This is…gasp, shock,…a longer chapter. I think I am getting the hang of this writing lark. Once again NiRi betaed. Thank you so much, honey. You're the best. Hugs NiRi. Many thanks to all reviewers. You are the jam on the sandwich.

One friend to Another

13:

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Legolas was drowning in a sea of black.

It was not water, but it had the freezing qualities of a lake in winter. As it invaded his lungs and drove his air out, the icy needles screamed through his very being. The waves washed over him, pushed him this way and that, heavier than water, colder than ice, thicker than smoke, clinging to his skin like oil. His mind screamed in panic. He had nothing solid to hold on to. Nothing under him, nothing around him. Just inky black.

Time lost all meaning. His mind was sluggish and would not grasp any coherent thought, but still he struggled. Was this all he had ever known? Did he even exist outside this deep penetrating black? What was his name? Why could he not breathe?

His subconscious picked up on voices again. From a great distance as if carried on the wind he heard them. The voices were melodious and fair….but the words they spoke hurt his ears. The tone sought to comfort him, but the language struck fear in his heart. He couldn't understand what was being said. Were these the ones who had put him here? He tried to open his mouth to call out to the voices, but his throat would make no sound. He could not breathe in, no sound would come out. His lungs screamed in pain for relief from the great pressure that bore down on him, but none came.

One of the voices seemed to single itself out from the many. One deep, resonant tenor that ebbed and flowed gently, became louder. He knew that voice. This was a friend. This voice he should be able to trust, but he still could not understand what it said. The words were too harsh, they grated in his head like nails on glass. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to get away, but the voice followed him, edged closer, reached out to him, and he opened his mouth again and silently screamed.

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"Legolas," Elrond addressed the writhing figure on the bed as gently, but as firmly as he could. "Legolas. Penneth. Awaken, child. Open your eyes. Come back to us."

The Lord of Rivendell sat on a hard wooden chair at the side of the bed, his eyes closed. One hand over the eyes of the floundering prince, the other over Legolas' heart. His voice droned on constantly, keeping up a steady melody of comfort, reassurance and healing. He spoke first in Sindarin, then switched to Quenya, but Legolas did not respond to either language. He tried Silvan, and the Mirkwood elf actually seemed to flinch at the sound of the beautiful flowing words Elrond spoke to him.

Elrond sighed and removed his hands from their positions on Legolas, to rest his own head wearily upon them and rub his tired eyes. He had been here since they had all returned to Imladris, almost three full days. Not leaving the healing rooms except to attend to his own needs, and that had been only for very brief minutes, then it was straight back again to the side of the ailing elf.

The healing rooms were filled with the calming scent of athelas mixed with other herbs and medicines. A large fire roared in the corner of the room, various pots and pans of water and other concoctions resting on the hearth, and candle globes flickered on all the walls as it neared the darkness of late evening.

"How is he?"

Elrond jumped at the voice, even though he recognised the speaker before the second word had been spoken. With shame, he admitted to himself that he had actually dropped off to sleep for a few seconds and the speaker had roused him. He replied without turning round. "He is just the same, Mithrandir."

Gandalf came all the way into the room from the doorway and took the seat on the opposite side of the bed from his old friend. He studied the frail looking elf in the bed.

Legolas had fallen still once more. His clothes had been stripped save for a pair of sleeping leggings, blankets pulled up to a barely moving chest, and the ugly scar on his left pectoral exposed. The bruises from the beating by the orcs also still marred the lithe body, a sure sign that his elven healing was seriously compromised by the Shadow he was under. A sheen of sweat glistened on Legolas' face, yet he had no fever. In fact, his skin was cold and clammy to the touch. If one ignored such glaring signs of suffering, the elf almost appeared to be in a normal sleep. But his forehead was creased by pain, and soft whimpers occasionally escaped the thin, tightly drawn lips, as if in the throws of an horrendous nightmare that he could not wake up from. Which was so close to the truth.

"Yet he still fights, Elrond," the wizard stated, hoping to lift the obviously flagging spirit of the elf lord.

"Aye, but he also fights any attempt of help," the dark haired elf replied. "I cannot reach him, his mind is shut to me." Elrond continued, and Gandalf heard the strong elf's tone begin to break with despair. "Soon he will lose the struggle, and his body will begin to shut down. How he has lasted this long I do not know." Elrond's face once more fell forward into his hands. The wizard crossed the room again and placed a comforting hand on the elf's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"What about Estel?" Gandalf asked suddenly, and Elrond lifted his head to frown at the wizard, startled by the sudden change in subject.

"He is fine. 'Dan and 'Ro are keeping him occupied with his normal routine. He appears to be none the worse for his adventure, though he does continually ask after Legolas," the elf Lord told him.

"That is not what I meant, though I am glad he is alright."

Elrond's frown grew deeper. "Then what did you mean?" He sighed in exasperation. He was not in the mood for the ancient Maia's riddles.

"Maybe the child can help," was all the wizard replied.

Elrond studied the wizard's face for some clue as to what he was talking about. Surely he couldn't mean the child's destiny…… Could he?

"The hands of a king……" murmured Gandalf.

"…..are the hands of a healer," Elrond finished for him, springing to his feet in agitation. "The boy is barely five years old, he is far from king yet! What are you thinking, Gandalf?" Elrond's voice rose in anger. "I cannot use the child in such a way. What power can he have at his age, anyway? He is too young!"

"Peace, Elrond," the grey wizard implored. "All I meant is that it cannot hurt to try."

"And how do you suggest I explain to the child that he is needed to help our woodland friend?" Elrond's voice rose again in pitch, but the wizard was not moved in the slightest, which only made Elrond angrier. "And what if it doesn't work,……..how can I place that responsibility on him?"

Elrond was pacing the room now and Gandalf had calmly sat in his vacant chair, watching him. "Do I simply tell him he is not just any human orphan that I took in out of pity and is in fact destined to be king of all of Gondor? And oh, by the way Estel, you have healing powers that just might save the fragile life of Legolas?"

"Legolas has already responded to him," Gandalf stated in that infuriating matter-of-fact way that made Elrond freeze in his tracks.

"What do you mean?" The elf asked, one eyebrow springing to his hairline to join his deepening frown. "When? Where?"

"In the woods, when I first found them," Gandalf replied. "Legolas was unconscious, but in great pain. Estel was sleeping beside him. The child put a hand on his arm, and the young prince immediately calmed." The wizard stood and stepped to stand before the distressed elf. "The pain just drained from his face as soon as the child touched him."

"It means nothing," the stubborn Lord declared with a shake of his head. He could not allow this. He could not sacrifice the innocence of one to save another, not even if that other were Legolas, an elf he held dear in his heart.

"What is the harm in trying?" Gandalf moved around the elder elf and once more took his own seat. He looked down at the face of the elf in the bed and could not suppress his own fearful sigh. "You know this young one is the key to the defence of all the elvendoms of Middle Earth from the darkness that would threaten all of us." Reaching out a gnarled hand, he stroked the fair face of the Mirkwood prince. "We cannot lose him, Elrond. You said so yourself. And if you want to speak of destiny, know this my friend. The destiny of this one is tied to that of the boy."

Elrond's head shot up at that last enigmatic statement . Mithrandir and his riddles. He knew better than to ask clarification of that strange announcement. The wizard would only add more riddles.

"Your healing powers are great and many, mellon nin," the wizard continued. "You can stitch the largest of wounds, banish the most stubborn and deadly of poisons and mend broken bones that would cripple a being, man or elf. This…" he gestured with one hand the heart rending figure on the bed, "…is beyond you."

The Lord of Imladris sank heavily onto the edge of the bed and placed one hand on the fair face of the prince, a thumb tenderly stroking one sharp cheekbone. "I am sorry, little green leaf. I am so sorry," he whispered barely audibly, and tears sprang unbidden to his bright eyes. Then Elrond turned to the patiently waiting Maia. "You win, old friend. I will coach Estel in the Asëa Aranion, and with the help of the twins we will try this."

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Estel played idly in his bedroom just after supper time. He was in his night clothes and in his bed, waiting patiently for his Ada to come and kiss him goodnight. He amused himself with a little wooden horse that galloped across the great hills and plains that his legs created on the cover of his bedspread, chased by an imaginary horde of those foul smelly creatures that his big brothers had told him were called orcs. Horrible name for horrible creatures, he thought. It suited them just fine. He hated orcs. They had scared him, and they had hurt his friend, the prince. He hoped he never saw an orc again for as long as he lived.

Glorfi had told him that the horrid things would never hurt him or Legolas or anyone, while they remained safe in Rivendell, and he believed Glorfi. Glorfi never lied. Well, except for that time he had said he was going to "tan the hide of that cursed demon called Elrohir" for putting the red rosehip dye in his shampoo. He didn't think that Glorfi had done that, though he couldn't be sure, as he wasn't sure just how anyone could tan anyone's hide.

Over the past couple of days, 'Ro and 'Dan had both since told him stories of how they had fought the orcs on many occasions, without details, and had come off the victors. They were not afraid of orcs, they would protect him always, and he had nothing to fear while they were about.

The carved wooden horse galloped across one particularly large hill created by his knees and skidded to a stop behind it. Then the horse's imaginary rider, a valiant elf prince called Legolas, sprang from his steed and fired arrow after arrow at the imaginary orcs and killed them all stone dead.

A slight tap on the door, followed by the entrance of his Ada into his room ended his imaginary adventures and the horse fell idle onto the cover.

Elrond greeted the child with a fond smile and warm hug, then sat on the edge of the bed. "Are you ready for some sleep, ion nin?" The elf lord asked. Estel opened his mouth to deny it, but was betrayed by a huge yawn instead. Elrond could not suppress a laugh. "I take that as a yes," he chuckled.

Estel grinned sheepishly and snuggled further under his blankets, first retrieving his horse to lay it on his pillow beside his head. Elrond recognised the carving as done by Elladan's hand shortly after the child had been accepted into their household.

"Ah, I see you still have Rochtewerin," he commented, giving the carving the name that an unimaginative and non-horse loving Elrohir and christened the wooden toy. Estel had loved the sound of the elven name and kept it, despite it's unflattering quality.

"It keeps me safe, like you and Glorfi and Ro and Dan," the boy replied in the matter-of-fact manner he seemed to be picking up from Gandalf lately. "He kills the orcs."

Elrond kept his face schooled and did not betray the pull on his heart that such words caused. Already the boy's innocence was bleeding away from him in the harsh times as these were becoming. A week ago the child did not know what orcs were.

"Who, penneth?" The elf asked gently "Rochtewerin kills the orcs?"

Estel rolled his eyes "No Ada!" He answered in his best 'You are so silly' voice. "Legolas rides Rochtewerin, and he kills the orcs."

"Ah, I see," was all the elf could manage, for fear his voice would again betray the ache that the reminder of the dying elf caused. Estel, though, had seen the shadow cross his father's face, and he suddenly felt sad, too.

"When will he be better, Ada?" The child asked. "Can I see him soon and start my archery lessons again? I miss Leg'lass. I want him to teach me to kill orcs."

Elrond found himself unable to meet the child's crystal clear gaze and instead studied the intricately embroidered pattern on his quilt.

"Legolas is very ill, Estel. You know this, don't you?" He asked carefully. At the boy's sad little nod of his head, he continued. "To help him get better, tomorrow I want you to do something for me, for Legolas."

"Anything, Ada," Estel was quick to reassure him. This sounded important.

"I need you to sing a special song to Legolas, like a lullaby, Estel," his ada explained. "It is a special lullaby and you use a very special plant called Athelas. Only this lullaby isn't to make Legolas sleep, like the songs 'Dan and 'Ro sing for you at bedtime."

Estel nodded again, though he was puzzled, and he could not help feeling excited at what he sensed was a very important job for his Ada and the strange elf prince.

"This song is to help Legolas wake up, Estel." Elrond met his young son's eyes, and he put as much importance as he could into his gaze. He was pleased to see understanding and eagerness in the bright grey eyes of the boy.

Deciding he had said enough, and leaving the details for tomorrow, Elrond leaned forward and kissed the boy's tousled curls, before enveloping the child in a close, but tender hug.

"Goodnight, my sweet child." The elf lord gestured for Estel to snuggle completely under the blankets, then he tucked him in and tenderly touched the boy's cheek. "Sweet dreams."

With another kiss to the forehead, Elrond gave the boy a gentle smile. He exited the room and left the Estel to dreams of special wake-up lullabies and long limbed elf princes that galloped across hilly lands and slayed nasty orcs with a great bow decorated with twisting vines and green leaves.

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TBC.

Asëa Aranion - the leaf of the king i.e. athelas. Also the name of the poem recited by the healer in the book ROTK, derived from the chant in Quenya believed to release the healing powers of the plant. More on that next chapter.

Rochtewerin - Sindar, literally "wooden horse"