A/N Well, good thing that the FF got the error fixed that was showing up a few days ago! Otherwise you would have had to wait even longer, and that wouldn't be fun. :)

Disclaimer: not mine.

Chapter Three

Thranduil didn't wait for the messenger to finish his sentence, but took off with a hidden speed that Aragorn didn't see coming, even though he had seen the king in action before. He dropped his herbs he was holding and looked at the messenger, spring to his feet.

"What about Legolas?!" he demeaned, fumbling in his sudden rush to pick up his herbs and prepare his potion. Grabbing a small vile he began to shake it vigorously before upending into the bowl. His hands were shaking.

"From what I could tell, the prince wasn't, or couldn't breathe," the clearly young elf said softly, moving to stand behind Aragorn. He watched him work intently, his eyes narrowing as the man spooned part of his creation into a flask and began to swirl it. "What's that?"

Aragorn looked up, impatience wearing lines into his face. "Something to help the ill elves," he said with more harshness then he had intended. But if Legolas had stopped breathing… Slamming the flask down, he added a pitch of greyish powder.

"My father is sick."

The words cut deep and Aragorn found his hands slowing of their own accord, his face softening.

"We are doing all we can." Turning to look at the young elf with new eyes, Aragorn saw the fear hovering just under the surface, the desperation for everything to turn out all right. At a loss of what to say, he fumbled with his words for a second. He needed Legolas; this was what Legolas was good at. He was quiet, but he always knew what to say. "Have hope, we will find what we need, and then we will cure your father," he finally managed, giving a wan smile. The young elf smiled slowly, and the turned back to the door.

"Please hurry," he said in parting. Aragorn raised his hand, trying to throw off another reassuring smile. Snagging a chunk of brown substance, the human healer dropped into the flask and raised it to the light. Dipping his finger in, he sampled it, smiled, and corked the flask.

Taking off at a run, Aragorn clutched the bottle tightly. He flashed through the stone hallways and past elves. Taking a sharp right, he skidded, regained his balance, and jumped up to the third step on a narrow flight of stairs. Turning into the corridor he wanted, he slowed down to an anxious walk.

He slipped into Legolas' room just in time to hear Thranduil declare angrily that he "would not see it happen again." The king and the healer were standing in the middle of the room, and Thranduil seemed to be taking his frustration out on the later. The healer, for his part, took it meekly and patiently.

He made a beeline for the bed where Legolas was laying frightfully still.

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked softly, not wanting to wake the prince if he had managed to drift off, but at the same time he needed to see some sign of life. He sat the flask down on the bedside table, and eased himself onto the edge of the bed. The prince's puffy eyelids flickered and his heart leapt.

"Estel…is…is…?" Legolas rasped out with an almost nonexistent voice. His wheezing was pronounced and it was with clear effort that he managed to raise his eyelids enough to look up. With an exhausted sigh, he let them slip shut again just missing the man's smile.

"I heard you were giving the poor healer trouble." Aragorn reached out, grasping the prince's hand in both of his. His skin was hot and dry beneath his touch.

"It…noth….ing…" Legolas reasoned slowly, a smile twitching his lips.

"I didn't sound like nothing to me," Aragorn rebuked gently, examining the elf's ashen face. His lips were tinted blue, he wasn't getting enough air. "You about stopped my heart, please, please, don't do so again."Picking up the flask he yanked the cork out and was reaching to pour some of it in glass when a feeble tug on his sleeve made him look down. Legolas had worked up the effort to open his eyes again, and he met the man's in a pleading manner.

"Don't…don't let…Ada…take it…out…not healer…fault," he managed between gasped breathes as Aragorn learned closer to catch the faint words. He coughed half-heartdly once, as if still trying to clear his lungs, but the motion appeared painful and he stopped.

"Let me take care of you first, and then I will." The man lifted the elf's head off the pillows and brought the glass to his chapped lips. "Just sip, now. Take it slow."

"Ada," Legolas reminded after he had managed the small amount of brandy colored liquid. Aragorn nodded, twisting to look over his shoulder.

"Legolas wants to speak to you, Thranduil," he called and almost instantly the king moved back to the bed. Aragorn stood, allowing the elf to take his place, and began to converse silently with the healer, expressing his acknowledgment that there was nothing the other healer could have done to prevent the occurrence.

Thranduil rose from the bed, declaring as he did so, "Legolas sleeps. I also must get back to my duties. I assume one of you will stay here."

"I want to distribute this." Aragorn pointed at the flask on the table, his mind jumping back to the young messenger from before. The healer glanced around.

"I can stay," he volunteered.

"Good," Thranduil strode forward and out the door, closely followed by Aragorn.

THEHANDSOFAHEALER

Aragorn bent down next to a young, female, warrior who had recently be brought into the healing halls with the spider venom coursing through her vein.

"I've got some medication for you, alright?" he soothed easily with a comforting smile. The elf looked at him, and then glanced around the room wildly.

"Where am I?" she slurred, the white around her eyes growing with terror.

Aragorn sighed. He knew what the problem was, it had happened with almost every other elf he had tried to help. "You are in the healing halls, at the palace."

"No…no, it, it…where are the elves?!" She tossed her head feverously to the side and Aragorn quickly backed up, motioning for another healer to come take his place, an elven one. Humans weren't a common occurrence in Thranduil's halls and the elves were struggling to come to terms with his unexpected appearance in their lives. If they hadn't been confused and frightened from the fever, Aragorn thought that most of them would let him treat them but in their current state, it wasn't going over well. Most of the time they thought he had kidnapped them.

Sighing, he rubbed at the back of his neck and looked across the crowded room. Though the healing halls wouldn't have been deemed a happy place, there was no longer the deadly cast of despair to hang over them. The sounds of light chatting could be heard, and it was almost loud enough to drown out the wheezing. Aragorn's strengthening solution had worked wonders, and was a great blessing to the elves in their time of need. The poisoned elves, though still too ill to get out of bed, at least had the strength to sit and talk. Aragorn wasn't fooled by the outward appearance. Time was ticking; this was just the calm before the storm.

"Lord Estel?" Turning in surprise, Aragorn found the same messenger form a few days before standing behind him.

"Yes?" he asked, a frown darkening his features as his heart-rate picked up.

"This is for you." The messenger held out a letter in a slightly trembling hand. "It just arrived." He allowed the man to take it, and Aragorn grinned upon reading the inscription. The youth turned to leave, but Aragorn threw out a hand, blocking his path.

"Are you alright?" he asked with a low note of worry. The young elf before him was pale and wan, his eyes were red and black circles lined them. "Is your father doing well?"

"I… I am alright, but my father…he is not doing well," the elf whispered, bowing his head as his shoulders slumped forward. Gone was the curious youth from before replaced with a much older and world-weary elf.

"What is your name?" Aragorn asked kindly, lightly draping an arm around his shoulders and leading him away.

"Arandur," he mumbled, "Arandur Arminasion." Aragorn nodded, processing the information.

"Alright, Arandur, I have two things I need you to do for me," he said, squeezing his shoulders lightly. "First off, have hope. We are working as fast as possible. Second, under my orders go take a break, go see your father."

Arandur looked up at him, wonder coming back into the dark eyes.

"Hannon-le, hir-nin," he whispered, rather shakily, and left.

Aragorn watched him go, rubbing his chin lightly and frowning, before also leaving the healing halls. Holding the letter tightly in one hand, he walked briskly towards Legolas' room. As he rounded the staircase that would lead to the royal halls, he heard a soft sound and looked up. Sighing exasperatedly, he tucked the letter away again and jammed his hands on his hips.

"Legolas," he growled shortly in frustration. His began to tap his foot as he glared up at the prince. Legolas was leaning against the railway, grasping it tightly to stay upright as he looked down at the human. "What did I tell you?" Taking the steps two at a time he reached the prince's side and grabbed his arm before he could fall. "We went over this yesterday! You are in no condition to be up and walking around." He encircled the elf's waist and pried his fingers free for the handrail.

"I want to see my warriors," Legolas protested stubbornly, trying to retain his hold. His words were broken off in a deep cough that sounded just as painful as before, almost as if it was tearing his lungs out form the inside.

"Not today, Legolas," Aragorn said gently as he succeeded in pulling the elf away and attempted to stir him back down the hall.

"No." Legolas shook his head, glancing over his shoulder and down the stairs. He half-heartedly tried to pull in the other direction, but Aragorn's currently much stronger grip kept him going in the opposite direction. "But…"

"No 'buts', Legolas. You should be in bed, you should be resting. Just because you are doing better doesn't mean you can pretend you are fine. Why I ever let you out of my sight for more than a minute is beyond me."

Taking it slow, they walked back towards the far room with Legolas leaning more and more of his weight against the human. About half-way down the hall his legs buckled and a strange sound left his lips as he stumbled badly, but Aragorn swift reflexes pulled him back upright.

"Here, sit," the man said hurriedly as he watched the blood rapidly drain from his friend's already pale face.

"No…I'm—"

"You are not fine!" Aragorn hadn't meant the words to come out quit as loud or as frustrated as they did and he sighed, pinching the bridge of nose as Legolas looked away. "Listen, Legolas, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped, but you have got to admit that you are not fine."

Legolas sighed, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. The world was been spinning around him in a sickening way, and Aragorn wasn't helping matters at the moment.

"Sometimes…," he began softly, "sometimes I have to be fine. Sometimes, it helps." Aragorn's brow crinkled in mild confusion and Legolas shook his head. The fever was making his tongue loose, looser then it usually was for even Aragorn or his father. "If I say I am fine, then I am fine. If I admit I am not, then, well, it doesn't help." He glanced over at his companion, trying to gauge his reaction.

"Mind over matter," Aragorn said, a low chuckle leaving his lips. He patted the elf's arm and Legolas relaxed, coughing lightly into the crook of his arm. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head wearily against the human's shoulder, but the man shifted abruptly.

"Oh, no, Legolas. Don't you go to sleep just yet, otherwise I will be forced to carry you to your room and we both know how that would go over." The human jostled the elf, before sliding to his feet and bracing the elf's shoulder so he wouldn't fall over. "It isn't that farther to your room, can you make it?"

Legolas nodded in true Legolas fashion and held out his hand, which Aragorn ignored and instead shifted his hands under the elf's armpits. Hefting him up, he allowed the elf to clutch him for a moment as he gained his footing . His face was still dreadfully white and Aragorn slowed his steps to a slow shuffle, forcing Legolas to do the same.

Reaching the door, he braced the prince against the wall long enough to open it before leading the elf in.

"Do you want to sit down?" he asked once they were over the threshold. A low fire was smoldering next to the couch and during good hours, Legolas would usually request to sit there instead of lying on his bed. To his surprise, Legolas shook his head.

"I-I think I need to lay back down," he admitted without looking at Aragorn. His little adventure had taken more out of him then he cared to say. His breathing rate was increasing, and with it the wheezing.

"Of course," Aragorn said fluidly as his stomach dropped. They needed the antidote more than ever, or the elves strength would not last. "Now, you aren't going to try and make it out of bed again without help?" He suddenly understood what the elf had meant before about 'being fine' as abrupt yearning to install even the idea that Legolas having more strength then he did filled him.

"I can't make any promises," Legolas answered as the man lowered him to sit on the bed. He let himself fall back and his eyes fluttered closed.

"I wouldn't believe you if you did," Aragorn snorted, the healer in him overpowering and he began to draw the light, silky, blankets over him.

"Don't fuss, Aragorn…" Legolas pushed the man's hands away from him, frowning as Aragorn only proceeded to take his temperature. "Estel," he moaned in protest.

"Oh, alright." Snorting slightly, he moved back.

Not to the man's surprise, but a little bit to his dismay, it didn't take Legolas long to slip off into an exhausted slumber. His mouth remained partial open to gain maximum intake of air, and it wasn't long before the raspy and wheezing increased. He was beginning to hate that sound more than he did screams or cries of agony. It was like death was enforcing a creeping attack rather than coming straight out.

Sitting down on the arm of the chair, Aragorn took the letter out of his pocket and ripped it hurriedly open, noting as he did so that it was Elladan's scrawl instead of Elrond's strong hand. As he began to read, his face slowly fall and darkened. He slumped back against the side of the chair, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. Elrond was not going to be coming anytime in their near future.

Elladan had written that though they had wrote an urgent letter to Lothlorien, Elrond had yet to receive it. The twins didn't think that Elrond would be returning to Imladris any time soon, and not in time to save Mirkwood, even if he did race there once he knew. They would have to fend for themselves or come up with another solution.

TBC...

Oh dear. Elrond, hurry it up! Mirkwood needs you!

Review Replies:

Idon'tliketoast: Haha! Ah, yes, me and my evil cliffes. This ending was near as bad, though. But I do love them, rather too much. I love to be hated in the fashion, by the way. ;) Thanks!

ElvenPrincess: No, he does not! I love it when his softer sides comes out. :) Well, at least Legolas survived. Thanks!