Chapter 10: On the Edge of a Knife

Elladan stood absolutely still, eyes closed and head tilted up toward the pewter sky. This was a dream world, which meant mind ruled over matter. Or, at least it should have in theory. So far his tests had proven unsuccessful.

"What are you doing?" Anaire's voice interrupted his concentration.

He opened one eye to look at her before abandoning the effort altogether. "I am trying to extend my senses beyond this immediate area."

She quirked a brow. "Is that a Ñoldorin ability?"

Elladan's lips twitched. "No. But we are in a spirit realm, so it logically follows that one need not be constrained by physical limitations. I am hoping to get a better sense of this place overall, and perhaps even reconnect a small part of my consciousness to my body." If he could pierce the shroud encapsulating this world just a little, he might be able to access his bond with Elrohir and send a message. Not that he had any skill or practice with long-range communication, but his grandmother, Galadriel possessed the ability, and so perhaps Elladan could harness it as well, at least on some small scale.

Anaire's face scrunched up dubiously. "Did it work?"

At that, Elladan sighed. "No, not yet."

"Oh."

Elladan looked over to where Legolas was helping Calatar to his feet. "We are moving out again?"

"Yes," Anaire replied, tone clipped as she tried to conceal her weariness. It was an endless cycle—walk, rest, walk some more.

Even Elladan, who had tried to remain optimistic and supportive, was beginning to feel the weight of hopelessness on his heart. He missed his brother. Not that he wanted Elrohir to be in this place, but even in dire situations, as long as they were side by side, Elladan at least knew his twin was alright. But if their positions were reversed and Elladan was the one on the outside watching Elrohir decline with no idea what was happening to him or how to help…Elladan knew he'd be a wreck. And while he had promised Legolas that he would not be defeated by this dreamscape, his greatest fear was that should he end up dying here, Elrohir would fade as well.

And so Elladan kept pushing the limits of his mental faculties, determined to punch through this incorporeal prison. Unfortunately, his increasing sense of desperation was causing him to split his attention between his introspective efforts and his surroundings. Part of it was he had confidence in their group's diligence, but he should have known better.

Elladan heard a strange whomping sound that he only recognized as wingbeats a moment too late. Something slammed into him from behind, knocking him face forward onto the ground. A shrill shriek pierced his eardrums as several sharp points dug into his back. He furled his fingers into the dirt, trying to crawl out from under whatever had attacked him, but then the weight lurched off.

Elladan rolled onto his back, heart leaping into his throat at the sight of yet another otherworldly terror. Legolas stood between him and a large, winged creature the size of a horse. But while the torso and feathers resembled a bird, it had a serpentine neck and a bulbous head with a nubby, sharpened beak. Legolas slashed at the demon's belly, which it avoided with a flap of its massive wings.

The others were running forward now, weapons raised. With an ear-splitting screech, the beast spun around midair, brandishing a spiked tail like a whip.

"Duck!" Elladan shouted.

Everyone dove to the ground to avoid getting skewered, but then the creature pounced on Legolas, digging four-inch talons into his side. Legolas threw his head back with a sharp cry. He tried to stab the monstrous bird, but a nip from the beak caused him to drop his dagger. With a great flap of its wings, it lifted into the air, carrying Legolas in its clutches.

Elladan leaped to his feet and sprinted after them. The heavy wings beat the air as the creature struggled to gain altitude. Elladan spurred forward and launched himself off a tree stump to grab the tail. He managed to grip above the spikes, though one of them sliced his wrist as he flailed and hung on for dear life.

The beast shrieked and juddered, its weight distribution disrupted. Elladan kicked empty air, and then the demon banked sharply, heading straight into a tree. Elladan braced himself for impact, pain slamming into his shoulder and side as they struck. He lost his hold on the tail and dropped to the ground, thankfully landing in a bed of moss. Legolas crashed down beside him while the creature scrambled for purchase on the branches above.

Elladan frantically searched for his dagger, but he must have dropped it. An arrow whizzed above his head, tearing through a wing. The demon screamed and twisted around, elongated neck flicking back and forth. Anaire skidded to a stop at the base of the tree and shot another arrow, this time striking its belly. Nólaquen joined her, scooping up rocks and lobbing them at the beast.

Calatar appeared at Elladan's side, and though his broken arm was in a sling, he still tried to pull Legolas up and away. Both of them stumbled in the mesh of moss, and Elladan scrambled to pry the clumps away from their feet. Blood roared in his ears and his head pounded with each grating screech that sounded from above. He heard the whomp of flapping wings, and grabbed both Legolas and Calatar to shove them down, but there was no puff of air to signal the demon descending on them. Craning a look over his shoulder, Elladan watched it soar into the sky and veer away from the elves' harmful projectiles.

He turned back to Legolas, whose complexion had gone a few shades too pale and his eyes were squinting with pain. One arm was wrapped protectively over his stomach, his hand pressed to his side. Blood welled up and trickled between his fingers.

Elladan's breath stole away. "Let me see." He wrenched Legolas's hand up, and his heart stuttered at the deep punctures and gashes torn from the prince's lower left rib to his hip. "We need to find shelter," he snapped at Anaire and Nólaquen. Both of them just stared back at him dumbfounded.

"We passed a hollow several yards back," Calatar spoke up, shooting Anaire a severe look.

The archer shook herself out of her daze. "I remember."

Elladan nodded. "Legolas, can you make it?"

Legolas's jaw was clenched so tight he barely got a response out. "Must."

Elladan switched places with Calatar, pulling Legolas's arm over his shoulder and planting his other hand firmly on the prince's side. Legolas swallowed a grunt of pain. Calatar took the lead while Anaire and Nólaquen flanked Elladan and Legolas, eyes peeled for further danger. Legolas's weight grew heavier with each step, and several times Elladan had to stop to hike his friend's arm higher over his shoulder.

Finally, Calatar halted and pointed to a small mound that had been partially hollowed out under a dehydrated oak, shriveled roots poking through hard-packed dirt. "What if…?" he started.

Elladan glanced between him and the tree. "It's not," he assured him. This tree had an ivory shade, not black. At least, Elladan had to trust that it wouldn't come alive and try to eat them. But Legolas was growing lax in his arms and they had no other choice. He eased the prince down to lean against the scarp wall.

"What do you need?" Anaire asked.

Needle, thread, athelas, bandages, he thought—none of which they had.

"Set up…perimeter," Legolas ground out, shifting in obvious distress.

"Be still," Elladan chastised, ripping off his own tunic.

Legolas shot him a defiant glare before flicking his eyes to Anaire. "Don't know…what…blood might attract."

Though the archer looked as though she wanted to stay, she gave a sharp nod before barking orders to Calatar and Nólaquen.

Elladan folded his tunic over as many times as he could and pressed it to Legolas's wounds. The prince arched his back against the wall of earth, face screwing up though he only let a strangled sound escape his lips. Elladan clamped a hand on his shoulder to push him back down.

"You'll be fine, Legolas. This is nothing."

He snorted. "Isn't it…a healer's rule not to…" He grimaced. "Lie to their patient?"

Elladan squeezed Legolas's shoulder so hard his fingernails were probably leaving crescent shaped indents. "Look at me." He waited half a beat for Legolas's eyes to rove upward. "The wounds aren't physical, remember? Which means you can overcome them!"

Legolas rolled his head from side to side, smearing soil in his already dirty hair. "It certainly…feels real."

Elladan's stomach clenched. "I know, but I don't have anything to…I have nothing I can…" He swallowed hard, gaze dropping to the blood soaked tunic. None of his training aided him now where he had no water or supplies, and for the first time, he viciously cursed the men who had brought this upon his friend, praying their afterlife consisted of eternal torment in the likes of this place.

"It's all right, Elladan," Legolas said softly.

Shaking his head, he reached up to cup Legolas's face. "Please, mellon nîn, you can fight this. Just hold on."

Legolas's breathing was becoming shallow, and Elladan could feel tremors running through him. Please, Valar, save him, he pleaded. He pressed down harder on the wounds, willing them to stitch closed by his sheer will alone. But just as when Elladan had tried to breach the boundaries of this world, he could not. For all that he had convinced himself none of this was physically real, the crimson evidence to the contrary was staring him in the face.

Clouded blue eyes remained locked on his, more sad than anything else. Elladan's chest constricted, and he dropped his head forward to rest against Legolas's.

"I'm here, mellon nîn," Elladan whispered. "Stay with me."

"We've checked everyone, and are confident we've snuffed out the last of the curse lying in wait," Glorfindel reported.

Thranduil nodded absently. He wanted to feel grateful for the elf-lord's assistance, and he did. But half his people remained trapped in comas, including his son. The small progress the teams of healers and warriors had made in drawing out the malicious contagion was hardly a victory. And the good news had also come with the grievous discovery of several more elves who had perished in their sleep without anyone noticing before, simply fading without a sound.

Glorfindel was looking at him with sympathy, something Thranduil did not care for. "My lord, by your leave, I would like to organize the guards you have left and tighten the defenses."

Yes, because his kingdom stood on the edge of a knife and could still fall.

"Very well," he replied. "Thank you." It should not have burned him so to accept help from a Ñoldo. Neither Elrond nor Glorfindel would lord it over his head, and yet old prejudices were sometimes difficult to overcome.

Thranduil returned to the healing ward and went straight to his seat by Legolas's bed. He stiffened when he spotted Elrohir slumped in the other chair, and for a brief second of panic, wondered if Glorfindel had been wrong. But then he noticed that the young Peredhil's eyes were open in natural elven sleep.

Elrond looked up from where he stood over his other son, brow furrowing at the look on Thranduil's face.

The Elvenking cracked his neck. "I thought for a moment…"

Elrond followed his gaze to Elrohir, and his expression relaxed in understanding. "I convinced him to get some rest, now that he knows there is nothing to fear by sleeping."

"Ah. That is good." Thranduil sank into his chair and automatically reached for Legolas's hand. He hated how cold and lax it was.

"I would urge you to do the same."

Thranduil ignored the advice. "Glorfindel believes they have hunted down the last dormant parts of black magic," he said instead, and caught the Ñoldo shaking his head in his peripheral vision.

"It's a start, at least," Elrond replied. "But I am still at a loss on what to do for the others." His gaze dropped to his comatose son. "We should consider sending a small patrol after Gandalf."

Thranduil's jaw clenched. Part of him scornfully assumed that the wizards had gotten distracted by something. He did not know if that was better or worse than the more likely scenario that the two Istari were no match for whoever had cast such dark magic to begin with. And if the latter was truly the case, then what chance did the elves have to stand against it?

He swallowed hard, afraid his voice would waver with his next question. "How long can you sustain them like this?"

Elrond sighed, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Elladan's ear. "As of right now, several days at least. But the longer everyone else remains asleep and the more I have to spread my efforts among them…" He did not finish, yet he didn't have to. Thranduil understood. In trying to save them all, more would die sooner. Yet how could he choose who to focus on and who to abandon? No, he could not sacrifice anyone, not like this.

Even if it means you have to watch your son wither away? Legolas was already thinner, cheeks sunken and patches under his eyes looking bruised. This curse was draining his life, and why couldn't the most renowned healer in Middle-earth do something?

Thranduil tamped down on his anger. He did not truly blame Elrond, who had to be feeling the same anguish for his own son. It didn't make it easier for the Elvenking to bear though. He had lost so much in his long years, and Legolas was all he had left, the last living reflection of his wife, and the one glimmer of hope in a world that had long ago fallen into Shadow.

Thranduil squeezed his son's limp hand, and frowned as a strange sense prickled the back of his neck. His eyes narrowed on Legolas's face, studying it for a long moment before drifting down to his chest. Thranduil's heart seized, and he surged from his chair with enough force to knock it over.

"Elrond, he's not breathing."

The elf-lord had whipped his head up at the chair falling, and now spurred around Elladan's bed, bumping Elrohir as he wedged himself close to Legolas and laid one hand upon his chest, the other across his forehead.

Elrohir jerked awake with a gasp. "Father? What's happening?"

Elrond gritted his teeth. "He's fading."

The younger elf scrambled around to the foot of the bed, eyes wide and anxious. Thranduil was practically vibrating with impatience and worry as he watched Elrond close his eyes in concentration. A second later, a blue glow began to suffuse from his hand that bore the ring Vilya. The soft hue swirled over Legolas's chest and then started seeping in. For several long moments, Elrond poured healing energy into the frail prince, mumbling exhortations for him to breathe.

Thranduil did not want to watch him fail, but could not look away. The light decreased to a low, steady pulse, though Legolas's chest remained still. After an agonizingly long time, Elrond pulled his one hand back, extinguishing that ethereal glow, and grief like a dagger plunged through Thranduil's heart.

"He's stable now," Elrond said, voice a little rougher than normal.

Thranduil nearly snapped his spine he straightened so fast. What…? Staggering forward, he placed his hand on Legolas's chest where Elrond's had been, and nearly sagged when he felt a shallow rise and fall.

"Father?" Elrohir asked tentatively, and took Elrond's elbow to help him sit in the chair. Elrond didn't remove his other hand from Legolas's brow.

"It was not his physical body that initially failed, but his fëa," the elf-lord explained. "I was able to force his lungs to work, but it took a great deal of effort to channel most of the healing energy through the veil to his spirit."

"But you managed?" Elrohir pressed.

"Yes." Elrond reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I wish I could say such a foray weakened the wall, but I don't think it did. I could not call him back."

Thranduil eyed Elrond carefully, finally understanding the Ñoldo's healing was not a bottomless well, and that such efforts would eventually take a greater toll on him. "Thank you," he said softly, letting his palm continue to rest on his son, just to assure himself that he yet lived.

Elrond looked grieved as he turned his gaze to Legolas's face, hand still braced upon his forehead as though providing a life line. "I do not know how long my intervention will last. Without knowing what is happening to their fëar…I do believe that was the cause of death for the other elves, not that their bodies failed."

Thranduil's throat constricted. Something that could destroy an elf's fëa… He sank onto the side of the bed, wrapping his fingers around Legolas's hand.

Be strong, my son. He closed his eyes. It had been a long time since he'd asked the Valar for anything, not since his father was slain in Dagorlad. Now, however, Thranduil was not too proud to pray. And may the Valar guide you home.

Elladan jerked back as warm energy swelled beneath him, and Legolas suddenly heaved in a huge gasp of air. Blue eyes blinked dazedly before gazing up at him in confusion. In the back of his mind, Elladan registered that the aura he'd just felt seemed familiar, but it was gone in a flash and he was more focused on the present moment, namely lifting the compress and gazing in shock at the half-closed wounds. They had stopped bleeding as well.

"Legolas?" he breathed in disbelief.

"Elladan?" Legolas shifted to push himself up straighter, wincing as he did so. He glanced down at his side and stared dumbly for several moments. Slowly and carefully, he reached one hand up to prod the swollen flesh, wincing from the touch.

"Don't do that," Elladan scowled, gently smacking his hand away.

Legolas roved his gaze around the hollow and forest outside. "I thought I was dying."

"I thought you were too." Elladan felt some of the tension drain from his muscles, but didn't let himself sink into complacency. "I'm going to bind these now."

Despite Legolas's miraculous recovery, he was still weak, and Elladan had to hold him up while wrapping the soiled tunic around his waist and tucking the ends in as securely as he could. Elladan decided not to worry about infection, not that he could realistically do anything to prevent it. He would just have to hope that it wasn't included on the list of dream injuries one was susceptible to here.

"You did it, mellon nîn," he said with a smile. "I knew that Sindarin stubbornness would win out."

Legolas furrowed his brow. "I didn't do it alone."

Elladan straightened. "What do you mean?"

"I…don't know. Only that when I felt myself slipping, something—or someone—latched on and wouldn't let go."

"Did you hear a voice?" Elladan asked, excitement flitting through him. He could guess who had come to Legolas's rescue, and hope filled him anew.

Legolas shook his head. "No. But maybe…feelings, emotions. Mostly I felt strength pour through me and the urge to breathe, though those seemed to come from without, as though forced upon me."

Elladan pursed his lips. That was not the way his father's healing magic usually worked, but then again, this was a very unusual circumstance. In any case, Legolas was alive.

Elladan clasped his shoulder. "Take heart, mellon nîn. Help is trying to reach us."

Legolas drew in a deep breath before giving a resolute nod. His injuries were still severe, and they would have to rest a while for him to regain his strength, but Elladan was confident he could recover from this. There was still a fight to be had.

A/N: We are approaching the climax of the story. Thank you Guest for your review, and I'm glad you're enjoying it!