They reach Imladris before nightfall the next day, riding at a truly frantic pace that causes Aragorn's anxiety to spike further until he too is trembling. Elrond paces at the foot of the entry steps, Glorfindel standing to the side. At the sound of approaching hoofbeats, they both look up. The lord gives a brief sigh of relief at seeing his foster son well but it is quickly robbed away when his eyes settle on the prince.

Aragorn leaps unsteadily off his brother's steed before the horse has even halted, helping Elrohir remove Legolas from the saddle. Elrond is beside the insensate elf in a moment with fingers pressed against his neck, "What has happened?"

Elladan's voice is tight, "It is the elmscream, father. It has taken Legolas."

"Elladan, ensure the prince's chambers have been cleaned. We will take him there. Glorfindel, fetch my herb case and have two ewers of water sent up. Elrohir and Estel, carry Legolas." There is a confidence to the elflord's voice that speaks of centuries of experience. Despite the graveness of what lay before them, Aragorn finds comfort in it, the knowledge that someone seems to finally know what to do. He can shed off the authority and decision-making of his lineage and just be Estel, a child of the Last Homely House returned.

The chambers are exactly as the elf had left them, books stacked away on shelves, spare bowstrings and wax neatly packed in their case, clothes wardrobe latched shut. The only difference is that the windows have been closed (something Legolas never allowed, he loved too much to hear the water and birds) and the bedclothes freshly changed. Elladan is dragging two chairs from the table over beside the bed when everyone converges on the room.

Legolas is stripped of his cloak, boots, and suede jerkin, leaving him in just his trousers. He is thoroughly examined for injury by both elvish and human eyes. Finding none other than the small cut in his ear, Elrond palpates Legolas' hand, ribcage, and neck.

"It has not claimed his fëa yet. There is still time." And all three of the elves let go of held breath.

"Does that mean he will be alright?" The man's voice is pitched higher in fear.

"Yes, Estel. Your call came just in time; all he needs is rest."

Seeing that the situation is well in hand, Elladan and Elrohir excuse themselves as does Glorfindel after arriving to hand off his lord's supplies. The only ones left are Estel and Elrond, with Legolas listless in bed. His father passes the wooden case over and instructs the young man to make a paste from a recipe found at the very bottom. The card's title and instructions are written in fresh ink but the line for the creator's name is age-faded and thin. The rest must have been rewritten over recently, to ensure it lasts. Just how old is this remedy and who wrote it so that their name is forgotten while their work is not? What must it be like to live an existence in which one can simply do good work without the mantle of legacy or lineage atop them?

Tincture for the Affliction of a Shadowed Fëa

Camomile, for restful sleep

Feverfew, for the lessening of aches

Elfwort, for the staying of poison

Lissuin, for the easing of one's heart

Athelas, for strength of hröa against evil

After thoroughly grinding it, he hands the mortar to the elflord who places half beneath the archer's tongue and massages Legolas' chin to encourage his body to slowly ingest the mixture. Elrond sings as he works, a soft elvish lullaby Estel recognises as one of Arwen's favourites.

His curiosity wins the battle against the calmness of the room, "What is the elmscream? Why do you speak of it as if it is born of darkness itself?"

"It is a curse, rarely set upon Middle Earth but incredibly dangerous. It consumes a tree slowly from roots to tip, with agonising pain. They scream out and those gifted in the art of tree-speak - like Legolas - may hear all of their cries. It is whispered in the Elvenking's halls that even nearing a single tree blighted with it has caused elves to go mad with despair, even to the point of self-violence. You and Legolas were trapped in the midst of a forest of thousands. It is a wonder he lives at all."

"He did try… to harm himself. I managed to stop him before any injury of course, but he wished to puncture his ears with a blade. It was my decision to venture through the forest, he told me he did not want to but I did not listen. And now…"

"A leader must accept that they will make some decisions more harmful than good. Legolas trusts your instincts but he would have put up a much greater fight had he known the true extent of what lay before him. It is not your fault, my son. I am merely thankful you were there at all. Had he, or any other wood-elf, stumbled into it alone… well, it is something I dare not think about."

"What is to be done now?"

"Legolas will sleep - and so will you. His fëa needs time and peace to recover before you two return to gallivanting across Middle Earth. I shall send a letter to Mirkwood, informing Thranduil of the prince's condition and the state of the forest. I'm afraid that other than that, there is not much to be done for the wood, it is truly a terrible fate indeed."

"Will the trees die?"

Elrond runs his hand down the elf's arm absentmindedly, "The elmscream may retreat after some time but the forest will not recover. The pain will lessen but never cease and the strain of such a curse will eventually be its end. Perhaps not in this age, but the trees will lose their will to carry on. I have never heard of it being unleashed upon an entire wood. This does not bode well for our dear friends in Mirkwood and I fear a weakness in their impenetrable hearts. Should an enemy learn of such a power-"

"-the Silvan would perish." Estel looks down at the elf between them, so full of love for the forest. The past days had been the most harrowing of his life and they had only just escaped the clutches of the dark. If Legolas were to witness his home suffer in such a way… his ship may as well prepare its sails for the journey west.

The older elf nods solemnly, "Come now, Estel. Legolas will be asleep for quite a while and you should do the same. And before you can protest-" He adds, holding out his hands diplomatically, "I will stay and watch him. Your room is only a few paces down the hall should I need you."

The young man closes his mouth from where it had been ready to plead a defence. He nods once, brushes his hand across his friend's, and leaves the room. Elrond gives a bone-deep sigh as he sinks back into a chair.

"You came so very close this time, my young sapling. Had Estel been even a sliver more prideful and not called, I'm afraid your fëa would have been too lost in the mire." He strokes a stray piece of hair back behind a pointed ear, noticing the cut in its conch. "So very close…"