The War of Light and Shadow

By Freddie23

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Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

A/N: Thanks for all your reviews. 300! That's just amazing. So, here's the next chapter for you. Enjoy.

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Chapter 38 – Cold Comfort

Aragorn awoke, to his surprise, to find Legolas' voice filling his mind. He blinked rapidly to clear the sleep from his eyes, idly wondering when exactly he had succumbed to his tiredness, and looked over to his side to his where his mentor laid. The flickering orange light cast out by the fire was such that Aragorn could tell immediately that Legolas was sleeping, not awake as he had expected. More alert now, Aragorn shifted up onto his knees and peered over Legolas to find the Elf shifting restlessly beneath his rumpled blanket, his face pale, brow creased, as if in great pain or discomfort.

"Legolas?" Aragorn called, placing his hand on the Elf's arm to gain his attention. However, Legolas did not react to either his voice or his touch. "Legolas, what is wrong?" It was a stupid question, he knew for Legolas did not seem capable of answering, but he was now desperate for his guardian to acknowledge him, to tell him that all was well and that there was no cause for concern. No such reassurance was forthcoming. He laid his palm against Legolas' forehead, glistening with a feverish sweat, to find it burning with fever, so hot that he withdrew his hand immediately. "Oh! Don't worry. I'll get a healer. I'll be right back."

As he had expected, and as Legolas had warned him earlier, dragging a healer away from the mass of patients still laid out around the hall of Helm's Deep proved extremely difficult. So far he had attempted to persuade no less than six different healers to come with him with absolutely no joy from any of them. Each one had brushed him off, telling him that they were far too busy to be pulled away from their patients in the hall no matter what his condition.

"Aragorn?"

The boy looked around at the sound of his name being called and found Eomer getting up from where he had been sat on the floor beside a woman Aragorn presumed was his recently liberated sister. Consumed with concern for his guardian, Aragorn paid the Rohan man no further heed, instead once more trying to snag a passing healer, only to be once again ignored.

"Are you alright?" Eomer asked as he joined him, a frown marring his brow as Aragorn muttered a curse under his breath.

Sighing in frustration, Aragorn ground out, "I need a healer and no one will even stop to…" Even as he said this, another harried healer rushed past him, eyes lowered as if pre-warned about the youth running around the halls looking to drag one of them from their duties.

Eomer snagged Aragorn's arm to prevent him from chasing after one of them and asked in concern, "You need a healer? Why? Are you injured?" The thought that the future king had been hurt during the vicious battle – a notion by no means out of the question given the fights' ferocity and the man's youth and inexperience – surprisingly made Eomer's mind sing with concern.

Aragorn merely frowned at the man's renewed concern for him. Eomer had never been unkind to him but neither had he ever shown any particular regard toward him, so now, when he seemed genuinely concerned about his well-being, Aragorn felt rather baffled.

"No, I am fine," the young man answered quickly in spite of his confusion. "It's Legolas. He is hurt but I can't get a healer to…"

"Hurt? How?"

"In battle," the young man answered bluntly, although surely that had to have been obvious even to the dullest of Men.

"He never said when I spoke with him last night."

"No, well, he wouldn't, would he?" muttered Aragorn darkly.

"Is he badly wounded?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Disregarding the boy's sharp tone of voice, Eomer turned and called loudly to a young-looking healer rushing past them with an armful of dirty blankets. "You there!" The men and women of Rohan may have been able to ignore the strange young Ranger hassling them but they could hardly ignore their esteemed commander and the healer abruptly halted before him, giving the man her full attention. "Go with Aragorn. His guardian is in need of aid. You are to do all you can to help him. Is that understood?"

"Sir," the woman looked around herself at the packed hall, "I cannot possibly leave now; there are patients to be treated."

"Prince Legolas of Mirkwood is one of our most valuable allies in the fighting of this war and he is currently in need of your help. Go attend him and remain for as long as you are needed," Eomer commanded her shortly, not liking being talked back to when giving a direct order.

The woman's critical eyes flicked briefly towards Aragorn, who looked just as uncomfortable at the stern order as she did. She could not disobey Eomer though, so she nodded. "Very well, sir." To Aragorn she then said, "Show me the way."

"Thank you," Aragorn smiled at Eomer in thanks even as he led the healer from the hall.

"Eomer?"

Eowyn's soft voice attracted the man's attention away from the retreating king and back to his recovering sister. He knelt back down at her side where he had been ever since Legolas had strolled up to him and shoved her into his arms and took her bony hand softly with a smile. "All is well," he assured kindly. From beneath her mass of blankets, Eowyn smiled back at him and, bathed in the long-forgotten security of her brother's presence, let her eyes fall closed again.

OIOI

"That's it?" Aragorn demanded of the harassed-looking blonde woman ordered here by Eomer, who was now crouched awkwardly at his guardian's side. "That's all you're going to do?"

Tired of the boy's insistent pestering, hovering over her shoulder with criticisms and questions, the woman rose to her feet and turned to him sharply, wiping her wet hands on her ragged skirt. "As I have explained several times now," she ground out through gritted teeth, trying to maintain the patience that she was barely clinging to, "there is nothing more I can do for him."

"But…but you…" He gestured wildly, helplessly, in Legolas' direction. "You just wrapped a length of bandage around him and dumped a wet towel on his forehead. I could have done that! I did do that!"

Squaring up to the young man before her, the healer growled, "Well, then maybe you should consider becoming a healer yourself and you would have no further need to waste my time."

Before Aragorn could find a counter-argument, the healer fled from the room in anger, leaving him once more alone with his guardian. Sighing in resignation, the young man sat down again beside Legolas and took the cloth from his brow to refresh it with the cool water. Whilst the healer had done nothing really to help Legolas – he was no better off now than before the woman had come in with such reluctance, stripped off Aragorn's own bandage and replaced it with another, muttering all the while about time-wasters – Aragorn found that he was at least mildly reassured by her flippant attitude, for surely if she was not so worried as to haul Legolas over to the healing hall immediately, then his condition couldn't be anywhere near as bad as it looked.

As he replaced the damp cloth to Legolas' fevered brow, Aragorn heard the Elf mutter something utterly incoherent and he felt his stomach flip over in sudden fear. Never before had he been in this position, watching his guardian whilst he was so terribly vulnerable. It scared him, he realised.

OIOI

Legolas tried hard to open his eyes, he really did. But it seemed to be just too difficult. His eyelids felt like they had been stuck together, unwilling to open to the dark world where pain and loneliness ruled. Feeling that it was probably easier to remain in comforting black oblivion, Legolas let the surroundings, teetering precariously on the edge of his awareness, fade away again. Perhaps he would wake later, when the fire raging through his body had dampened to a more acceptable level.

As his consciousness started to slip from him again, however, a familiar voice drifted over him and he frowned slightly at the sound. Achingly familiar though it was, Legolas found it difficult to accurately place. The words were, too, unfamiliar to him or at least they seemed to be for he had not heard them spoken in an impossibly long time. The lilting speech was not that of the Humans – either Ranger or Rohirrim – nor of Erestor and Elrond in Rivendell and they were most certainly from somewhere in his past. Concentrating hard through the fog of his sluggish mind, Legolas tried to translate their meaning into Westron, which he had used so much over the past years that he now considered it to be his native tongue. He was pretty sure that it was not he who was being spoken to though, for the voice sounded detached, distant.

Whilst he was trying to work out the strangeness of all this new information coming at him, he felt a cold wetness over his hot brow and the unexpected sensation shocked him. He tried to shrink away from the freezing cold being applied to him but he could not go anywhere on the bed he realised he was laid out on. Shivering violently, he cried out for whoever was torturing him in this manner – perhaps, he wondered, it was Mandos himself and he was living his demise – to stop but even to him, his words sounded ridiculously garbled.

From close by this time, somebody hushed him and he relaxed back on the bed, for this voice was reassuringly familiar to him – Aragorn. A smile, weak and shaky, passed over his lips but even this minute action drained him. He wanted to assure the boy that he would be well but he hadn't the strength to speak even a single word.

Once more, he felt himself succumbing to sleep and he dropped gratefully into the darkness that invited him.

For what seemed like a long time, although he couldn't be sure that it wasn't mere seconds, things were so confused, Legolas knew nothing but darkness. When he again became aware of voices around him, he strained his hearing because the strange, foreign voice was back, closer to him this time and he was intrigued by it. Opening his eyes proved more successful upon his second try. Unfortunately, the moment he managed to pry them open, with sheer force of will, he was forced to immediately snap them shut again as brilliant daylight unlike anything he had seen since that fateful day when Sauron took control over all Middle Earth dazzled him.

A moan, soft and frustrated, left his dry throat and he shifted in the bed he was…

Bed? His fuzzy mind recalled Aragorn helping him to lie down on the cold hard floor of the dark room in the heart of Helm's Deep but he couldn't remember there being a bed at any point during his recent travels. In fact, he hadn't slept in a real bed for decades. And yet now, he was warm, his fuzzy and aching head pillowed on a soft, deep cushion of fine, clean fabric and soft feathers, smelling strangely of the freshness he associated with the forests of old.

"Legolas?" The strange voice was calling his name softly now, even closer than before and he stiffened at the sound.

Before he could make sense of any of this though, the intrusive cold he disliked so much was replaced upon his brow, stealing his concentration away from the problem at hand and he whimpered again, shuddering at the sensation. Then, as if by magic, the chill was suddenly replaced by overwhelming warmth, seeping through him and chasing away the biting cold. A sigh escaped him without him realising and although comforting sleep called to him, he remained intrigued enough about where he was and who the mystery presence at his side was to push the sensation to one side.

More cautiously this time, Legolas opened his eyes, blinking several times at the unnatural light.

One thing he was immediately certain of: this was not Helm's Deep. Stone surrounded him but it was not the dark, dank, rough stone of the Deep but rather white and splendid, fairly shining with warm light.

In fact, it occurred to Legolas that this place looked so…very much like home.

Warmth engulfed him at this unexpected realisation and it had little to do with the thick blankets he was swaddled in. Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes and he made no attempt to stop them for they were not of grief but of peace. He wanted to get up, to explore this place that brought him so much peace, to confirm what his foggy mind suspected to be true, but he barely had the strength to move his heavy limbs so didn't think that walking would be a good idea any time soon. When he experimentally, just to be certain that he was indeed bed-bound as he feared, lifted his arm, freeing it from the blankets, red hot pain raced through his body, leaving him panting for breath and drenched in sweat. Such a little movement could render him so ill in this place of old light. It did not make any sense.

Legolas closed his eyes against the dizziness that assailed him and waited for the pain to subside and for the world to cease spinning nauseatingly. As he regained his breath, that now familiar peace washed over him again. Immediately, all the pain and disorientation left him and he relaxed, basking in the warmth. Smiling once more, Legolas allowed himself to relax back into the blissfully soft bed, content for the time being to remain where he was.

There was no doubt in his mind now from where this strange warmth originated.

How desperately Legolas wanted to force his eyes open, to look upon that which he missed the most of all and yet he simply could not make his body respond to his mind's pleading.

A gentle hand was then laid against his forehead, warm and soothing and strong, a touch so very full of love. The contact made him want to weep.

Despite the fire of pain that lapped at the edges of his consciousness and threatened to overwhelm him at the slightest movement, Legolas slowly raised his hand from where it rested limply on top of the fine silken bed sheets, seeking the source of comfort he knew to be so close by. He knew it lingered so close, touching him even, and yet he found that no matter how hard he tried he could not touch it back. His hand met only with empty space.

With no success in finding the insubstantial presence that waited with him, and tiring rapidly, Legolas let his hand fall back down, palm resting over his heart as if to ease the disappointment that prickled the tortured organ. So close. He was so close and yet he could not reach.

But he was so terribly tired. He desperately wanted to remain alert, to be absolutely sure that the blissful feeling would not leave him alone again. And yet, before he knew it, his senses were slipping away from him and icy darkness descended once more.

OIOI

Aragorn rubbed at his eyes tiredly then, as he stifled another yawn, he looked back to where his guardian laid quietly. For the first time in three long days, Legolas was settled. The Elf still seemed fevered, his cheeks flushed, sweat sliding down his temples to dampen the bunched up jackets stolen from any soldier Aragorn had seen passing by the room, serving as his pillow. But he was no longer tossing and turning violently beneath the blankets as he had been previously, which was a relief to Aragorn.

After sitting up with his guardian during his illness, the man too was exhausted but he would not leave, not whilst Legolas remained so unwell.

Shifting onto his knees, Aragorn bent to remove the damp cloth from Legolas' forehead and refreshed it in the bowl of cold water laid next to him for just such a purpose. Legolas stirred at the cold sensation, tossing his head to the side, lips parting in a soft, low groan. Holding his breath in anticipation, Aragorn waited for the Elf to return to sleep, relieved that he eventually did, remaining undisturbed it seemed by the action.

"How is he?"

Aragorn looked around to find Kinnale stood in the centre of the room. Despite his sudden appearance, Aragorn was not startled. The Ranger had hardly been a stranger these past few days and Aragorn was always grateful for his confident presence amidst all the uncertainty.

"A little better, I think. He is sleeping at last."

"That's good." Kinnale came closer and crouched at Aragorn's side. "He has some more colour in his face now; not quite so pale."

"Yes."

As if their voices had gotten through the delirium to Legolas in his fevered state, the Elf shifted and muttered the only full word he had spoken over the last three days. "Ada."

Kinnale sighed heavily at this, tilting his head as if trying to work out what it meant. "Still no idea what he's talking about?"

"Not a clue."

Looking to the Elf with sympathetic eyes, the commander asked, "Aren't you worried that he's saying, I don't know, 'help' or 'pain' or something in his own language?"

"Yes, I am. Greatly worried."

"Ada," Legolas repeated maddeningly unhelpfully in a whisper before settling once more with a deep sigh.

"I really wish I could speak the language of the Elves," Kinnale said, echoing Aragorn's very thoughts in that moment.

"Legolas never thought it necessary to teach me. I don't know why."

"Could have proved useful right about now."

Honestly, Aragorn didn't know why Legolas had never bothered to teach him his native language nor why he had never thought to ask the Elf to do so. He remembered way back when he had first met Legolas, as he was trying to drag his father away from the vicious Orcs who the then stranger was distracting, the Elf had spoken words to him that he didn't understand and he'd stood staring up at his heroic saviour in awe and confusion. Then Legolas had corrected himself, repeating the command in confident Westron, the common language of Men. At that time, Aragorn had remembered being intrigued by the beautiful-sounding words and yet he had not pressed Legolas to teach him.

Only one other time had Legolas spoken his native language before his ward and that had been to Erestor in Rivendell. Even that, Legolas had stopped quickly, demanding that Erestor speak in the Common Tongue too. Aragorn had never questioned that decision either. He wondered now, listening to words he could not understand, whether it ever frustrated Legolas that he never had the opportunity to speak in his own language or whether the exiled Elf preferred it that way.

"You want me to stay with him for a while?" Kinnale asked softly, breaking into Aragorn's thoughts.

"No, I should stay."

Kinnale got to his feet with a groan and pulled Aragorn up as well. "You know fully well that Legolas would be furious if he thought you were running yourself into the ground for him."

Looking down at his mentor, Aragorn argued, "He never left my side the last time I was injured."

"True. But then, you are far more sensible than your mulish guardian," the Ranger chuckled, leading the boy to the door. "Go get some sleep in your own room. I'll watch over Legolas, make sure he has all he needs in your absence." Aragorn opened his mouth in order to protest again but Kinnale spoke over him. "And I'll come and get you if his condition worsens or if he wakes." Going to close the door on the younger man, Kinnale added kindly, "He'll be fine in the meantime, child."

With an uncertain nod of agreement from the young Aragorn, Kinnale closed the door on him, leaving him no choice but to return to his room next door to rest.

Sighing, the Ranger returned to where Legolas lay oblivious to all going on around him and looked down at the ailing Elf in concern. Still and quiet, Legolas seemed so very small now. Standing so tall and proud normally, it was odd to see the Elf laid out so vulnerable. How frightening this must have been for Aragorn. The Ranger got the distinct impression that this was not a position Legolas often let his ward see him in. In fact, Kinnale imagined that Legolas would be absolutely mortified that Aragorn, or anyone else for that matter, had seen him this way. Being a proud man himself, Kinnale could sympathise with that.

As he watched the slow rise and fall of Legolas' thin chest beneath the blanket, Legolas murmured the same word again, 'Ada', and shifted position as if in discomfort.

Realising that he'd been so busy staring at the Elf that he had neglected his duty, Kinnale got down on his knees and changed the cloth on Legolas' brow for a fresh one. At the gesture, Legolas released a half- sigh, half-whimper and turned his face away in disgust from the intruder upon his peace.

"I'm sorry," Kinnale said softly to the disturbed Elf, even though he didn't think Legolas could hear him.

Of course, Legolas didn't answer but he did turn his face back to the Ranger, eyes closed tight, and mumbled something else unintelligible. From under the blankets, Legolas' hand reached out weakly towards Kinnale, although the man couldn't be sure that Legolas knew that it was the commander he was reaching out for. Indeed, in his fevered state it was unlikely he even knew anyone was with him. Yet, Kinnale caught his hand, squeezing gently and Legolas gripped him weakly back.

A faint smile came to Legolas' lips then. Contented, Kinnale thought. Perhaps, the man mused as he gently held Legolas' frail hand in his own, 'Ada' was not a bad word after all, because now Legolas breathed it in relief.

"I hope that is a good dream you're having, Legolas."

OIOI

Everything felt so heavy. Arms, head, legs. His whole body felt as though it were pinned to the hard wooden floor on which he was laid by a solid mass. He felt cold but was no longer shivering for which he was grateful as the unpleasant sensation had followed him even into sleep and left him feeling weak.

For an indeterminate amount of time, Legolas felt as though he had been in another place, removed from reality, unsure even of what reality was, and it had left him feeling utterly confused as he surfaced from what had been the first true, deep sleep he had enjoyed in decades.

As he slowly surfaced from the fog, Legolas realised he wasn't even certain of where exactly he was. His last memory had been of walking the still battlefield with Kinnale and Kalub, searching for Human survivors in the wake of the chaos at Helm's Deep.

Rohan. Yes, that was right, he was in Rohan. But where exactly in the Deep he was still unsure.

He remembered a warm bed, sunlight, dazzling and yet at the same time tremendously comforting, and that enigmatic, beautifully peaceful presence he had felt so intensely loved by. And yet he also remembered the dark, dank halls and rooms of the Deep just as vividly. How could things become so very jumbled in his mind?

At least the pain that had plagued his dreams was lessened here. A dull throbbing still pulsed through his weakened body but it was by no means unbearable. The most irritating discomfort at present resided in his back. The floor on which he was laid was horribly hard and it was making his back ache fiercely to lie flat on it. Perhaps if he could shift over onto his side then he would be more comfortable. Finding the energy to make such a move proved more difficult than he could have anticipated though.

OIOI

"Legolas? Can you hear me?" Aragorn asked eagerly as his guardian stirred again. After four days of Legolas remaining completely unresponsive to all stimulus around him, the man was excited to at last see his guardian stirring. "Legolas?"

Aragorn watched as the Elf shifted again, this time leaning to his side with a soft moan of what sounded like frustration. He frowned in concern. Was Legolas in pain?

Laying his hand against Legolas' arm, Aragorn pointlessly asked him, "What is wrong?"

Aragorn bit his lip in concern as another slow release of breath escaped Legolas. Thankfully, he was given a small clue about what his guardian was trying to do as, after another minute, Legolas once again leaned to his side, this time trying to shuffle into a different position.

Aragorn could have kicked himself for being so stupid as not to realise something so simple. Holding Legolas' arm as he struggled weakly to move to a more comfortable position, Aragorn called over his shoulder to Eomer and Kinnale, who were stood talking quietly in the doorway. Both looked over suddenly.

"What?" Kinnale demanded urgently, hurrying over to Aragorn's side, not bothering to disguise his alarm, thinking that Legolas' condition had suddenly worsened. "What's wrong?"

"Can you help me?"

Even though he was still in the dark over what was happening, Kinnale did as asked, getting to his knees beside the younger man.

"He is uncomfortable. He wants to lay on his side," Aragorn explained as he folded the blanket down a little way so he could slip his arm beneath Legolas' body in order to gently move him. "Just help me move him. I don't want to risk moving him on my own and hurting him more."

Carefully, the pair turned the Elf over onto his side, moving the blankets to ensure that Legolas was as comfortable as he could possibly be. Aragorn pulled the blankets back up to cover his guardian and stroked long blonde hair back from Legolas' face.

"Is that better?" Aragorn asked as his guardian settled again, more relaxed now it seemed. Legolas did not reply to him but the serene look that had settled onto his features was all the answer Aragorn really needed. The young man smiled, relieved that at least he could do this one small thing to ease his mentor's suffering.

"I'm not surprised he wanted to move; these floors are horribly hard," Eomer commented, kicking at the stone floor with the toe of his boot.

"Well, the Orcs burned everything of use, including all the beds and mattresses, so there's not much we can do," Kinnale pointed out. Upon discovering that Legolas had been seriously injured, Kinnale had been quick to send his Rangers on a hunt to find any useful supplies to aid in the Elf's recuperation but all they had found were some blankets stuffed away in an old, locked chest, hidden from the Orcs' purge of Helm's Deep's resources. So they had collected the blankets spared from the healers in one of the halls and made a layer soft enough for the unwell Elf to lay on. Even so, after four days spent on the thin layer of blankets it was no wonder that Legolas' back was aching.

"Hopefully, he'll wake soon, then maybe he'll be able to move down to the healing hall." As he spoke, Aragorn's eyes did not leave his guardian's face, passive now in sleep.

"Yes," agreed Kinnale as he got up from the floor. "We're going to check on things downstairs. Do you need anything else?" Aragorn shook his head so the Ranger and Eomer headed from the room with the reassurance, "We'll be back soon."

Once the door had closed behind the two older men, Aragorn bent his head. A muffled sob escaped his throat, followed swiftly by another. He pulled his knees up to his chin and hugged them, hiding his face in his knees. Alone now, he cried freely, confident that no one could see him.

He knew that Legolas was going to be alright now. Five different healers had assured him that once the fever broke he would recover and all would be well. It was not that which Aragorn feared. But the possibilities of what could have happened terrified him. If he lost Legolas then he would be all alone in this quest and he knew that he would not survive on his own. True, the Rangers and the Rohirrim were on his side, there for support but even his friends amongst these Men were not like Legolas; they didn't know all of his darkest fears and secrets and Aragorn didn't want them to know.

Legolas was his guardian, his tutor, his friend and the closest thing to a father he'd known for years. Without him, he would be utterly lost. And the fear inside him at the prospect physically hurt to acknowledge.

As he sat alone, crying and miserable, Aragorn did not notice blue eyes watching him blearily. It was only when pitifully weak fingers wrapped around his thin wrist that Aragorn's head snapped up.

"Legolas?" he asked, taking the Elf's cold, frail hand and holding it carefully. "Are you awake?"

Although Legolas' eyes had drifted closed by now, at the sound of Aragorn's voice, he smiled what he hoped looked to be a reassuring smile. In actual fact, it barely registered on deathly pale lips but it was all Aragorn needed and he laughed out loud in sheer relief.

"Legolas; thank heavens. You scared me half to death! Don't ever do that to me again." In response, Legolas could only smile weakly again. "The healers say you are going to be just fine. And even Eomer has been in here enquiring after you, that's how worried everyone's been."

This time, Legolas did not react at all and when Aragorn loosened his overly tight grip on his guardian's hand, he realised that the fingers he was gripping were completely lax. Legolas had fallen back into sleep. Disappointed though he may have been that his guardian had not spoken even a single word to him, Aragorn was also immensely relieved that at least for a short time, Legolas had been awake and aware. Finally his recovery seemed within sight.

To Be Continued…