Death Caps, he had called it as he sprinted from the room. It is not a very encouraging name for the plant that was used to poison Legolas, yet Aragorn did look relieved and hopeful that there would be a cure to be found. If there is one, I know he will work tirelessly until he finds it. I doubt neither his skill nor his desired to find an antidote, but still he might have thought more carefully before spouting such names. A chill ran down my spine at the words, though I was careful not to react to the fear that rose in me. It will not do to alarm the elfling anymore than he is already. I can feel him trembling against me and struggling to control his breathing as he tries to swallow the last of the panic induced sobs. Whatever vision he was having was clearly terrifying and real enough that he almost was able wrestle Aragorn to the ground, before I came in and helped reorient him back to reality.

It seems now though that that final fight with the king has drained the last bit of his strength for he now leans heavily against me and I find I am supporting him entirely. I pull him away from me so I can look in his face. Almost I am afraid his head will fall back, but he manages to keep it upright, though that is probably the only positive thing I can say about his condition. The contusions on his face have turned a dark purple and the circles under his eyes almost match. His eyes are bloodshot and his lips are beginning to crack, no doubt from the drying effect of the alcohol from yesterday and the heavy vomiting from today. He needs water, but I can see there is no possible way he can hold the cup on his own, let alone get it to his lips. So I support him with one arm and hold the cup in my other hand and encourage him with soft words to drink. He manages to get a little down and I am satisfied with that, though it is easy to see his pride has taken a hit. Of course there is no need for it between the two of us and I try to reassure him that it does not matter, but I do not think he really agrees with me.

The Queen comes in and I lift Legolas while she straightens and smoothes the twisted bedclothes. Soon after I have deposited him back on the bed he dozes off and I hope he will be able to rest easily now and have no more trouble with haunting dreams and images.

But shortly after Arwen leaves I think my hopes have been dashed for he begins to toss fretfully about, insisting that he must get up. By the panicked look on his face, I am nearly certain he is beginning to hallucinate again, but when I notice the direction his eyes are looking, I chuckle in my relief. He only wishes to ease nature it seems. He has been in the healing ward for many hours and I feel a trifle guilty that I had not thought of this before now since he is hugely distressed at this point. He does not like the solution I offer and I have to talk fairly stern to get him to see reason. I understand how difficult this is for him but I'm afraid the alternative would be far worse. There is no way he will be able to stand to make it to the bathing chambers and even if I were to carry him, he would still need my assistance once we got there for he cannot even sit up with my hand laying lightly on his chest. Not to mention the fact that his hands are trembling so that he won't have a prayer of being able to unfasten what needs to be unfastened and he is obviously desperately in need already. My way will shorten the ordeal and I refuse to argue about it.

I am brisk and businesslike in helping with his personal needs though my heart goes out to him when I notice his crimson face and the tears of humiliation standing in his eyes. Poor Lamb. Of course I am happy to do whatever needs to be done, but it is plain to see that he is finding this almost as painful as the terrors from earlier. I try to soothe him by telling him there is no shame in needing help, but he still looks dreadfully mortified and frightened at the same time. I take his hands in mine and encourage him to sleep. He fights it as long as possible, but as I begin to hum a song I remember my own mother singing in my childhood, his eyes slowly drift shut.

Now there is nothing to do but wait, which I do with all my concentration. The healers who come around from time to time encourage me to go back to my quarters to refresh myself, but that is something I refuse to do. I have made a vow not to leave again, and I do not intend to no matter how much they try to persuade me. I will not risk the lad waking up again and finding me gone.

Lady Arwen, bless her tender heart, recognizes my dilemma and goes to our quarters herself to bring back clean clothes and some plans and charts I have been working on so I can keep myself occupied while I wait. She then offers to sit with Legolas for a few minutes while I make use of the bathing chambers right here in the healing ward. I agree to her offer since I will be within hearing distance, but still I hurry to make myself presentable so I can return to my vigil. She tells me that Aragorn is still holed up in his study. She hasn't heard a peep from him in many hours. We sigh at the same time, then share a sympathetic smile. The waiting is hard on all of us.

Promising to send a servant with food and anything else I would request, the queen goes off to prepare for the guest who will be arriving tomorrow. No doubt she will be happy to have her brothers' support in this difficult time, though preparing for them reminds her of something else.

"How I wish Ada were here," she says mournfully, "We could have used his expertise. At times like these, I miss him so."

"No doubt his healing skills are missed," I say, "but take heart, my lady. Aragorn was trained by Lord Elrond himself, and he will not stop looking for an answer while he has breath in him."

"That I know, Elvellon," she says, patting my hand. "Legolas is very fortunate in all his friends."

She kisses the elfling on the forehead and then she is gone. He is indeed fortunate in his friends I think as I watch her go. And Aragorn was wise in his choice of a queen.

I pick up the charts and try to look through them, but I am too distracted to think clearly, so I put them away and focus my whole concentration on waiting for Aragorn to arrive with some sort of a solution. I pray that it will be soon because Legolas' breathing has become decidedly labored. He seems to be struggling for every breath and sometime after midnight he begins to cough. At first it is just a slight hack, but before long he is plagued with a deep croup-like cough that I fear will weaken him to a dangerous level. I help him to a sitting position and pile pillows behind him hoping the upright position will open his lungs and ease his breathing. This must have helped, for the spell soon ends, though my level of panic has risen quite a bit. It is terrifying to watch the terrible fight for air and the weakness that comes in its wake. For the first time I truly fear Aragorn may be too late.

I banish that thought as soon as it forms. I must not allow myself to think such things, so I make myself busy seeing to the Lad's comfort. A healer comes over with a warm basin of water and attempts to unfasten Legolas' shirt. Turning large liquid eyes on me he manages to plead with a single word.

"Gimli?"

I fully understand his meaning. I take the basin, and shoo the well-intentioned healer away and continue the task myself. As I remove the sweat soaked shirt, I receive a grateful look of relief, though it appears he is too weak to manage a smile. I gently wipe his face and upper body and then redress him in the soft shirt that is in the pile of things the Queen brought to us. It worries me that he does not help at all, and I have to actually thread his arms thought the shirt sleeves as if he had no use of his muscles whatsoever. Thankfully he is too exhausted to take much notice though that in itself is a cause for worry.

The entire night is difficult. Legolas is able to sleep only a few minutes at a time between coughing spells, and his sleep is plagued with nightmares. I alternate between encouraging him to breathe and talking him through hallucinations. It is a grueling experience for both of us and I find myself thinking that if Aragorn does not come soon, we will both go mad. Still he does not come. As the sky outside the window turns from black to grey, Legolas finally succumbs to exhaustion and falls into a deeper slumber. Still he does not come. Sunlight brightens the room and a servant brings me a tray with food that grows cold on the bedside table. Still he does not come. I am just wondering if I should send someone out to seek the king when, finally, finally he comes.

I am almost afraid to look at his face for fear he has given up and is bringing us bad news, but when I get up the courage to look I am greatly heartened by the smile that plays about his lips.

"Do not beat around the bush, Lad. Tell me quickly what you have discovered for I cannot bear another moment of waiting."

"It is good news, Gimli. I have finally found mention of an antidote. The plant you brought me is a type of toxic fungus commonly known as death cap mushrooms. The toxin is especially insidious and can affect every system in the body. Without an antidote, it inevitably ends in…," he looks at me, "well it ends in the ceasing of certain vital body functions."

"You mean without it he might not have made it?" I ask, feeling sick.

"Let's just say it is a good thing you managed to make the son of an orc who did this to him confess." He laughs wryly.

It is also fortunate that a very observant call girl bothered to make it her business to inform me. I shudder thinking of what would have happened otherwise. But Aragorn still hasn't given me the answers I want.

"So tell me what must we do?"

"We need to give him large quantities of milk thistle seed."

"Milk thistle seed?" I ask in amazement.

"Yes, copious amounts of it. Two tablespoons twice a day, ground and mixed with water. We have enough on hand for two days worth of dosing."

"How many days of it will he need?"

"The sources I found recommended at least five. Don't worry, Faramir is arranging for the country side to be searched for new plants and for the city to be searched for stocks of the seeds kept in pantries. We should have no trouble finding enough."

I am so relieved that I feel like kissing the king right in the middle of his face! I control that urge and instead just smile like a loon. He smiles as well, but then frowns just a little.

"I must warn you, that this will only prevent the toxin from spreading further and causing more damage. It will not reverse what has already been done. He will just have to heal naturally from what has already happened and it may very well be a slow process. We are going to have one very ill elfling on our hands for a few days at least."

"That I can easily handle with now that I know he will be well again. I will have no problem dealing with whatever needs doing." I am nearly overcome with relief and I laugh easily now. Aragorn also seems to find something amusing.

"Famous last words!" He replies and turns to wake Legolas for his first dose of the antidote.

Legolas' pov:

"Legolas …"
The voice is familiar but I am so tired that I do not respond because it seems only a few moments since I finally fell into exhausted slumber.

The voice is insistent however, "Legolas you needs must wake, mellon nin I need you to swallow this for me."

Someone is now shaking my arm and another voice is urging me to wake "Come on laddie."

"Go 'way," I murmur turning my head away from the voices and attempting to slip back into sleep. "I'm tired."

"Aye, Lamb I know but we have something here that will help you get well."

That does get my attention, because I want very much to be well.
I know I should not be so desperate but I do not deal well with illness and its attendant indignities.
It is rare for elves to be ill. Injured yes, but ill, no. I have suffered from the aftereffects of spider venom but nothing has prepared me for the consequences of this toxin I somehow seem to have been poisoned with.
My brain still seems incapable of working out how it could have happened. My recall is faulty and my memories hazy. Everything seems to be dreamlike, or more correctly nightmarish. I seem to recollect having breathing difficulties, of coughing and retching, of shouting out and being terrified of I know not what.
I cannot grasp even the most basic tenets of what is happening to my body or why.

Only one thing is clear. My friends wish me to wake and open my eyes and I suppose I will have to respond because I know that they will not desist in their determination until I do as they wish, so I struggle to clear away the cobwebs that seem to have wrapped themselves around my brain and get my unresponsive body to do as I wish it to.

"Here let me help you sit up." That is Aragorn. I blink and force my eyes open to see him and Gimli smiling reassuringly.

I try and smile in return but I rather think my expression is more of a grimace. My muscles are screaming in protest at even this slight movement.

My eyes close again of their own volition as I try to blot out the pain. When I open them again Gimli is looking at me in concern.
"I … I am fine," I croak and even to my ears that sounds more a wishful hope than an assertion of fact.

"Aye I can see that" Gimli chuckles, his huge hard hand that too often is chastising me, gently tucking my hair behind my ears. "Ye are a long way from being fine lamb. But if ye do as ye are bid you will be. Now swallow this down and then you can sleep again."

Aragorn offers me a small cup and my fastidious nose unerringly tells me that the taste is going to be worse even than the smell. I turn my face away, not wishing to face swallowing such a foul brew but Aragorn is determined and I am too weak to put up much of a fight and before I can do more than complain it has been ruthlessly tipped down my unwilling throat and I am left coughing and spluttering.

"The taste is foul I know, but it will help to combat the poison and that is what is needed for you to make a recovery." Aragorn soothes in full healer mode now, "You will need to be dosed twice a day with the milk thistle seed and I am going to institute a regime of muscle rubs and exercises to help your arms and legs regain their customary strength. Your lungs have been affected which is why you have been coughing so much and we will need to monitor your breathing very closely which means you are not to exert yourself in any way. You are not to leave this bed until I give you leave." He senses my growing ire at his words and he wags a finger at me. "Your recovery is going to be a lengthy one, Legolas. You must resign yourself to that. You are going to be weak for several days to come and will need to get plenty of rest and to do exactly as you are bidden by those who have your care in their charge."

I cannot help the pout that appears at this. Rest and medication are neither prescriptions that I am too fond of hearing about, but presently even I know that I cannot do much more than accept my fate. But I am sure I will soon be well enough to argue and argue successfully that such restrictions will be unnecessary. And if I cannot then I will find a way round them for I know the celebrations are due to begin in a couple of days and I intend to be there when they do.
However telling either Aragorn or Gimli about my determination would only lead me to being further restricted or guards being placed at my door again and in truth even I realize that I am in need of rest now.

So instead of arguing I nod and then try to turn the subject to how I come to be in this predicament at all.

Seeing the flash in both my minder's eyes I wonder if perhaps I should have kept silent on this as well but it is too late now and I resign myself to what is likely to be a thundering scold from Gimli.

He does not scold but states quite baldly. "You took in the poison, made from Death cap mushrooms by the way when you drank the sweet cider those men you befriended at the Black Swan."

"But they helped me to enter the race. They wanted me to win. They told me so." I expostulate.

"So you thought lad, but it was not the case at all. From what I have been told and managed to find out for myself after speaking with one of them last night- I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, but they were anything but your friends."

"But … but they welcomed me, Gimli. They showed no sign of animosity. I admit they were not the sort of persons I would like to be in company with for any time but to poison me? Why would they do so?"

Gimli and Aragorn exchanged glances and there is an almost imperceptible nod from the king. Gimli comes to sit on the edge of my bed and holds my hand comfortingly as he answers me.

"They set out to poison you because you are an elf, and they planned to do the same thing to the Queen."

I draw in a sharp breath at Gimli's words. I would argue with him but I can see he is serious in what he has said and a quick look at Aragorn tells me he is in accord with him.

My head falls back into the pillows. I am stunned, not just at the thought that someone might wish to do me harm because of my race.

No it is my pride, which has suffered a severe blow; I was so sure of my own superiority, my ability to 'lord' it over these 'mere mortals' who were threatening Arwen. My arrogance is well served it seems.
I cannot believe I was so easily taken in. How could I have been so stupid to allow myself to be caught up in these men's coils and then be used by them to attempt to hurt Aragorn and his queen?

My shock must show in my expression for Gimli pats my hand again concerned that the news he has given me about the poisoning attempt is what has caused my consternation.

"Here now, maybe I should not have told you, for you are looking as white as a sheet."

I manage a tremulous smile "No I am glad you have done so. It was needful for me to know, but I am a little tired now and perhaps I will sleep for awhile and we can talk again later."

"Aye, we will do so. Sleep then I will be here when you wake."

I close my eyes obediently for it will save me looking at the anxious faces of my two friends because I cannot face them any longer.