Chapter 22

"Legolas…Legolas, wake up, mellon-nin…"

Legolas groaned, his mouth opening slightly, and he squeezed his eyes together as if refusing to open them.

"Come on, Legolas, I know you're awake."

Legolas opened his eyes a slit and closed them again immediately as they were blinded by the light. He opened them again, more slowly this time, and squinted until they adjusted enough to let him see Elrond leaning over him.

"Elrond…" he murmured, not feeling as if he recovered any strength whatsoever even though it was like he had been sleeping for years.

"Legolas. I'm sorry for waking you, but you need to eat."

"Not…hungry…" Legolas moaned, but Elrond was already putting a plate of food on his lap. He rolled his neck, which was extremely stiff from sleeping sitting up, but he supposed it was necessary. He shuddered at the thought of almost drowning in his own blood again. He looked around and saw that Elladan, Elrohir, and his Ada were in the room as well.

He reached out with a shaking hand to take the spoon and gritted his teeth in frustration as he lifted it and found it took every ounce of his strength.

Why was he so weak?

He lifted the spoon to his mouth and cursed inwardly as his hand shook so badly that the broth in it spilled on his chest and rolled down it.

"Here, let me help you—" Thranduil began, but Legolas cut him off.

"No!"

Thranduil flinched back, and Elrond and the twins also looked surprised. There was a moment of tense silence which Legolas finally interrupted with a soft apology.

"I'm sorry…it's just I am so tired of being weak all the time. I just want to be how I was before all of this happened…" Legolas murmured, and Thranduil's eyes softened as he realized that Legolas was not only talking about the sea-longing, but also about everything that happened with Cyras.

"You will be. These things just take time to heal, and you haven't had much. Just let us help you until you're all well again, then you can do all your independent…stuff," he finished, unable to think of another word for everything Legolas did. Legolas smiled weakly and put the spoon down. Thranduil reached to pick it up, but his son pushed his hand away gently.

"I'm serious. I'm really not hungry," Legolas said. Elrond frowned and put a hand on the young elf's forehead. The lines of worry on his face deepened.

"You're burning up," he told Legolas, who merely sighed in response and closed his eyes briefly. His hand slowly rose up to his chest, which he rubbed gently and winced. Elrond was interrogating him a moment later.

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, it just…aches a little," said Legolas, dropping his hand. He frowned as Thranduil took the spoon and held it up near his face.

"Come on, ion-nin. You've been asleep for three days. You need to eat."

"Three days?" Legolas said, and he was interrupted by a yawn at the end of the sentence. Elladan and Elrohir smiled at him.

"Yes," Elrohir said. "But if you're still tired, you can go to sleep after you eat."

Legolas frowned, going slightly cross-eyed as he looked at the spoon that Thranduil was still holding near his mouth. Sighing, he opened his mouth a little, and Thranduil took the chance to pour the broth in. Legolas swallowed slowly, and when he felt no nausea he took the next bite. He still wasn't hungry, but at least he wasn't feeling sick.

When all the food was gone, Legolas leaned back against the pillows surrounding him. He yawned again.

"Why am I even sick…in the first place?" he asked, his breathing becoming slightly more labored as he tried to stay awake. Thranduil looked at him and hung his head in embarrassment and shame.

"The sphere. It broke."

Legolas's eyes widened, and he looked at Elrond, who nodded his confirmation.

"Then…why am I not dead?" Legolas asked, and Thranduil gave a small laugh.

"Because you are too stubborn to die."

Legolas gave a small smile, which was interrupted by a fit of hacking coughs. The sound, which had a certain quality to it that made the twins cringe, echoed through the small room, and Legolas continued to cough into the crook of his elbow for almost a full minute, splattering droplets of blood on his skin. When he finally caught his breath again, he felt like he couldn't get enough air, and his breathing sped up.

"Legolas, calm your breathing," Elrond said and, though Legolas tried to, he could not do it. His breathing continued to get faster and faster, and he still felt the dizziness that came with oxygen deprivation.

"Legolas, I need you to calm down, penneth!" Elrond said, slightly startled at how fast the situation had spun out of control.

"Elrohir. Get over here. I need to get a tea…Quickly, Elrohir!" Elrond said, and the better healer of his two sons was over in a second. He immediately dismissed his father's snappy, impatient tone and decided it was merely stress, bordering on panic. As Elrond hurried away to the shelf near the window, Elrohir took Legolas's hand.

"Legolas. Legolas, look at me."

Legolas's wide eyes snapped to his, and Elrohir gave him a comforting smile.

"It's going to be alright, mellon-nin, I promise. Shhh…It's going to be alright."

Legolas's breathing slowed slightly, and Elrohir smile widened slightly. He took the blonde elf in his arms so that their chests were touching.

"You feel my breathing, mellon-nin?" Elrohir asked, and Legolas nodded into his shoulder. "Good. Try to match it. It will make you get more air, I promise."

Legolas slowly calmed down, and his eyes drifted closed into an exhausted sleep. There was a tense silence for a moment as Elrohir untangled himself from Legolas and lay the prince against the pillows again, tucking him in with affection glowing in his eyes.

An arm came around Elrohir's shoulders, and he looked up to see his father standing above him, pride shining on his face.

"Well done," Elrond said quietly, and Elrohir beamed up at him, feeling as if his heart would burst. It was not often that Elrond gave out praise, especially since Elrohir had become so advanced a student in the field of healing.

Elrond took the tea that he had been in the middle of making and put it discreetly on a shelf, in case they should ever need to knock Legolas out. He sighed as he remembered the realization he had come to when he had reviewed all of Legolas's symptoms in his mind.

"The White Plague," he said, turning to Thranduil. "That is what he has."

Thranduil looked at him, a confused expression crossing his face. Elrond realized that he didn't know what the White Plague was, but that was to be expected, since it was typically a disease that was more widespread among men. He had only seen a couple of cases of it within elves in his entire long life. Most of what he knew about the disease was from humans.

"It's a disease of the lungs. The only known cure is a surgery, but that is usually done on the form that is transmitted through the air. Legolas got it through infection…it makes the surgery much more risky," Elrond said. "But if we don't do anything, he will die."

"Do it. Do it now!" Thranduil said, his voice resolute, though louder than usual because of his nervousness. He could not do nothing and let his son die.

He could not.

"I'm afraid that isn't for you to decide," said Elrond, and Thranduil's mouth opened slightly so he looked like a gaping fish in surprise at the sudden statement from Elrond. He closed his mouth, his eyebrows turning up slightly in confusion and anger at the sudden contradiction, and he opened his mouth again to speak, but Elrond held up a hand, effectively silencing him.

"It's Legolas's decision, Thranduil. As young as he may be, he is wise and mature beyond his years. It is his choice to make."

Thranduil paused for a moment, and then his face relaxed slightly to be as calm as he could get it to be with his son's life on the line. Then a thought struck him. He had assumed that Legolas would choose the surgery; and he would have, before all of this happened. But now, if he were in Legolas's place, he had no idea what he would do in Legolas's place. With the sea-longing and the inborn desire to be with his beloved Nana, maybe he would want to die, just to get there as fast as possible and to see her. He looked at his son's sleeping face and silently hoped that he would agree to at least have a chance to live.

All he could do was wait.

A/N: Please forgive me for the slow update! I had severe writer's block for some reason! D:

The White Plague, in reality, is another name for tuberculosis. Though TB can be treated by drugs today, it can also be treated by surgery if it resists the drugs. Since they don't have the medicine we have today, I am assuming that in Middle Earth the only cure would be surgery. TB is mostly transmitted through the air, but in very, VERY, rare instances, it can come through infection. So all of Legolas's symptoms are those of a real disease, because I thought that would be kind of cool.

Question: If you were Legolas, what would you choose?

Please review!