Author's Note:

I don't think I'll ever be happy with this ending, but I have just been screwing around with it for too long. Some ills just can't be cured. So, here, the last chapter - Enjoy!

18) The White Sickness

Silent, Legolas and Aragorn stared after him, completely dumbfounded.

"Did you think he was going to run?" Aragorn asked after several moments of quiet.

"…Our fathers…?" Legolas slowly stepped forward, directionless.

"What can he do to our fathers? All his power seems to be gone."

A horrible recognition came into the eyes of the Prince. "Our f-fathers… He yet has one weapon! The orcs hiding in the outskirts of Rivendell! They're skulking around in the woods!"

"Orcs in Rivendell? Impossible."

"They're there. I saw them. Apparently, they were able to encroach when they felt the weakness growing."

"What weakness?" Aragorn was beginning to feel as though he had been asleep for a hundred years.

"My father - h-he … he thinks I'm dead, yes? His spirit, his heart is…" Legolas still couldn't speak through the guilt.

"He's heartbroken."

"He's dying, Estel."

"But, my father – t-the river elves-"

"Your father is spending every waking moment trying to keep him from falling into oblivion. They have no direction. The uncertainty flows down through the tiers… There is chaos, or so I have been led to believe. And if it were not true, I do not know why Ithast would go there."

Aragorn stared at him, trying to read his belief and a fear began to fill him.

The forest then began to dissolve and turn to ash as Maeryn had. The grass was shrivelling into black and the trees were beginning to crash down as though they were on fire, though there was no flame. Legolas threw his body over Aragorn, dragging them both to the ground to avoid the gargantuan tree limb falling their way. The branch fell beside them and Legolas got off of the man and reached down to help him up with a cloth-shielded hand.

"Without Maeryn here to sustain the forest…"

"It really was her forest. She could make forest…" The implications of this were beginning to dawn on Aragorn as this was, indeed the forest where they had originally gotten lost and Legolas had fallen to his first doom.

Legolas pushed him aside to avoid another falling tree. The air was filling with ash. "Estel, our fathers-"

"I know. Come on." Aragorn took the elf's clothed wrist and tried to lead him over and through the fallen and falling trees.

"Watch out!" Legolas commanded, moving the man's head out of the way of falling debris. They reached the path that Legolas had been on when he had found the clearing and began chasing the path of the 'wizard'. But their pursuit was quickly becoming a run for their lives as they dodged and jumped through the rapidly deteriorating forest. The Prince steered the man around the blackened remains of the burnt cottage, which was still smoking lightly. Though Legolas did not explain it, Aragorn watched the way he moved around it, his expression dark and unreadable, and knew that the elf had been through here earlier. Aragorn found that they were well matched, and as they ran, he felt compelled to say all of the things that there had not yet been time to say, even the trivialities.

"I-I can't believe that-" Aragorn started.

"What?" Legolas asked, the wind rushing past their ears.

"Legolas, I meant what I said."

"About what?"

"About it being my fault that you weren't better protected…. I let you die."

"Don't be stupid." He said, the two of them trying to squish through a particularly narrow pass. "You were overwhelmed. It's my fault for falling to that ridiculous music. Only a very simple creature could fall to- " Legolas cut himself off. He didn't want to talk anymore.

"Don't say-"

"Let's not talk anymore." Legolas snapped. He didn't want to talk and exacerbate the situation.

How had it come to this? This was all so wrong –a nightmare that was never meant to be.

After a few moments of running in silence, Aragorn said, "Listen, I know you don't want to talk anymore…"

Legolas closed his eyes and exhaled, annoyed by the ranger's persistence.

"Just listen. I have some information that… may help us. I have been thinking and I've remembered something. A long time ago, there was a rumour in Rivendell, a sort of urban legend. There was … a hack wizard that used to take on students and teach them his petty tricks… I think he did know things but wasn't exactly in the same league as the wizards that most are familiar with . . . He would take on students with promise and natural talent… The story goes that he once had a student who was obsessed with beauty and could see nothing else. When the master learned that this student had become very fond of his other pupil only because she was beautiful, he turned her into an old hag… She was so humiliated that she fled. He was banished from his training…"

They were exiting the forest now and were running along the long straight trail that was lined with alders and a small creek – the same part of the path where Aragorn had fallen to the butterfly and Legolas had found his cast. Soon they would exit out of Maeryn's dark and rapidly disintegrating forest and would be out on the great golden plain that led to Rivendell's forests. Legolas looked shocked, his lips parted and panting as they ran.

"Don't you see? That's why they wanted your beauty – to restore her to her original form." Aragorn continued.

"So, they did love each other." Legolas muttered.

"Maybe. They both have a terrible fixation with beauty."

"It seems that by entering this forest, we inadvertently brought them back together…"

"Of all the ridiculous outcomes…" Aragorn grumbled. "Legolas, is your hair shorter?"

"Look up there." Legolas pointed down near the mouth of the alders, which was growing steadily closer.

"What?"

"Tariël."

"Who?"

"The horse I rode in on. Or was trying to. He's still here. I guess he has forgiven me for killing his comrade…"

The same dark fear passed behind Aragorn's eyes, but he said nothing about it. They slowed and approached the stallion and Legolas asked him in Elvish if he was there to help. The horse stepped towards them in reply. Tariël had lost his saddle somewhere in his wanderings and his reins, though remaining, had been snapped in half. Looking at the frayed braided lengths hanging from the horse's face, Legolas privately wondered what had happened – the Elvish leather was too strong to break naturally. He narrowed his eyes darkly.

As Legolas pulled shredded pieces of fabric off of the ranger's cloak to use as gloves, Aragorn watched the horizon.

"I don't have your vision, but I think I just saw Ithast pass into the forest on the other side of the plain." Aragorn informed.

"Good. We're catching up."

The plague, however, was catching up as well. The alders nearby were crashing down and crumbling into ash. Tariël paced nervously as Legolas gave the man a leg up. Once atop the horse, Aragorn reached down and took the elf's fabric-wrapped hand and hoisted him up as well. The tree next to them was cracking ominously and the elf was settled just in time for the stallion to bolt forward, narrowly missed by the thundering tree.

Though he had the weight of two riders, Tariël streamed across the golden grass of the plain. The sun was setting fast, and the dark green of the Elven forest ahead grew larger with every stride. Behind them, Maeryn's forest had been levelled and turned to ash, revealing the base of the mountains beyond. It was now steadily blowing away as though it had never been there at all…

Though unwilling to say it out loud, Aragorn felt peace in this one moment of splendour. He was skimming fast over the flat grasses as he had longed to do on his trip out. And he felt peace in the warmth of the Prince's body against his back, his arms linked around his midsection. He was with Legolas and Legolas was… alive? Or was he? The point was, he could feel Legolas and he felt alive… and warm. Why did he feel warm? Wasn't he undead?

"Legolas!" Aragorn yelled over his shoulder.

"Yes?"

"You're warm!"

"Am I?"

"Believe me, you are."

"And?"

"Aren't you the undead?"

"I want you to understand, Estel – there are no rules!"

"What do you mean?" Aragorn hollered back over the wind.

"I mean, I have not found a pattern in the effects of death on my body. There are no rules."

Aragorn felt frustrated. He could barely hear the elf. Why had he become so soft-spoken? "Well, is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"You are warm, Estel. If my dead body is keeping you warm, then it is a good thing."

They entered the forest as dusk encroached. Legolas warily watched for low-slung branches overhead and Aragorn tried to keep their steed moving as quickly as possible. The elf felt waves of panic run through his stomach. He did not know how the 'wizard' was going to conquer both of their fathers at once, but he had his suspicions, and they were not pleasant.

The ranger felt the arms around him clamp tighter as they neared the bridge into Rivendell. It was lighter under the open sky of the ravine. As they entered Rivendell, though nothing looked askew, they did not see a single soul. As they catapulted across the courtyard, several arrows pelted at them. Legolas was not surprised. He could sense the orcs hiding the shadows.

They must be holding the Rivendell elves somewhere. He thought. They would have to liberate them later… Right now his father was his only priority.

Aragorn manoeuvred the horse to dodge the arrows and they were not hit. Aragorn gently squeezed Tariël's reins, getting ready to stop just in front of the stairs to the central chambers, where it was most likely that they would find their fathers. Legolas, however, leaned his head over the man's shoulder and said in his ear, "No." He loosened the man's grip on the reins. Aragorn immediately clued in and applied his leg to the tuckered stallion. Tired as he was, Tariël dutifully cantered up the stairs, his hooves pounding on the wood like four drums. Not wanting to waste any time, the riders ducked through the doorways, as the horse thundered down the hall towards Elrond's study. If their presence had gone unnoticed up until this point, their anonymity had now been extinguished by the unifying of Tariël's pounding hooves and the hardwood floor. They slid to a stop on the oak floor just outside the doors of the study. Legolas climbed down and Aragorn followed. Without hesitation, the elf threw open the double doors, his blue eyes flaming.

Given that their entrance had been less than quiet, the Prince was not surprised to find the 'wizard' ready for them. Ithast stood a tall black figure, grotesquely out of place amongst the bright woods and greens of the study. But he was not alone. In his arms, he held an equally tall elf Lord. Elrond stood ramrod straight and perfectly still, Ithast's blade to his throat. The elf Lord looked uncomfortable and defiant and showed no surprise at their bursting in.

"Ada!" slipped out of Aragorn's mouth. Elrond looked his son in the eye the best he could, his head yanked back as it was. Aragorn turned to peer at the man whose long black hair was curtaining the elf Lord's shoulder. "Why have you come here, beauty-stealer? What is your plan now that you know that the Prince cannot die and you know that you can no longer enchant him?"

"Oh, I don't think it will be as difficult as you think. His death can indeed be achieved after all." Ithast spoke silkily. He was very pleased about something and was not at all the grief-stricken creature that had left them in the woods.

Legolas was silent, ripping his eyes from the hostage situation before him to search for someone else. And he very quickly found them. There in the back corner in front of the carved balcony was a white scar. Thranduil lay face down, his features completely obscured by his long hair. The once blond elf was now a being of snow-white hair. He was wearing the same long white robes that Legolas had known him to wear to every funeral. The King of the Mirkwood elves appeared quite dead. But, though he didn't know how, Legolas knew that he wasn't gone yet. He had sunk so far into his sorrow that he no longer had the strength to keep himself up. At the sight of his father, the elf Prince paled, his throat filled up with a cold guilt, water filled his eyes and he knew ultimate regret.

He knew all eyes were on him as he ran across the room. He slid into a kneeling position before his father, rapidly whispering a thousand Elvish apologies. He clasped his frail albino father by the shoulders and gently turned him over onto his back. The King's face was as white as his hair and little blue veins twined under over his neck and jaw line.

Legolas crushed his eyes together at the sight of him, squeezing the cold water out of them.

"Ada, forgive me!" He cried in Elvish. His sadness reached its zenith and, careful not to touch his skin, he pulled his father's limp form to his heart.

Suddenly it all made sense to Aragorn and he thrust himself forward to stop it.

"Legolas!" But before he could do anything, it happened. Aragorn watched in horror as the Prince's blond hair faded white, his skin became like ashen marble, and little blue veins snaked over his skin. Thranduil's mourning spread as a white shadow over Legolas like sickness. He crumpled down beside his father and they lay together like two heartsick doves.

Aragorn scrambled over and knelt next to the bodies. Legolas' eyes were open, but like his father's; they were diluted and appeared to be unseeing as though there was nothing behind them.

Ithast chuckled contently. He shuffled over to the bodies, holding Elrond tightly to him. Elrond's eyes were wide and mournful at the sight of the white bodies, but he still made no sound. It seemed that Ithast was keeping him up.

"Legolas, wake up!" The ranger tugged at the elf's dirty, ripped sleeves. "Come on, Legolas. Come out of it! You don't need this sorrow and neither does your father. You're both alive! I know you can hear me."

"Clearly this anomaly of his does not consider death in sadness. By the by," Ithast reached into his cloak and pulled out the bundle of Legolas' hair and threw it into the ranger's lap. "Let this be on your head." He chuckled briefly at his grotesque pun. "On your account rather."

Aragorn felt his gag reflex trigger at the sight of the hair on his legs. It was as though the elf was already dead and the hair was the carcass left over.

"And now, ranger, taking his beauty will be as simple as slaying a newborn lamb." Ithast said in a deceptively kind voice.

"Something I'm sure you would know a lot about." The ranger spat venomously.

Without warning, Ithast dropped Elrond onto the floor and cracked the ranger over the back of the head with the hilt of his large blade. Red lights exploded in Aragorn's vision and he slumped forward on the floor, adding to the body pile. Though the ranger did not pass out, he could feel his own hot blood soaking his hair at the back of his neck. He stared blurry eyed across the floor and locked eyes with Elrond who was staring back sternly. He was not moving either. He seemed to want to convey a message to his son, but he would not speak.

Oblivious to the two bodies he had just thrown to the ground, Ithast stepped forward and knelt before Legolas.

"Finally." He relished.

Ithast clasped Legolas by the shoulders and pulled his flaccid body to him. He held Legolas directly in front of him, the elf's head lolling around, and from the hands of the 'wizard' came a charge that jolted the elf's whole body like lightning. And the Prince remained lifeless as before.

While Aragorn watched Ithast's actions, his head swimming, he tried to understand what was wrong with Elrond. Why was he not doing anything? Why wouldn't he speak? And then it came to him through the mist of his head injury: Elrond must be coated with the dust of Ithast's monarchs. He was as mystified as the ranger had been when he first encountered them outside of Maeryn's forest. The elf Lord's body was quite useless and he was trying to tell Aragorn so with his eyes.

The edges and curves of Legolas' body began to shimmer and glow white. Ithast smiled broadly and turned finally to Elrond, thinking that Aragorn was unconscious.

"See you on the other side." He said. He began to inhale and suck the shimmer and glow off of the elf's form, and as he did so, Legolas' qualities began to transfer to the man. His long black hair grew out blond; his pale skin became smooth and ethereal. His cheekbones became higher and chiselled like a sculpture. His ears began to point gracefully and his black eyes faded to a glacial blue.

When the transference was complete, Ithast did not look like Legolas' twin. But he did not look like Ithast either. His appearance was somehow the amalgamation of his former body and Legolas, as though Legolas' image had been melted on top of him like wax. He was the most grotesquely beautiful man that Aragorn had ever seen. He looked supernatural and stunning. And yet, he appeared plainly unnatural, sporting an otherworldly glow on the surface and something distinctly human underneath. Though it was easy enough to get caught up in his loveliness, there was something indefinably wrong with his façade.

The ranger broke his stare away from the new Ithast and looked to Legolas' body, which the 'wizard' had dropped limply on the unyielding floor, the moment the transformation had stopped. Legolas lay splayed crossways over his father's torso, whiter than ever. Strangely enough, his body was covered in frost, his skin blue-tinged. His veins were visible now all over his body, but instead of blue they appeared brown and stagnant like the skeletal structure of a dead leaf. Like a creature hibernating for the winter, the blood in his veins had all but stopped pulsing.

Ithast had stepped back, admiring the long, delicate fingers that were now his. He was breathing quickly and ecstatically. His dream was finally realized. He suddenly became aware of his surroundings and began turning around and around looking for a mirror or some reflective surface. He found one on the far side of the room where there was a mirror encased in wood vine carvings. Encountering his new image in the mirror, he admired it from every angle.

Aragorn crawled towards Legolas, the pain in his skull threatening to overtake him with blackness. He latched onto the elf's tunic and pulled himself forward. He stared down into the elf's icy, unseeing eyes, which were now matched by his skin. There was nothing in the white-blue face to indicate that this shell had ever been alive. Hot water welled up in the ranger's eyes at the sight of his mangled visage. His body looked so used, as though it had been sent to the river to be beaten, washed and dried like a garment. Legolas was no longer beautiful…

"Legolas," He whispered, his throat quivering. "I know you're in there…Even though your body doesn't look like it was ever warm enough… or pink enough… to hold life…I know that you haven't left yet. You mustn't allow this sadness to drag you down with it. You must pull your father out of his sorrow-world and you must both emerge here in life." His voice broke. There was no change in Legolas' appearance. He did not stir. The man felt that if he could only touch the elf, hold his face, take him by the hand, he could lead him out of his heartbreak death.

And suddenly there was nothing for Aragorn but the life of his ancient, once-beautiful friend.

Elrond knew his son's thoughts too well and because of this, he knew what was happening when Estel raised his hands. He fought the drugging dust with all of his might and managed to drag out, "Este- No!"

But Aragorn was not listening. There was nothing for him now. Not even the pain that he knew was coming. He reached forward and cupped the Prince's stone cold face in his bare hands. Frost flaked with the touch and immediately began melting as the searing started. Aragorn fought through the pain. Pain was nothing. He had to focus.

"Legolas, please." He said softly. "Please fight this. There is a reason for your life and it wasn't to fall into the deepest of mourning. Please-" His voice cracked, as his skin on his hands sizzled and the blackness travelled up his arms, burning his flesh to ash as though it were wood turning to cinders. The pain was excruciating and it was travelling up his shoulders and across his chest like plague. It engulfed the flesh above his heart, bubbling as though acidic. But it didn't matter any more. He did not let go of the elf's face, despite the fact that the skin of his hands was dripping off like meat gristle.

"Legolas, please! We need y-" The ranger clamped his eyes shut. He could take no more. He let out a harrowing scream. "I need you!" He screamed with the same ferocity.

This noise stole Ithast's attention away from his reflection and he turned to see the ranger burning himself to a cinder. He stood dumbfounded at Aragorn's suicide attempt.

The black plague was spreading up the man's neck now and he was gasping for breath as it seared the outside of his throat. His eyes were crushed shut and hot salty water flowed from them freely. The elf was now covered in a water mist from the melted ice and it was at this moment that the light behind his eyes saturated with colour. He gasped for breath and gained sight in his eyes. Warm blue blood shot through his hard skeletal veins, liquefying his whole body.

Perhaps it was his touch, or his words, or even his anguished howl, but one way or another Aragorn had reached him and pulled him from his sorrow world.

The elf's first sight was of the blackness travelling up Aragorn's neck, the ranger's head cast toward the ceiling, a horrid, aching cry issuing from his lips. With his shocking jolt out of his sorrow-world, so came the terrifying realization of what Aragorn had done. His own ice-cold eyes immediately filled with tears.

What have you done, mellon nin!

Legolas quickly took the ranger's wrists and whipped his hands away from his face. But it was too late. The ranger fell forward, his point of balance upset. He turned his shocked eyes to find a live Legolas, though a little blue. The man did not recover his balance and found himself on top of Legolas, curled in his arms, his head cradled against his shoulder. Legolas could feel the man's whole body racked with tremors – he was shaking with grief and physical pain. He coughed and took arduous, shuddering breaths. It was clearly getting to his lungs.

"Estel, what have you done?" Legolas rocked him, trying to keep his skin from touching the man's.

"I couldn't," He sobbed. Tears were pouring down his burning face. "Let you die – not from sorrow. Not from anything. I couldn't – I – I just couldn't-" The ranger could no longer organize words.

"It's all right, just calm yourself…" Legolas whispered as though trying to soothe a child.

"I couldn't let that hap- "

"Shhhhhh…"

"…I need you, mellon nin…For a few days, I caught a glimpse of what it would … and I still couldn't imagine it … without-"

At that moment, something inside Legolas' body caught fire and its beam blinded everyone in the room. His skin infused with pink colour, his hair blazed blond, his eyes became their full pigment again. Then, suddenly, knicks, bruises and scars spread all over his body – they were the marks of his deaths. Legolas felt the small pains and stiffness of his injuries. Legolas was beautiful again…

Aragorn watched with a salt-drenched face, astounded as the live Legolas he knew before they ever went into the forest, before all of this mess ever happened, was restored to him.

At that moment, Aragorn didn't think he could watch anymore. He didn't think he could sustain the ash structure of his body any longer. He toppled over, ready to die.

He was thinking that death would be a welcome respite from this searing when he felt as though a cold ocean wave had washed over him. His throat cooled and moistened, he felt the night air on his face, and a refreshing coolness was spreading down his neck, his torso, over his shoulders and down his arms. He looked down at his hands and watched the last of the black sickness evaporate right off of them. His healthy skin showed no signs of ever having been burned off. He turned to Legolas, jubilant.

"Look." Aragorn reached up and ran his finger across Legolas' smooth, sculpted cheek. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

And then, everything that had needed to be heard had been said and the spell was broken.

Legolas was speechless and elated. Without warning, he pulled Aragorn into a tight hold.

Ithast watched spellbound, but the embrace was the last straw. He unsheathed his blade and started towards them when something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was the colour black. He turned and regarded himself in the mirror. Legolas' beauty had dissolved and been regained by the elf. The 'wizard's' long black hair was back, as were his large rounded lips and his pale skin too. He was no longer beautiful…

Suddenly he hated the mirror and wondered why it would ever show him such an image. He let out a scream of rage and smashed the mirror with the large stone sitting on the study's desk that was used to keep Elrond's maps from blowing in the open air. The reflective shards went flying everywhere, sliding over the wood floor and pelting the man and the three elves.

"You're going to regret reclaiming your mortality!" Ithast started towards them, his blade held high, and Legolas and Aragorn looked around frantically for something with which they could defend themselves. There was nothing.

Ithast's black eyes were livid as he lunged first toward the Prince of Mirkwood.

Casting about for anything that might save them, Aragorn let what he hoped were cutting words fly. "Your obsession with beauty is your undoing!"

A question flickered in the 'wizard's' eye as he advanced.

"It was your preoccupation with beauty that killed Maeryn!"

Ithast stopped dead, his blade frozen in the air.

"It was your love for beauty that led your master to curse her with ugliness and old age! If not for you, she would never have shared your desire for Legolas' beauty and she would never have crossed his path and consequently killed!"

Ithast stumbled back, lowering the blade, his eyes augmented with horror and water. "I…." His voice matched his eyes, quavering with the lump in his throat. "I-I loved her even afterwards…" He choked, as though this might atone for it all. "But she still fled… She was embarrassed. We missed out on y-years together because I couldn't find her…"

"Do you see the path of destruction your lust for beauty has caused? The innocent ar-"

"Silence!" Ithast screamed, his black eyes lit with a guilty fury.

He raised the blade and flew at them once more. Legolas deflected his arm and Aragorn knocked the knife out of his hand. Ithast tried to punch them, but was dodged at every jab. Legolas pushed the 'wizard's' body hard, desperate to put distance between them. But the man completely lost his balance, and fell backward. He tripped over Thranduil's body and went backward over the railing of the study. He plummeted a good hundred feet off the ravine edge outside. The moon was rising now, fat and bright like a lantern illuminating the river bank. From above, Ithast's black form looked like an ink blotch trickled amidst the rocks on the riverbank. Or, perhaps the dark mass they saw was not robes and hair but blood…

Thranduil had his eyes mashed shut, clearly flinching. When he felt a gentle hand on his chest, he slowly opened his pale blue eyes, blinking softly. He found another pair staring into his, a deep liquid blue. They were brimming with tears. The skin of the face was covered with beads of sweat. But the face was beautiful. It had high, carved cheekbones, sharp lips and was framed by frayed, frizzy hair. Thranduil wept, his voice caught in a horde of sobs. The face split into a blissful smile, cultured by a quivering at the corner of the mouth. It wanted to cry as well. The water spilled out of its ducts and Legolas embraced his father.

Aragorn moved to his father and began trying to dust him off. He was as impersonal and business-like as possible while wiping off his father's face with his sleeve. Now that the danger had passed, he was embarrassed by the way he had left things with his father when they had last seen each other. He had stormed out like a child. Furthermore, not only had he failed to bring back the murders' heads, but he had led the criminals to attack his own father's house. His face felt hot with shame and guilt and he refused to meet the eyes of the elf as he beat the powder off of him. He was concentrating hard on wiping it off of Elrond's green clad shoulders when he felt a hand on his face. The hand gently tilted his face and he was forced to look Elrond in the eye. Elrond's face was pained with regret. His eyes told Estel how much he had missed him. There was no hint of anger or disappointment in him. He embraced his son tightly, unable to believe that he had returned alive.

The man and the elf sprinted out of the study and down the hall to where they knew they could find a cabinet with bows and arrows, perfect for hunting orc. They armed themselves and then slunk down into the shadows of the courtyard as quietly as they could. They could see a golden light source just outside the archway leading out of the courtyard. They slipped through the darkness and hid in the archway, trying to find the source of the light. They peeked around the bend and found themselves staring at a large bonfire on the grass near the bridge. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the light source and they soon realized what they were looking at. There were several orcs roasting as fuel for the fire and a dozen or more stoic elves standing around watching. Legolas and Aragorn straightened and strode forward, overcome with relief. They put their hands up to the warm flames. The elves stared at them, trying to recognize them through the poor light. When they realized who they were, they spluttered uncharacteristically. They were, after all, supposed to be dead.

After they had bathed and put on fresh clothes, they returned to their fathers in the study. They spent the rest of the night regaling them with their story and they too had already heard the rumours of the 'wizards' who turned out to Ithast and Maeryn. Elrond also said that he had heard of this legendary immortal anomaly.

"It is to live indefinitely, but it is to live cursed. There is nothing sacred about this form of existence. It is to be damned." He explained.

"I would have taken you in any form, damned or not." Thranduil said to Legolas. Through his joy, Thranduil couldn't help but notice a change in Legolas. His elven glow was missing and he looked more human than any other elf. The King of Mirkwood, however, kept this to himself.

"As would I. But at times, you seemed rather determined to die…" Aragorn piped up.

Legolas stared pensively into the fire that they were sitting around. "But, how was the curse broken? I am quite certain that I am as mortal as an elf can be now."

Everyone looked to Elrond, but for once, he seemed to have no answers.

"I…..I don't know….I just said….that I needed you… and you… you were restored." Aragorn muttered diffidently.

"Perhaps your soul needed to feel wanted." Thranduil suggested solemnly.

"It's more than that, though." Legolas looked Aragorn in the eye and the human held his gaze. "Estel's voice has always grounded me in life…"

THE END