pushed back against a tree, and a squat, bow-legged creature reached up and slapped him across the face…
The scene spun out of sight and was replaced by a new one, again with no discernable features. The slim figure was being dragged unceremoniously along a forest path by the short creatures, by the looks of them, orcs or goblins.
"This one's trouble, boss. 'E's an awful brat. Why can't we just kill 'im and leave the body at the border?"
"You know who 'e is? What a pretty bargaining piece… of course, they can't get 'im back unmarked can they?" The orc (or goblin) unfurled a whip, the glass edged tip glinting.
A scream of pain echoed through the air, the first of many more to come. "Come on, my pet," coaxed the creature. "Tell us a few things and we'll let you go. 'ow do you get into Mirkwood's palace? If anyone knows, it's you. Come on, elfie. It can't be that 'ard."
The elf looked up wearily. The blurred features radiated defiance and pain. "You may just as well kill me. I will not give my people up to a blastedyrch!"
The whip flashed.
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A slight movement brought Elrond to the prince's side in a flash. More than twelve hours had passed since his collapse, and Elrond was beginning to lose whatever hope he had. Movement was a good sign, it showed that the poison had not taken an entire grip yet.
"Penneth,can you hear me? All is well, you have nothing to fear."
"I do not fear death, but my people have reason to dread the dawning of the sun."
Elrond jerked in surprise. The words were spoken matter-of-factly, yet with a ring of deep sorrow. Legolas' eyes remained blank, and there was no other sign of life after those seventeen words.
"Ada, what's wrong?" Elladan asked, entering the room. Noting the slight shock on his father's face he added quickly, "What happened, is he all right?"
Elrohir came in behind him, arms full of books. "Absolutely no mention of the damned—Ada?"
Elrond related what had transpired, shaking his head slowly, not understanding. A ray of light burst through the window, the first light of the new dawn. The master of Imladris turned his attention to the west, wondering what events were brought in with the sun.
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Iladrion packed up his sparse camp and saddled his roan mare. Mirkwood's boundaries loomed ahead of him, and he was determined to bring the news of its prince's return to the king this day.
He mounted his horse and nudged her into a canter. She was tired; he had pushed her an awful lot these past few days, such was his haste.
The trees closed over his head, and Iladrion sighed happily. He always had liked the forest of Mirkwood, despite the many dangers lurking there. He was half Wood-elf himself, and he often dreamed of coming to live among the great, wise trees of this old wood, if he could bear to leave Imladris, where he was raised.
Reaching out to touch the trees as he passed, he caught glimpses of their personalities as they greeted him. A grumpy old willow tree spared a fleeting well met,while a young springy ash greeted him warmly. And a wise old oak spoke stiffly, much like its tough bark, hard on the outside, but friendly in its heart.
In this way, Iladrion eased miles away, not noticing as the sun reached its mid-day point. But he did notice as the trees began to press in, fearful, warning of something ahead. The elf frowned, speeding into a gallop.
The trees were not often afraid, having seen many a warg, wolf, orc and spider pass beneath their boughs, yet, they were scared now. As the elf drew closer to Thranduil's palace, the tree's voices nearly over whelmed him. And when he came to the beginning of the open foothills of the mountain palace, the voices stopped altogether.
The realm of Mirkwood was awash in blood. Bodies lay everywhere, elleths and penneths along with warriors. Iladrion dismounted from the mare and raced along the main path to the palace. He stumbled twice, over abandoned weapons, caught himself and pressed on.
The heavy doors of Mirkwood's palace were ajar, an elfin body in the path of the magical door. Iladrion slowed, fearing what he would find next. For the next room was the king's hall.
In this room, some of the mystery was solved. Orc corpses littered the floor, black blood staining the polished stone. Arrows lay scattered across the hall. And at the end, five elven-folk were sprawled face down, still clutching weapons. One of them wore a silver crown.
The half Wood-elf turned, entirely definite of racing straight back to Imladris. An orcan club smashed into his skull, and he collapsed, one more elf among so many others.