Warning: Tissue alert.

A.N. Thanks are due once again to NiRi. I tell you now, readers and authors. If you want a beta, you will probably find no better one than NiRi. She can find typos and missing punctuation like a bloodhound searching for a smelly rag. LenaL.

One Friend to Another

14.

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It turned out to be a very long night in Rivendell, at least for the Peredhil family, the Imladris healers and Gandalf. Twice Legolas had stopped breathing. Twice with the help of the healers, the wizard and his two sons, Elrond had brought the woodland being back to some semblance of life. Both incidents had happened when the elf lord had left the prince in the care of the healers while he took brief rest in the next room. Now the exhausted elf was terrified of leaving the side of Legolas' bed. He knew it was only coincidence, yet he could not help but blame himself for the two close calls, and he was seriously beginning to doubt that the once fair and light hearted prince of Mirkwood would last for very much longer. The tired lord was convinced that all that was keeping Legolas on Arda was his own will to live.

Elrond had earlier dictated an urgent message addressed to Thranduil, detailing his son's condition and steady deterioration to Erestor, his secretary and advisor. To ensure the missive's safe delivery andits intended recipient's speedy return journey to Imladris, Elrond had called on the help of a great lord and old friend in a rare plea for assistance. The request for help was attached to the leg of Elrond's prized hawk, and the bird instructed by Gandalf to take it to the lord of all birds and creatures of the air - Gwaihir, the Great Eagle himself.

The Eagle Lord landed in Imladris at first light of the new day, where he was greeted and thanked for his prompt arrival by Glorfindel. He had no sooner given the mighty bird the important missive, when swiftly did the huge creature take to the air and head for the Misty Mountains in a flurry of wings and feathers. With a great keening cry, Gwahir disappeared into the horizon. The Balrog Slayer watched him go, praying that the letter would be delivered in time, and that by the time the elf king landed in Imladris, it would not be too late.

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Breakfast was once more a sombre affair, despite everyone's best efforts to keep things as normal as possible for the sake of the confused little human boy in their midst. The twins did their best to keep the meal light and cheerful, but attempted conversations dissolved into awkward silences, questions were answered with the briefest of statements and barely anyone ate. Even the servants and the various dignitaries and guests that usually resided in Imladris at this time of year tip-toed and shuffled around the Peredhil twins, Glorfindel and Erestor. They did not all know why such a dark cloud hovered over the usually bright and cheerful elven sanctuary, but the ones that did know, respected that now was not the time to worry Elrond for help with failed crops or family feuds or orc raiding parties. They left Imladris for their own villages and cities, to hopefully settle the troubles themselves or return later for that promised help. The guests and dignitaries that did not know or understand, gave up on asking Erestor when they could meet with the elf lord, when was he going to send his war parties/wine treaties/supplies or whatever and headed home in a huff. Erestor saw them off with as much politeness as he could muster, then he headed off himself to seek out Elrond in the healing wing, to give him the mornings report.

Elladan and Elrohir took the full responsibility of Estel's lessons for the day, after the tense breakfast. They, with the help of Glorfindel, had the important job of teaching a five year old of the certain properties of a long-used medicinal plant named King's Foot. The boy skipped innocently after them to the school room, totally unaware of the momentous task ahead of him.

And so it was, to a quiet and almost abandoned looking Imladris, that the great Eagle, Gwaihir, approached in the late afternoon, gliding into the deep valley at the foot of the Misty Mountains with an anxious elf king clinging to his back. With a cry to announce his arrival, the huge winged being glided towards the large lawn in front of the Last Homely House.

In the healing wing, on his now-usual seat at the foot of Legolas' bed, Elrond's head snapped up, from the reams of notes and journals he was studying, at the clear and unmistakable cry of the Great Eagle. Hesitating only to instruct his head healer on the close observation of his patient and order that he be called urgently at the slightest sign of any change, the elf lord virtually flew from the room. He darted through his halls and out into the forecourt, to skid to a halt as Gwaihir's clawed feet touched down on the lush grass. The great eagle had barely folded his mighty wings, when his blond haired and leaf-crowned passenger leapt gracefully from his back and strode purposefully towards Elrond with the briefest touch of thanks on Gwaihir's neck as he passed.

"Mae govannan, Hir Elrond," Thranduil bowed his head and swept his right arm from his heart out to Elrond in the gesture of respect and greeting, his face impassive to any observer.

Elrond returned the gesture, then the two stood and studied each other in a brief, awkward silence. Elrond noted the emotionless mask upon the face of his old friend, and knew it to be just that….a mask. The cerulean eyes, that were the exact copy of his dying son, were in turmoil. A storm raged beneath the swirling blue in a barely controlled panic of emotions. Elrond cast aside any need for formality and stepping forward he threw his arms around his friend.

The Mirkwood king leaned into the embrace and clutched tightly to the burgundy robes of the elf lord, like they were a last vestige of all his control.

Elrond felt the graceful form in his arms shudder and then the storm broke. The great ancient king became merely a worried father, and the tears fell freely. His breath hitched in great sobs as Thranduil poured out days of worry and fear into the velvet robed shoulder of his friend.

"Where is he, Elrond?" the broken king pleaded. "Where is my son?"

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Gwaihir watched the touching exchange quietly and patiently, moving away slightly to busy himself in the preening of his ruffled flight feathers when the ancient elf king broke down, so he could give the two elves some privacy. Eventually Elrond met the eyes of the Eagle over the still shuddering shoulder of Thranduil, and Gwaihir read there an apology for keeping him waiting. The Mirkwood king finally stepped out of his friend's embrace and stood with his back to both of them, struggling to once more control his warring emotions. He composed himself again into the embodiment of a cold emotionless king that those who didn't know him believed him to be. Elrond gave him one compassionate squeeze of his shoulder then approached Gwaihir.

The Eagle towered over the tall elf, so he lowered his head in a gentle bow and kept it there so the two could speak.

"Mae govannan, Hir Gwaihir" Elrond intoned solemly "I cannot thank you enough, mellon nin, for the service you have provided us with. But speed was of the essence and I knew of no one else who could ensure the safe delivery of the Mirkwood king. I could not risk the time it would take nor the dangers it would invite to have the king journey here by horse over the mountains"

"If speed be of such import, Elrond, then do not tarry here with me" the great being returned quietly. "Your thanks is not needed. The task outweighs any gratitude" Gwaihir glanced over to Thranduil, then back at Elrond. "Take him to his son. And maybe, if the Valar wish it, return to Arda the shining light that is the little Greenleaf. That is all the thanks I need" He stretched out his wings and prepared to fly back to his lair and his people. "Namarie, Elrond. And if need be my services are required to carry two wood elves back to Mirkwood, you know where and how to find me." Gwaihir took to the skies with a whoosh of air that bent the grass and left any near-by flowers bobbing. The two elves felt the departure but did not stay to see it. As the great bird became a tiny dot in the sky over the mountains, they were well on their way into the Last Homely House and it's healing rooms.

Along the way Elrond told the worried father all that had transpired since Legolas' arrival in Rivendell. Thranduil's composure came close to breaking again at the details of the orc attack, but Elrond assured him that the attack was not as bad as it could have been. Purposely he omitted any mention of the little human child. The time for that would come later.

They soon came upon the large ornate doors that opened into the vast healing wing of Elrond's great house. Thranduil lifted a hand to push the doors open and enter but Elrond stayed him with a hand on his arm.

"Prepare yourself, melon nin" The elf lord entreated.

Thranduil nodded and took a deep breath, but it came out as a forlorn sigh. He pushed the doors open and was met with the clean crisp smell of disinfectant, but foremost of all was the unmistakeable aroma of athelas. Elrond took the lead and brought him to the one occupied bed at the end of the long white sun-filled room. Nodding to the healers to leave, Elrond stepped aside and looked at his friend.

Thranduil did not notice the healers courteous bows to him as they stepped past the king and left the room. He could no longer smell the athelas nor hear the birds in the trees that stood proudly just outside the ornate window near the bed in front of him. All he saw was the prone figure in the bed, all he felt was the great pain that invaded his heart until it felt like it would break. No, he wasn't prepared for this. He could never be.

Legolas lay as he had done the past few days and nights. He was on his back on the bed, the blankets tucked in around his waist, his long corn-silk hair arrayed neatly on the pillow around his head. His eyes were closed and circled with dark rings, his breathing shallow and laboured. Thranduil drew in another deep breath and held it unconsciously until his lungs ached then slowly he let it out. His next breath came as a great shuddering sob. He could stand it no longer and took the two long strides that carried him to the side of the bed. Ignoring the chair there he dropped to his knees on the floor and grasped the pale hand that lay impassive on the blankets, as he leaned down until he was forehead to forehead with the cold clammy skin of his son.

Thranduil did not notice a certain elf lord exit the room with tears coursing silently down his face.

sniff TBC.