Gimli's pov:

Feeling helpless is not something I am accustomed to. I am used to planning, making careful decisions and acting decisively to accomplish my goals. I am rarely at a loss as to what to do in a situation whether it is a building project, on the battlefield or in a crisis. Perhaps that is why I keep dipping and wringing this blamed towel that I hold in my hand and using a corner of it to wipe the perspiration from my friend's brow. I do this meticulously, beginning each circuit with his forehead and moving the towel carefully down until I reach his neck. I am extra cautious when I approach the dark bruises that decorate the left side of his face and I entirely avoid a large swollen lump above his eye, the result of his stunning fall to the cobblestone. I do not know if he knows I am here and I seriously doubt if I am relieving any discomfort, but I do not know what else to do and doing nothing is out of the question.

There has to be something that can be done, though Aragorn assures me that he is doing everything he can to figure out a solution. It is difficult to fathom how quickly things have become dire, for after the shock from Legolas' spectacular collapse, the King had been quick to offer a cause. Dehydration he had said. It had made perfect sense the way he had explained it; too much alcohol along with little sustenance and a hot day had been a bad combination, though it was nothing a little rest and a lot of water would not fix. We had a plan of action, and though I was a little shook up, I was relieved as well. I knew what to do. How was I to know things would not end up being so easy.

Thinking on it now I suppose I should have expected it. So far this visit nothing has been easy in dealing with my miscreant elfling. Even this morning when I left him sleeping off the effects of the ale from last night, I knew that was a mistake before I had even left the first level of the city. As I finished my inspection of the work being done on the main gates, I noticed the crowds were beginning to gather for the highly anticipated spring race. As I shouldered my way through the crowd I caught bits and pieces of the conversations around me. The excitement levels were high and there was lots of jostling and vying for good seats, and wagers being made in every direction. There was much debate over who the winner was likely to be and the names of some favorites kept being repeated. It was not until I had arrived on the fourth level that it had been made plain to me that my charge was no longer where I had left him. A lively argument was taking place about the possibility that the 'newcomer elf' might make a good show and maybe even defeat those favored to win.

"I have heard that elves are splendid horsemen and his steed is Rohirrim! I've half a mind to place my money on that one." A voice shouted and everyone around him was eager to offer their own opinion on the matter, though I was no longer listening to what they were saying for I had heard enough! Evidently when Legolas woke up this morning and remembered all that had taken place last night, he decided he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb since he was doomed anyway.

It was too late to go to the starting line to hunt down my errant charge. The race was about to begin and by the time I made it down he would be heading up and with the way things have been going I would have spent the entire night trying to track him down. No the best way was to go on to the finish line to watch with the King and Queen as I had already planned and wait for him there. I was certain he would cross it, likely very early in the race and when he did I would be there with a message for him, and this time I intended to make certain he got the point.

I was troubled and concerned and more than a little angry as I continued my walk to the seventh level. Looking back now I realize that I must have looked positively irate, for I no longer had to fight my way through the crowds since the milling humans only had to take one look at my face before giving me wide berth. I reached the seventh level and saw the King and Queen, along with Faramir and Eowyn standing together on a raised platform, and I stalked my way over to join them.

"Where is Legolas?" the king shaded his eyes and scanned the area for his missing friend. "Does he not intend to join us?"

"He will be joining us, " I answered wryly, "Just keep watching the damned finish line."

"Oh dear," Arwen exclaimed while the King added, "Why am I not surprised?"

"He must have a death wish," Faramir muttered under his breath while eyeing me warily. No doubt he was wondering about his friend's sanity after his experience standing in for him last night.

We did not have to wait long for the race to begin and it was not long before the thundering hooves could be heard amidst the cheers and applause. The pack of riders flashed past. I did not have to look closely to see who the winner was; the familiar grey beast and the long golden hair of the rider tell me all I need to know. The crowd was going wild except for our little party on the dais. I was steaming mad then. Furious! It was all I could do to keep from leaping down from the platform and yanking the child off Arod's back and hauling him across my knee in front of the whole city. There was no chance to find out if I would actually have carried this thought out, because the next thing I knew he had dismounted from the beast and collapsed forward as soon as his feet hit the street.

My fury changed to instant fear as the cheers of celebration turned to cries horror. The crowd pressed forward as Lady Arwen gave a little shriek and ran down the steps of the platform to the street, where her protectors quickly surrounded her much to her displeasure. Aragorn did not even bother with the steps but simply leapt over the railing in a rather unkingly fashion and pushed his way through the crowd to his friend's side. Without knowing how, I found myself on my knees on the cobbles, speaking softly to my elfling and encouraging him to open his eyes. I was quickly rewarded for this effort, for his eyes soon fluttered open and he managed to sit up, looking confusedly back and forth between my face and the King's. I could see the moment he remembered what had happened for his expression changed from confused to alarmed, but I quickly reassured him that he was at least not in immediate danger, by reaching out and patting his arm.

Though he was visibly trembling, he declared he was fine and even insisted on walking to the healing ward. After a quick inspection of the lump that was beginning to form, Aragorn agreed to this, though we walked one on each side of him to provide a steady hand when it was needed. We did not have to worry long, because it only took a few minutes for the king to figure out the cause of the fainting spell and the tremors. Lack of water, that's all it was. A cool cloth for the bump on his head and some rest and liquids and everything would be fine. He left me with the nursing duties so that he could return to his irate wife and explain to her what was going on and even bring her to the house of healing so she could see for herself that everything was fine.

And everything truly was fine. That is what makes it seem so unfair now. For nearly an hour, things went according to plan. I rebuked him mildly and brought water, which I ordered him to drink. He did his best to follow this direction, but his hands trembled so that I finally took the cup away and held it to his lips for him since he was getting more down the front of his shirt than where it needed to be. I could see he was finding it frustrating to be so helpless, so I gave up scolding and concentrated on encouraging him to drink and assuring him that all would be well. The trembling had gotten a little worse and even his breathing had started to seem a bit labored, but I still did not realize anything was terribly amiss until the water started coming back up.

He had turned a sickly green and looked desperately in my direction and I had barely been able to get a large basin in place before he lost the contents of his stomach. The violent retching was gut wrenching to hear and excruciating to observe. All I could do was keep his hair back as he continued vomiting heavily and then rub his back between rounds. There could not have been a drop of moisture anywhere in him, and yet the terrible heaving kept on long after there was nothing left in him to expel.

Someone must have sent for Aragorn because soon he was standing beside us doing his best to sound calm though it was plain to see that he was alarmed. In his best bedside voice, he encouraged Legolas to take slow breaths and try to relax and finally the episode seemed to be over. Our relief was short lived though because soon after he settled limply back on the cot things took a definite turn for the worse.

I was stroking his hair, trying my best to offer what small comfort I could when he let out a gasp of distress and gave me a look of pure horror before grasping my hand and staring at it in shock.

"What is it, Lad?" I asked also looking at my hand, trying to see what he found so upsetting.

"My hair!"

"What is wrong with it, Child?"

"Your hands are full of it!"

I looked again at my hands and still saw nothing. "There is nothing there, Lad."

"There is!" he insisted and began running his own hands wildly through the long tresses, "It is falling out! Look at this!" his panic rose as he held his hands out to show me.

I looked to Aragorn for answers and seeing his worried face gave me no comfort. He kept his voice low as to not add to Legolas' terror.

"You are just hallucinating, seeing things that are not really there. I promise your hair is still firmly in place." He soothed, pressing the elfling back onto the pillows but Legolas' agitation was such that he would not be so easily pacified. He brushed his hands together as if trying to remove the hair.

"You see it don't you, Elvellon?" he asked, clearly wanting me to set Aragorn straight about the matter.

"Your eyes are playing tricks, Lamb," I said and covered his hands so he would not have to look at them. "You should just close them and perhaps it will go away."

I could see he still didn't believe us, but he was too exhausted to put up an argument and within minutes he had fallen into a fitful slumber. As soon as I was certain he was sleeping, I demanded answers.

"What is wrong with him?"

"I wish I knew, Gimli. He has no injury, but there is no doubt he is getting worse by the hour. It is almost like he is poisoned, yet I don't understand how."

"Well what do you propose we do? There must be something!" I am surprised by the desperation in my voice.

"I need to do some research to try to figure this out."

"Then what are you waiting for, Laddie? Go! Do what you must. I will stay with the elfling."

And now I sit here helplessly, doing pointless tasks, while the king pores over medical books in search for a treatment for whatever has afflicted our friend. I continue dabbing the cloth at his face for what seems like hours, until his tremors begin to become worse. I stop my ritual long enough to add another blanket to his shivering form, though they are piled high already. It is another useless gesture, but I must be doing something or I fear I will go mad.

In a while, a soft voice interrupts my thoughts. I look up to see one of the guards who had been posted at the entry of the healing ward.

"Lord Gimli, there is someone outside who wishes to see you." I cannot imagine who it might be, but he continues.

"She says it is urgent, Sir. She has information regarding what happened to your friend today at the race."

I feel that I must find out who this woman is, especially if she has something helpful to disclose, though I am loathe to leave Legolas' side. A solution offers itself if the form of the Queen of Gondor. She has heard the guard's words and is just as eager to find out more as I am.

"You must go, Elvellon," she decrees, "I will sit with him until you return." I take her hand for a moment and thank her and then make my way outside to talk to this mystery woman with important information.

Legolas' pov:

I hear voices I know, calling to me and do my best to respond, for they sound anxious, I blink in an attempt to clear the cobwebs from my brain and find I am lying on the cobbles of the Citadel.
The first face that comes into focus is Aragorn's he is examining my face and I wince as his hands probe a swelling above my eye and he apologizes for hurting me.
I do not understand why I am lying on the road, and attempt to sit up. With the help of Aragorn I manage it and find myself eye to eye with Gimli Gloinson and my faulty memory chooses this particular moment to reassert itself and I recall last night and the race.
I am fortunate indeed that he has not already plucked me from the ground and hauled me over his knee right where I am and I wonder fleetingly if I am well enough to escape if he should try to do so. My expression must give away some of my thoughts for Aragorn chuckles and Gimli, seeing me tense ready to spring up, pats my arm and smiles reassuringly.
I do not know why I have escaped immediate punishment but I am grateful enough not to argue with Aragorn when he pronounces I must go to the healing wards so he can examine me properly. And while I say nothing I am grateful for his and Gimli's close presence as I struggle to my feet and make my way to the healers for my legs tremble and my balance seems impaired.
The guards have cleared the spectators away so that my progress is unhindered and when I look around I see that Faramir has taken charge of Arod and that he is leading him off to the stables.

It is not until I am sitting on one of the examining tables while the healers poke and prod at me that it occurs to me that I do not know what happened after I won the race.

"You fainted" Aragorn tells me

Now that is ridiculous! Elves do not faint and I am about to tell him so when he continues "probably due to you being dehydrated and having eaten nothing for many hours. That was foolish indeed. But apart from the bruising to your face I can see no serious injury and I think it likely that after a good sleep and drinking plenty of water you should be well enough to explain to us what you think you were doing entering that race!"

I decide it is better not to answer that presently, because I do not feel all that well and I do not wish the healers to begin examining all over again.
Aragorn goes off to tell Arwen that I am going to be fine and Gimli offers me a cup of cool clear water to drink. But my hand shakes so much that I cannot hold it to my lips without spilling it. Frustrated by this weakness I make another attempt only to find I am so weak that it proves to be impossible to even lift the cup.
Gimli comes to my rescue holding the cup to my lips and bidding me drink. I dislike the feeling of being so helpless and needing such assistance. It makes me feel horribly vulnerable. It is probably this frustration that is causing my breathing to become erratic.
I try and take a calming breath and to my horror and mortification find that I am about to be violently sick. Gimli must have seen the signs for he thrusts a bowl under my chin and holds my hair out of the way as I begin to retch uncontrollably.
At some stage Aragorn returns and his calming presence seems to help me gain some small measure of control over my breathing although even when my stomach is emptied I continue to be wracked with dry heaves that leave me shaking and weepy.

Gimli tells me to lie back and try to sleep and I follow his advice, hoping that sleep will indeed set me on the road to recovery. I hear Gimli and Aragorn talking softly and know they are concerned but I do not have the energy to even try to reassure them that I will soon be well but slip into an uneasy doze.

I awake with a scream, my eyes wide and my hands flailing about until I manage to grasp Gimli's wrist and open his hand. It is full of my hair!
I call out in a panic and Gimli gazes at me full of concern but apparently unaware that his hands are coated in long golden strands of my hair

"What is wrong, Child?"

"Your hands, your hands are full of my hair! My hair is falling out!"

He tries to reassure me telling me there is nothing wrong but I insist that there is as I run my own hands through my hair and show him the hair now caught between my fingers. The terror strikes me full on and I begin to sob and wail, completely unable to stop myself from panicking.

I hear Aragorn's voice as if from a distance explaining that I am hallucinating, promising me that my hair is not falling out he presses me back into the pillows. I resist him as best I can turning wide eyes on Gimli.

"You see it don't you, Elvellon?" I beg of him.

He comes to sit on the edge of my bed covering my hands with his own "Your eyes are playing tricks, Lamb," he tells me gently. "You should just close them and perhaps it will go away."

I want to believe him and cling to his hands like a drowning elf to a swan ship prow. His voice continues to reassure me and while I want to tell him he is wrong I am so exhausted that I close my eyes instead and hope that sleep will come.

"Do not leave me Gimli." I beg.

"Sleep laddie, I will watch over you. All is well. I am here." And for a mercy sleep does take me and frees me at least temporarily from this nightmarish world I seem to have inhabited since the end of the horse race.

XX

Gimli's pov:

I pick up my walking axe that I had parked outside the door of the healing ward and walk outside into the warm spring evening. A woman stands partially hidden in the shadows, but steps forward when she sees me. The kind brown eyes seem familiar but I cannot place where I have seen her before until she speaks.

"I have some important information for you, My Lord," she blurts out without bothering with small talk. It is the woman named Maellenn, the call girl from the Black Swann. I had not recognized her with her face unpainted and wearing a modest high-necked dress and her red –gold curls pulled primly back into a knot at the back of her neck.

"Please tell me quickly then Madam, for I must return to my friend." I tell her.

"It is about your friend that I speak," she says, "I know what ails him."

I am amazed at her words. How could she possibly know such information when the king himself has been unable to come up with a satisfying answer? Still I go with her when she beckons me to follow her insisting that we may not have much time. As we hurry through the levels of the city, she explains what she has heard. The men who were threatening the Queen have been in the Black Swan boasting about having taken the high and mighty elf down a peg. It serves him right, they assert, for winning the prize that should have gone to one of the men of the city. They do not need any elves taking part in their traditions and they certainly do not need a she elf sitting on the throne next to their King. They brag that she will be the next one to fall. It should be an easy task if she is as gullible as this one had been. They had only had to hand him the cider and he had just finished it off without a question. It had been the easiest thing in the world.

I stop her explanation and go back to the cider.

"Just a moment Miss. What does the cider have to do with it? Did they put something in it?"

"Aye, Sir they did, though they did not say what it was," she says, "I wish I could tell you more, but perhaps if the men are still there you can persuade them to tell you."

"I can be very persuasive, Miss," I say and it comes out in a low growl that sounds menacing even to myself. I tighten the grip on my axe and narrow my eyes, focusing on what I intend to do, which is to get answers! I hope those hooligans are enjoying their ale for this may be the last time they are able to drink it without it being hand fed to them with a spoon! I am incensed! Of course I am. If these low life bottom feeders think they can hurt my elfling and threaten the Queen and then sit around and tell anecdotes about it then they have another think coming! I am so angry that I feel like my head might blow clean off my shoulders from the pressure. Judging by the way folks are quick to move out of my way, I must be quite a sight to behold. Yes I am furious, irate! But it feels good in a way too. At least now I know I can do something useful! I have a plan of action once again!

Soon we are standing outside the Black Swan. The party is in full swing and the doors are standing open to let in the warm evening air. I can see the room is crowded with folks laughing and drinking. All are feeling festive after the race and no one was ready to go home after such an exciting event. Maellenn points out the evil bastards who have caused us so much trouble. They are having a fine time it seems, laughing and jesting and merrymaking. My ire doubles when one of them mockingly toasts the winner of the race, but I hold back for a moment in order to size up the situation.

There are four of them and only one of me. Yet they are all drinking heavily and I have the element of surprise on my side. When you are outnumbered in a fight, the thing to do is to confuse the opponent and make enough noise to terrorize them into surrendering. There is a time for peaceful negotiations and reasoning conversation, but this is not one of them! If I am to have any hope of getting the information I need I will have to make sure they think I'm insane enough to kill them if they do not cooperate, which I admit isn't far from the truth. If I do not get some answers someone will be picking teeth out of the back of his skull tonight!

I turn to Maellenn to indicate that she should remain outside and then I take a few steps back from the door. Taking a firm grip on my axe I raise it above my head with both hands. I bellow a dwarfish battle cry as I sprint into the smoky room and bring the axe crashing down in the center of the table where the men are sitting. There is an earsplitting crack as the wood splinters into a thousand pieces. Two of the men run for the door and a third man tips his chair over backwards in his hurry to get out of my way. Mugs of ale slide to the floor sending shards of glass and dark brown liquid flying in all directions. Folks scream and duck under tables or behind the bar. Only one of the four can still be seen and so I direct my words at him.

"What did you put in the race winner's drink?"

The man laughs mirthlessly, "You are the elf-lover we saw at the finish line. Why should I tell you anything?"

"Because if you do not, I will bury my axe blade in your repulsive face!"

"You are welcome to try if you can reach it dwarf!"

The man gets to his feet and I find myself facing the tallest man I have ever seen in my life. His head nearly touches the ceiling and he is broad enough to fill a doorway. Perhaps I truly have gone insane but this does not intimidate me. In fact I smile as I size him up. The great difference in our sizes is bound to cause him to underestimate my strength. He will not know what hit him.

He surprises me by swinging first. His fist makes contact and I taste blood, but that will be the only time he will catch me off guard. I recover quickly and swing my axe in a wide circle so that the handle cracks the backs of his knees. This knocks him off balance and his own weight works against him. He crashes heavily on his back, rattling the whole tavern on its foundation. A loud huffing sound escapes him as the wind is forced from his lungs. Before he can regain his breath I have my axe handle pressed down on his breastbone and one of my two throwing axes in my hand. He thrashes about and flails his arms. His eyes widen in shock when he realizes he is unable to get up off his back. No doubt the tremendous amount of ale in him is not helping his cause. Trying to look as crazed as possible I take careful aim with my throwing axe.

"What did you put in the drink?"

"Put down your axe, Dwarf. Only a coward would use weapons against an unarmed man."

"Too bad you aren't fighting a real brave son of a bitch." I reply shifting the axe in my hand to achieve maximum swing.

"I believe you are bluffing," he sneers, "you don't have the guts to kill me!"

I give him my best maniacal smirk, "You better pray that's true, Maggot." I aim the axe right between his eyes and raise it back as if to hurl it.

"Wait!" he cries in a panic, "I will tell you!"

"Say it quickly then before I change my mind."

"Pocket! It is in my pocket. Just put down the axe!"

"I will put it down as soon as you hand over the contents of your pocket."

Hastily he complies, handing me a handful of coins, along with a bundle wrapped in a piece of white cloth. I take it from him and place it in my own pocket before freeing him and making my way back out into the warm spring night. I give the Black Swan one final look. I must remember to tell Aragorn to compensate the owner for the table.

I am hurrying my way back to the seventh level when a guard on horseback offers me a ride, which I am more than happy to accept. I do not wait for him to give me a hand down when we stop outside the house of healing. I jump to the ground and wave my thanks and dash back inside.

I hear the sound of shouting and wailing before I make it to the door. Aragorn is physically restraining Legolas who seems to be caught in the throes of a waking nightmare.

"You must be still before you injure yourself. You are only hallucinating again, I promise you. He is not dead nor in any danger!" He practically has to put his knee in the elfling's chest to subdue him.

Even in his weakened state, Legolas puts up a mighty struggle and almost manages to make it to his feet.

"Why won't you believe me Estel?" he begs, "I saw it with my own eyes. He had orc arrows sticking out of him. We must go back!"

Aragorn catches sight of me.

"Gimli! Hurry, we need your help." He turns to Legolas and says, "See here he is now perfectly fine and walking about. I told you he wasn't dead."

Aragorn takes my wrist and pulls me in front of him, so my lad can see me.

"Elvellon! You are alive. I thought I would never see you again." He throws himself sobbing into my arms. I wrap my arms around him and sooth him as best I can.

"Of course I am, lamb. I had to leave for a short while, but I will not leave you again until you are well."

He pulls back and looks at me with tears rolling down his face, but with an expression of great relief. It changes to concerned as he reaches out and touches my lip.

"Gimli you are bleeding!"

I wipe the blood on my sleeve and pull him back into my arms.

"It is nothing, Child. Everything will be fine now." I say rocking him back and forth. With one hand I reach into my pocket and take out the little bundle. I place it in Aragorn's hand.

"He has been poisoned with this." I say.

Aragorn quickly opens the package. Inside is some sort of vegetation. It is black and spongy and looks something like a fungus I have seen growing on decaying wood.

Aragorn's eyes widen in amazement.

"Death Caps," he says and then takes off for his books. "Let's hope there is an antidote."