A/N: Sorry for the late update. The account side of the site was down for a while, but now it's back, yay. Thank you everyone for the reviews! Including guest Nameless whom I can't message directly. ^_^

Chapter 4: To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Legolas slumped down against the trunk of an elm, tipping his head back in weariness. He felt as if he had been wandering for days, though it was impossible to mark the passage of time when there was no sun, moon, or stars in this dreary place. Only a pewter sky stretching over an endless, diseased forest. He did not know where he was, though he had begun to suspect that he was dead.

When Legolas first woke under a canopy of gray trees, he'd been confused. These woods were not dense and dark enough to be Mirkwood, which he had confirmed when he'd climbed one of the large sycamores to orient himself. There was no horizon, no landmarks, just a forest devoid of much color. Legolas was not widely traveled, but he felt certain he was no longer in Middle-earth. For one, he could not hear Ilúvatar's Song, nor sense any life within these woods. For another, he remembered being captured by men and carried toward the Mountains of Mirkwood. He remembered a cave, and a woman with stormy black eyes, and perhaps some kind of spell. Things were hazy around those last moments, except for the certainty that she had meant him harm. But if he was dead, why was he not in the Halls of Mandos? Where was he instead? And would his spirit be doomed to wander this accursed realm for eternity?

The normally stalwart warrior closed his eyes as despair welled up within him. To be cut off from all light, utterly alone in such a desolate place…it was a terrible fate for an elf. But he would not change it by sitting here. So with a deep breath, Legolas steeled himself and rose to his feet.

He rolled his shoulder in discomfort. The absence of his bow and knives was also distressing. Not that he had heard or seen any sign of wildlife. Another reason to suspect this was no ordinary forest.

Legolas began walking again. The direction didn't matter, as long as he took care not to wander in circles. He passed a large oak lying on its side, shriveled roots curled inward like the legs of a dead spider. Gray moss grew along the rotted out trunk and spilled across the ground. On he traveled, past gnarled trees and through thickets of brambles whose brittle thorns snagged at his tunic and nipped his flesh. He was surprised when he felt the sharp sting of their barbs—apparently one's fëa was not immune to pain. Legolas gritted his teeth. What other torments would this world present?

A rustling of leaves brought him up short, but the moment he did, the sound stopped. He waited, eyes peeled against the dismal foliage. When nothing stirred, he began walking again, albeit more slowly, his light footsteps barely making an impression in the soil.

The snapping of a twig had him whirling around. His heart rate increased; perhaps he was not as alone as he'd thought. Movement among the brambles he'd just waded through caught his eye, and Legolas held his breath as he watched, fingers twitching with the need for his bow.

Whatever was lurking there did not seem eager to show itself, but then Legolas's keen eyes spotted a glimmer of yellow, the first color he had seen in this dreadful place. Yet it was not a comforting sight, for the reflected pupils contained a predator's simmering patience. The creature hunkered down low to the ground, unblinking eyes leering with hungry intent.

Legolas's breath caught in his throat. He was being hunted.

For a long moment, he and the elusive spirit simply stared at each other. Legolas knew any sudden movements might ignite the beast's instinct to give chase. But staying to wait for a confrontation would also be unwise. If only he was armed! Legolas flicked his gaze to the tree tops; perhaps they would provide refuge.

Leaping from where he stood, Legolas grabbed the lowest branch of the nearest tree and hauled himself up. He climbed over knotted boughs until he was a good twenty feet off the ground before he paused to glance back toward the bushes. He still couldn't see through the thorns to what lay beneath, though he wasn't sure he wanted to.

The shrubbery began to thrash as the creature moved underneath, burrowing its way to the edge and around the back of a large sequoia. Legolas lost sight of it, but then he heard what sounded like scrabbling claws scratching over bark. He tensed, and slowly moved further out on the branch currently supporting him. Please may it not have the ability to climb…

Legolas nearly lost his balance when the thing finally showed itself, skittering around the side of the trunk like a squirrel. But it was neither rodent nor any beast that Legolas had ever seen. At about half the size of an elf, the beast had five-toed claws on each of its four legs, and a muscular torso covered in black fur. A fleshy, rat-like tail swished back and forth, and the creature's head was more oblong and flat like a gecko's. Beady yellow eyes fixated on Legolas, and the abomination opened its wide maw to reveal rows of tiny, jagged teeth like shards of glass. A high-pitched chitter issued from its throat, making its entire body vibrate.

Swallowing hard, Legolas continued to back up, even as the branch beneath his feet began to bow under his weight. The monster's noises turned into a near-shriek, and it suddenly launched itself from the sequoia to land in the branches above the elf. He ducked to avoid getting smacked by the tail.

The beast hunched low, eyes glittering hungrily. Legolas swung down to the next branch to escape a swipe of its claws. Then he was off and running along the sturdier bough and leaping to the next tree. He moved swiftly among their branches, barely disturbing them, while the creature in pursuit shook the trees and thrashed through the leaves. Legolas dared not look back, but he could tell by the sounds and the faintest tremor before his feet left the branches that the thing was on his heels.

He heard a screech, and instinctively ducked, nearly tripping and falling head first toward the ground. The monstrosity skittered over the boughs above to cut him off. When the tail flapped by, Legolas made a grab for it and yanked with all his might. A squeal ripped from its throat as the creature lost its balance. Legolas fell with it, but managed to wrap his legs around the bough. The world tilted, and Legolas found himself dangling upside down while the beast plummeted to the earth. It landed with a resounding thud and shriek of pain.

Legolas hung from the branch for a prolonged moment, watching as the creature below tried to get to its feet again. The task appeared to be a struggle, but Legolas was not going to wait around to make sure. Grabbing the branch beneath him, he unlocked his knees and swung around before resuming his mad dash from tree top to tree top. He did not hear sounds of pursuit, but even so, it was a long time before he finally slowed and ended up collapsing in the neck of a giant fig tree.

The knobby branches twisted up and around, providing shelter for the moment, such as it was. Dried pits and shriveled skins clung stubbornly to the ends of branchlets. After scanning each of the fruit clusters, Legolas concluded there would be nothing edible there. Not that he was very hungry after that close encounter.

He closed his eyes, blood roaring in his ears from his erratically beating heart, fueled by strenuous exertion and lingering terror. All of his years as a warrior did nothing to bolster his strength or bravery here and now, where misery seeped into his spirit as surely as water through earth. He did not like this place. He did not like this place at all.

Elrohir readjusted his grip on the precious cargo in his arms as his horse lumbered over a dip in the ground. Legolas sat in front of him, back to Elrohir's chest and head tipped against his shoulder. Two days of nonstop travel had finally brought them near the palace, but in that time Legolas had not woken once. He had not even stirred, nor shown any signs of discomfort when Elrohir and Elladan had taken turns bracing him in the saddle.

With one hand holding the reins, Elrohir brought his other up to clasp the prince's neck, feeling the slow, measured pulse beneath his fingers. At least there was that. But if Legolas had merely been drugged, he would have woken by now, which caused them all a great deal of increasing worry. Half a dozen possible poisons ran through Elrohir's mind that could result in such a coma, but there was little they could do until they arrived back at the palace and sent for a healer. Yet Elrohir also feared that the longer Legolas remained in this state, the less likelihood that he would recover.

"He feels cold, Gandalf," the Peredhil said quietly. The wizard was currently riding Elladan's horse beside him, as space allowed.

"We are almost there," Mithrandir replied, though his expression was grim.

Through a gap in the trees ahead, they caught a glimpse of the bridge leading to the gates. Elladan paused to take the bridle of Elrohir's horse and guide him the rest of the way, though it seemed to Elrohir that his twin was using the steed for his own support, and there was a permanent crease in his brow. When Elladan stumbled, Elrohir jerked up in alarm.

"Elladan?"

His brother shook his head. "I'm fine, muindor. Just tired."

Elrohir accepted that; the past few days had been hard on them all.

As soon as they stepped into the small clearing before the bridge, they were surrounded by Woodland elves. In truth, Elrohir was surprised they had not shown themselves earlier, but perhaps their patrols were busy out looking for their prince.

"Mithrandir?" one exclaimed, stepping forward. His eyes darted from each of them before landing on Legolas. "Ai, Valar, please say he is not…"

"He lives," Gandalf quickly assured. "But we must take him to the healing ward immediately."

The elf nodded and quickly spun on his heel, gesturing sharply for his patrol to stand aside. "We have been searching for four days. Where did you find him?"

Gandalf dismounted and handed the horse's reins to another elf. "It is a long tale I wish Thranduil to be present for."

"Of course." He pointed to one of his warriors, who turned and sprinted toward the palace, probably to fetch the king.

Elladan moved to Elrohir's side, arms ready to take Legolas so his brother could dismount as well. Elrohir eased his friend down, frowning as Elladan staggered under the weight. Two Mirkwood elves surged forward then and took their prince from Elladan, who looked reluctant to relinquish him. Elrohir swung off his horse, and the group hurried to follow as Legolas was carried through the doors and down a side passage. Every elf they passed paused to gasp and gape at the sight of their prince returned in such a dire state.

They came to the healing ward, a space much larger than the rooms at Imladris. But then, Elrohir supposed so many beds were needed when Mirkwood elves lived their lives under constant threat from evil creatures. It made his heart ache, wondering if Legolas had spent time in here before. A dozen beds lined each wall under a high, dome ceiling carved in the underside of the mountain. Though arches were intricately carved to mimic the shapes of trees and branches, it was a poor substitute for the light and airiness found in Rivendell.

The prince was laid gently on one of the beds halfway down the row, and the two warriors who carried him were replaced with healers who immediately began their examination.

"He has no serious wounds," Elladan spoke up. "Some abrasions on his wrists. He…he's been in a coma for two days."

"Poison?" the lead healer asked.

"I don't know." Elladan reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Elrohir meant to move closer to his twin to provide comfort, but the doors banged open then, and Thranduil swept inside, expression stormy. He took in Gandalf and Radagast's presence with a swift flicker of irritation before his gaze came to rest on his son.

"How is he?" The king's voice may have sounded low and neutral, but there was no mistaking the tightening of his jaw and intensity in his eyes.

The two healers exchanged a glance. "We cannot say, my lord. He is relatively uninjured and his heart beat is strong. Yet he will not wake."

Thranduil whirled toward the wizards. "What happened?"

Gandalf gave the Elvenking a sympathetic look. "Radagast should begin the tale, as he first discovered what befell Legolas."

The Brown Wizard rolled his shoulder. "I was tracking a group of poachers who'd been hunting near Rhosgobel, but had recently come this far north. These were cruel men, who used traps that mutilated and crippled but did not kill, leaving their victims to suffer for days before they returned to collect their catch—"

Gandalf cleared his throat obtrusively.

"Ah, yes," Radagast mumbled sheepishly, and then sobered. "I came upon an elf who'd been caught in such a trap, and then slain by a blade to the heart."

The nearby elves stiffened, while Thranduil's eyes narrowed.

"I do not know his name," Radagast continued. "But I buried him as respectfully as I could, given the knowledge that Prince Legolas had been taken and I needed to resume my tracking. I wish I could have sent word to you, but time was of the essence and they were heading south."

A muscle in Thranduil's cheek twitched, but when he spoke it was with gentleness. "His name was Lícumon. He and Legolas had gone out to gather material for arrows."

Elrohir remembered how Legolas enjoyed making his own arrows. Whenever he visited Imladris and gone hunting with the twins, he would spend the evening by the fire whittling at wood or fletching shafts. Elrohir would tease him about it, saying he need not be so prepared when their valley was well-protected and free of danger. Legolas always responded that the wood there was good quality and would serve him well when he returned home.

Radagast bowed his head. "I will show you where his shell is housed if you wish to retrieve him."

Thranduil also inclined his head in gratitude, but then his mien sharpened again with growing ire. "Who was it who took my son? You said they were heading south. Orcs?"

"Men," Gandalf put in, earning several quirked brows and hushed exclamations.

"Men," Thranduil repeated icily.

"We do not know why," Gandalf added. "In fact, this whole business is rather strange and suspicious. I made for Mirkwood the moment I received Radagast's message, and the sons of Elrond came with me. We all met up near the Mountains of Mirkwood, and shortly thereafter came upon four men. Legolas was with them, in the exact condition you see now."

"And where are these men currently?" Thranduil asked, menace brimming under the surface of his controlled tone. Elrohir had never witnessed the Elvenking's temper, but if it was anything like Legolas's, that was something to avoid like a rattlesnake.

"Three are dead and one escaped," Elrohir finally spoke. "I would have gone after the fourth, but we believed it more important to get Legolas back here."

A storm raged in Thranduil's dark eyes. "Well, then I may still have a chance to exact vengeance of my own."

"My lord," Gandalf broke in insistently. "Something is wrong about all of this. We may need this man alive to question. For instance, why were they heading back north with Legolas? And when we caught them, they were all too willing to let us take him and go. There must be a reason."

"Perhaps they simply wanted me to watch my son die," Thranduil snapped.

Elrohir winced at the crass declaration; he refused to believe Legolas was dying. They just needed to figure out what he'd been poisoned with and find an antidote. If only his father were here… But Elrond had taught his sons everything he knew, though Elladan was the better healer of the twins. Elrohir turned to give his brother an imploring look, only to watch him suddenly wobble back a step and collapse on the floor.

"Elladan!"

The elves who had brought Legolas in were standing closer, and reached Elladan's side first in order to pick him up and lay him on one of the beds. They'd barely set him down when one of the warriors jerked his hand back and shook it out as though he'd poked himself on a concealed weapon.

Elrohir pushed past him and placed his hands on either side of his brother's face. "Elladan?"

One of the healers came around the other side and began running her hands over Elladan's body. "Was he wounded in the fight?"

"No." Elrohir shot Gandalf a desperate look. "I mean, I don't think so." Surely Elladan would not have hid an injury from him.

Gandalf came to stand at the foot of the bed, brow deeply furrowed. He did not speak though, but awaited the healer's conclusion.

The elf straightened with a confused shake of her head. "I can find no injury." She flicked an uncertain glance at Legolas in the next bed, and Elrohir's blood ran cold.

"You think this is the same affliction?"

The healer hesitated. "I cannot be sure of that. Did he ingest anything strange recently?"

"No. We did not stop to eat once we found Legolas." Elrohir dropped his gaze to Elladan again, hand pressed to his brother's forehead. His twin did not stir, not even a twitch in his facial muscles. He was as still and silent as Legolas. But what was this? Elves were not susceptible to disease…

Elrohir whirled to face the others staring at him. "We should send word to my father."

Thranduil's gaze was impassive, yet his eyes flitted to Legolas. "It will take too long for him to receive the message and then make the journey," the king said quietly.

"Ah, I can help with that," Radagast spoke up. "I will find a trustworthy bird to carry the missive. It just needs to be short and penned on a small piece of parchment."

Elrohir felt a thrill of hope. Surely his father would know what to do.

"I will write the message," Gandalf volunteered, and turned to follow Radagast out.

The healers also moved away from their patients, not knowing what to do. Elrohir glanced over his shoulder as Thranduil came up along the other bed and laid a hand on his son's brow. Legolas was all the king had left, and should he perish, it would be a great blow to the Woodland Realm.

Elrohir wrenched his thoughts from that dark path. Legolas would not die. Neither would Elladan. They would figure out what was causing this and find a remedy. They had to.