The War Of Light And Shadow

by Freddie23

In a world changed by the rising of power in Mordor, Legolas gets entrusted with the life of a young boy. But he gets more than he bargained for as he must fight for his own life, for Aragorn's life and for the very future of Middle Earth. AU. Not slash. Complete.

41. The Pain Of Regret

The War of Light and Shadow

By Freddie23

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Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

A/N: Thanks so much for your wonderful reviews. I loved reading them. Here's a brand new chapter for you and I hope you enjoy it too.

OIOIOIOIOIOI

Chapter 41 – The Pain of Regret

Petulance was an emotional state that Aragorn had rather impressively mastered and refinedduring his life. Legolas mused upon this infuriating achievement he trudged behind Aragorn, who seemed intent on letting Legolas and everyone else around him know of his unwavering disapproval over Legolas' actions and words over the past week. Not that the Men were all that bothered by the coldness displayed towards the Elf. In fact the majority of them looked and acted very much as Aragorn did. They were angry at having to leave the recently regained fortress of Helm's Deep and most of that anger seemed to be directed towards Legolas rather than upon their respective commanders as was perhaps more reasonable. Over the past few hours he had been on the receiving end of some truly bitter looks and some poorly veiled words of disgust.

From the Men, Legolas could handle the censure but from Aragorn it still stung.

It had been three days since Legolas had told the squabbling commanders of the Rohirrim and Rangers that they were to leave Helm's Deep less than a week after capturing it from the legions of Shadow and things had not thawed much between Elf and Men in that time.

Despite their hesitancy at this plan though, both Kinnale and Eomer had agreed to leave their hard-gained conquest behind, pack up their wounded onto the sparse number of horses left standing and start on the long road to Gondor. They may have still been furious with the Elf for manipulating them as he had done but they could not deny that to stay at Helm's Deep and wait for the armies of Sauron to crush them for their boldness in starting a battle would not be the wisest of plans.

The journey so far had been thoroughly miserable for the Elf, however, and Legolas did not anticipate it getting any better in the near future. For a start, he was exhausted already even though they had only been walking for a few hours into the afternoon, and his side was in screaming pain from the exertion of his constant movement. The night before, Aragorn had snapped at him for even suggesting that he could easily walk on his own after being injured so badly in the battle, but of course Legolas had shouted him down once again. There was no way he was going to ride of horseback or be carried on a litter along with the rest of the injured Men. His pride would not allow for such a thing and besides he didn't need any more resentment.

Unfortunately, this only seemed to fuel Aragorn's anger towards him.

So, Legolas spent the beginning of the trip in almost complete isolation. The road to Gondor was not a short one and Legolas feared that the whole journey would be passed in very much the same discomforting way.

"Legolas?"

The Elf startled at his name being called. Evening was drawing in already and no one had spoken a word to him the whole day. "Ciaran, is everything well?"

"Yes, I was just relaying my report to my father. I thought perhaps you might like to hear it too."

Legolas smiled softly in the face of the boy's kindness. "Thank you, but I don't think I need to hear it as well. So long as everything is going well."

"It is. None of the wounded have worsened so far and progress is good."

"That is good to hear."

"Alright. Well, I should get back to my father." Legolas nodded his leave even though he really didn't think it was needed. The young man grinned at him then went to hurry forward to the commanders at the front of the party. In the past few hours, Legolas had fallen far behind his starting position beside Kinnale and Eomer. "Oh," Ciaran turned back as an afterthought, "and I thought you'd like to know that Kinnale plans to halt for the night soon."

Legolas smiled at him before he was swallowed up by the crowd but he could not disguise the look of sheer relief that also passed over his features. He had rather thought that the still miffed commanders would walk for a couple of hours then stop for the night – as Kinnale was want to do with his Rangers – but so far this day they had only halted once for lunch.

"Ciaran?" Aragorn called as the boy raced past him.

Skidding to an abrupt halt at the sound of his name, the commander's son turned to Aragorn and waited for the man to reach him. "Yes?"

"Did I see you speaking with Legolas just now?"

"Uh-huh," the young man nodded enthusiastically.

Aragorn glanced behind him, even though he could not see Legolas at all anymore through the mass of people between them. "Is he alright? Did he seem well?"

"I suppose. I only spoke to him briefly." Seeing the disappointment upon Aragorn's face at this, Ciaran offered, "Do you want me to go back and…?"

"No. No need. Thank you."

He smiled at his friend and the young man hurried off back to his father. Aragorn may have been furious at the Elf but he still remained concerned about the health of his guardian. He remembered vividly when they had first stumbled upon the Rohirrim, after fighting with the fearsome Wargs and how he had been so exhausted but unwilling to stand up to the intimidating Commander Eomer but Legolas had immediately braved Eomer's wrath and stepped in for his ward, covering for any insecurities on his part. Not once had Legolas abandoned him. Even when Aragorn had impetuously run away in anger, Legolas had come after him, saved him from the dangers all around in a world he didn't really understand at the time. Time after time, Legolas had proved himself to be strong and true.

And yet Aragorn could not forgive him one single transgression. How was that fair?

Just as the young man was about to go to Kinnale and ask him to stop for the night for the benefit of the injured, the commander called for them to halt anyway.

Torn between plonking himself sullenly on the ground and going off in search of his guardian, Aragorn dropped his pack to the ground and pulled out his blanket. He had been planning to lie down for a while, mull over his decisions for a time in the hope that an answer might spontaneously come to him. After less than ten minutes though his resolve broke and he shot up from his spot and made his way through the crowds.

It was an awful lot harder than he'd imagined to find Legolas. With Men milling around in relief at the pause in walking, soldiers moving about organising everyone and healers running about everywhere looking out for their patients, the camp was utter chaos. Aragorn wondered briefly whether Legolas had sought out the help of the healers by himself but just as quickly dismissed the thought. Never would the solitary Elf voluntarily seek out aid even if he was hurting.

Darkness had fallen before Aragorn at long last – and quite by accident – stumbled upon his guardian. One of the young Rohirrim had finally pointed Legolas out to him. The Elf was, much to Aragorn's surprise, sound asleep beneath his blanket, only the top of his golden head and booted feet visible from beneath the scrap of threadbare fabric.

Legolas had positioned himself as close to the edge of their large campsite as possible, purposefully separating himself from the other Men. Aragorn felt a pang of regret. How lonely Legolas must feel, so isolated and surrounded by people who made no effort to disguise their dislike of him.

Deciding that Legolas was probably thoroughly exhausted from the journey, he didn't wake the Elf from his slumber. In spite of wanting to sit and watch his guardian sleep, Aragorn made his way back towards where the Rangers were clustered together, still stubbornly separating themselves from the Men of Rohan despite all they had been through together.

"Cheer up, boy," Eomer greeted him, slapping Aragorn non-too-gently on the back.

Aragorn shot the man a brief smile but went straight to where his blanket was still laid out, untouched, and sat down heavily. Already the men had started up fires, over which they were now boiling water and cooking the small amount of meat caught on the road but Aragorn paid none of them any heed. Instead, he was pulling the contents of his heavy bag out; sorting through it to ensure everything was in order; just as Legolas had always taught him to do every night to make sure everything was where it ought to be just in case it was needed quickly in an emergency. An old habit, but one Aragorn found comfort in during times of unrest.

"Don't you want something to eat?" Ciaran asked as he passed by, pausing before Aragorn with a small bowl of weak, watery stew.

"No," Aragorn answered simply without even bothering to look up from his task.

"Aragorn," Kinnale called over to him loudly enough for all the other Rangers nearby to hear, "you need to eat something. Come get some food."

With an irritated sigh, the younger man stood up to accept the bowl into which Kinnale had ladled some of the weak broth. Nodding his thanks, Aragorn then returned to sit on his blanket to pick at his food disinterestedly. He couldn't help his mind drifting back to his guardian. Surely Legolas would not eat anything this night. But the Elf needed to keep his strength up – he was still recovering, after all. Worry niggled at Aragorn's mind and he found that what little appetite he had had now completely vanished. However, knowing that Kinnale was surreptitiously watching him and that to waste food was practically a crime given it was increasingly hard to come by, he finished off his meagre meal without complaint.

The night proved to be a disturbed one for Aragorn, just as he had predicted it would be. His mind would not stop whirring. Underneath his blanket he squeezed his eyes tightly shut and willed sleep to take him.

OIOI

Returning to Edoras, the Men of Rohan received a wonderful welcome from those left behind who had been too young, old or ailing to ride to Helm's Deep with the Rangers and warriors. What little food could be spared by the town was laid out in a splendid banquet and their strong homemade liquor was made readily available to all. Reunions were both joyful and sad as relatives and friends were told of the dead and reunited with their loved ones.

That evening was full of laughter, song and dance as the men and women of Rohan rejoiced at the well-fought victory at Helm's Deep. Aragorn could just as well have foregone the celebrations in favour of a quiet night of rest but he ended up being dragged along to the splendid party in the Golden Hall. A drink was thrust into his hand and he was encouraged by all to enjoy the rare festivities.

It proved more difficult than expected to enjoy all Edoras had to offer, even with the aid of the Rangers' potent alcohol to dull his senses.

Legolas had not showed up that evening. Not too surprising really. Aragorn doubted very much that his ostracised guardian had even received an invitation. He was probably completely unaware of the celebration going on.

Whilst Eomer and Kinnale, as commanders of the two victoriously returning forces of Men, were lavished with praise and attention by the adoring public, Aragorn sank gratefully into the background with his drink – doing that which Legolas would never have allowed: wallowing in his misery for a time. After a while of sipping at the throat-scorching alcohol, the world around him began to blur pleasantly and he picked up another cup of the liquid creating such a new and wonderful feeling within him from the main table. He downed the contents just seconds before a young woman, one of the Rohan warriors who he knew had fought at Helm's Deep, pulled him to his feet to dance to the music being played by a band on primitive but effective instruments.

Dancing – yet another skill Legolas had failed to teach him. Still, he was dizzy and detached enough that the way in which he moved his feet didn't seem to matter too much at all. And his partner didn't seem to mind either. She clung tightly to him as they danced frantically and without form, negotiating their way around the other couples on the floor, occasionally crashing into these unfortunate revellers, who, Aragorn realised, were dancing just as erratically as them.

Another drink was pressed into his hand and he downed it on the move despite the fact that it made his stomach churn and his head spin even more. The wooden cup clattered to the floor but he took no notice, instead laying his hands on the woman's slim waist and pulling her flush against himself. She pressed her body closer to his and nuzzled his neck with wonderfully soft lips. Meanwhile, his hands, growing ever bolder in the haze of frivolity, roamed freely over her toned body, taking in sensations that he had never experienced or even imagined before. With a high laugh, the woman slung her arms over Aragorn's shoulders and unexpectedly pressed a crushing kiss to his lips. Aragorn was so surprised by this foreign action that he just stood frozen to the spot as she continued to move her lips against his.

Far from being put off by his inactivity and inexperience, the young woman laughed brightly against him when she pulled back and then dragged the stunned young man back into the dance, deciding that his flushed red cheeks were simply adorable and an indication that he was enjoying himself. Dazed now, both by drink and the mix of unknown emotions, Aragorn followed mindlessly along.

The remainder of the night of festivities passed by in a blur. Aragorn by no means went unnoticed anymore. Women and men gathered around the young man rumoured to be their future king, encouraging him to enjoy the drink and entertainment on offer in the wake of the now infamous battle. And Aragorn did indulge. Never would Legolas have allowed such freedom; he would have insisted that the man be in bed early and not partake in the mindless frivolities of the party. But surely this was better, being surrounded by joyful people who actually liked him made him feel like he belonged and was not simply some freak, some tool to be used against the might of the Shadow.

At some point in the evening, although when exactly would remain forever unclear to the now very merry Aragorn, he found himself sprawled out before the roaring fire on a luxuriously soft fur with the young woman he'd been dancing with earlier next to him and another cup of potent alcohol in his hand. The world was deliciously blurry now and he felt so wonderfully mellow and warm.

"What are you doing?" he chuckled – or maybe he slurred it – as the young blonde woman trailed her hand down his front and slowly, seductively, began unbuttoning his ragged shirt.

"Just relax, Your Majesty," she purred at him, leaning up, kissing the side of his neck.

His eyes fell closed in pleasure at the warm sensation spreading through him. However, when he felt her deft fingers undoing the clasp of his belt, he looked down in surprise and fumbled to grab her wrist to halt her progress, clumsily spilling his drink on the fur and himself in his haste.

"Hey!" the young man exclaimed.

"Don't." The blonde woman smiled at him slyly and shook off his weak grasp. "It's alright."

"I…"

"Aragorn."

The young man and his eager partner immediately looked up at the sound of Kinnale's stern voice in front of them. The commander towered above them, his expression severe even though from the drink in his hands and the slight flush of his cheeks it was obvious that he had been enjoying this night as well.

Aragorn followed Kinnale's gaze and quickly snatched away the woman's hand, which still rested tellingly on his half-open trousers. He blushed crimson under his commander's scrutiny. This was worse even than getting caught by Legolas, he decided.

"Young lady, I am not your commanding officer but I nevertheless suggest that you get yourself off to bed now."

"Yes sir." She got up immediately and hurried away, moving carefully around Kinnale and not daring to glance back at the blushing, dishevelled Aragorn.

Meanwhile, Aragorn scrambled gracelessly to his feet, hastily doing up his trousers, buckling his belt and buttoning up his shirt. "Kinnale, I…"

When he lost his balance and staggered slightly, Kinnale reached out his hand to steady the obviously intoxicated boy. "I think you have had quite enough…entertainment for tonight. Perhaps you should retire to bed as well. Your own bed."

Aragorn nodded almost eagerly in agreement, not quite understanding Kinnale's stressing 'your own bed'. Where else would he sleep this night? As he tried to keep his focus on the commander stood before him, Aragorn desperately wished that the room was cease its spinning and that the people around him would keep still so he could regain his equilibrium.

"Can you find your own way back to your room?"

"Uh-huh. Yes, I think so."

"Alright. Go on then. No detours."

Nodding again, Aragorn slipped carefully past him and went to leave the hall.

The walk back to his room proved a perilous one. Not only did he feel dreadfully sick but the hallways swam horribly before his eyes and blinking did little but make him lose his balance and stumble against the stone walls. Eventually, he gave up trying to walk unaided and trailed his hand along the wall to steady himself as he blearily navigated the spinning corridors.

Mercifully, the room assigned to him was not too far away. Crashing through the door, Aragorn tried to steady himself by clinging onto the jamb for a moment until the dark room had steadied itself enough for him to stand and until he was capable of stumbling over to the mattress. Collapsing face-down onto the bedding, he closed his eyes, disappointed to find that the spinning refused to abate and that his stomach was close to rebelling. He longed for blissfully deep sleep to take him. That feeling that had been so pleasant earlier at the party had now turned bitterly against him and he wished for it to leave him now.

Aragorn turned his face to the side, the cool, rough fabric of the pillow providing his pounding head with some relief. Going to sleep was harder than he'd hoped but eventually he drifted off with the hope that in the morning it would all be better. He comforted himself with the reasoning that he couldn't possibly feel worse than he did already.

OIOI

"Come on, wake up now."

"Go away," Aragorn slurred into his pillow, hoping the command would force whoever was waking him with an unsociably loud voice and rough hand shaking his shoulder to go away and leave him to his sleep.

Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect. The hand shook him harder and the man, Kinnale obviously, called in a purposefully louder voice, closer to his ear, "Time to get up. You need to eat something."

Aragorn groaned at the mere suggestion of having food in his churning stomach. "Leave me alone."

"Trust me, you'll feel better after a good, hearty breakfast." Kinnale chuckled, this time taking Aragorn's arm and giving it a gentle but persuasive tug to persuade him up. "Come on now."

Sighing upon the realisation that Kinnale was not going to leave him be, Aragorn dragged himself up so he was propped up, squinting at the older man who had the most annoyingly smug smile on his face.

"Had a bit too much to drink last night, huh?"

"Shut up," moaned Aragorn, rubbing at his sore eyes.

"Alright," laughed Kinnale back, not offended by the grouchy tone. He had heard the like several times already this morning from suffering revellers. "Get changed into something more pleasant-smelling and come down to the dining room."

"Fine. I'll be there in a minute."

In actual fact, Aragorn had no intention of joining them for breakfast. His soft mattress and pillow beckoned him back towards them. Unfortunately, Kinnale wasn't going to allow that to happen. Upon seeing Aragorn going to move back on the bed, the commander dashed forwards and snatched up both Aragorn's pillows and blankets, bearing them away despite Aragorn's protests.

"No more sleep. Breakfast. Now."

"Alright," Aragorn snapped irritably, getting up, making sure Kinnale clearly saw his irritation.

"You can have your bedding back later."

Under his breath, Aragorn muttered something unintelligible as he bent to get clean clothes from his bag. The older man simply ignored what he supposed to be crude cursing, refusing to engage the young man any further.

Twenty minutes later, Aragorn was dressed and making his way to the dining room. Changing clothes had done little to ease the fuzziness in his mind, the pounding in his skull or the heaviness of his limbs and he doubted very much that eating was going to ease the churning of his stomach. In fact the very thought of consuming food made him feel ill.

Nevertheless, he was expected to attend breakfast with the other Men therefore he would do so.

The meal proved to be close to torture for Aragorn, just as he had expected it would be. Everyone wanted to speak to him after the ice had been broken last night but he really didn't feel like doing anything other than staring down at his plate and wishing the whole thing would end quickly so that he could drag himself back to his bed. Time, however, seemed to move excruciatingly slowly as he willed it to fly. By the time the Rangers and Men of Rohan filed out of the room, Aragorn was more than ready to spend the day sulking alone in his room. Before he could skulk out of the dining hall, trying to avoid Kinnale and Eomer as he did so, Aragorn felt his arm being snagged and he was dragged into a corner by a young blonde woman who seemed only vaguely familiar to him.

Smiling up at him, the woman said softly, "I had a good time last night. It's a shame we were so rudely interrupted, don't you agree?"

"I don't…" He was startled when the woman, whose name he had no idea of and whose face he could not quite place, draped her arms around his neck and pressed her firm body to his. Taking a sudden step backwards – and coming up against a solid wall – Aragorn put his hands up to halt her unprecedented actions. "I'm sorry; what are you doing?"

"Just…I thought…well, after what happened last night…"

"What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Aragorn shook his head in response to her disappointed question and her face fell and she retreated away from him a step. "Oh. You were a little…merry last night but…Well," she smiled although it didn't reach her eyes, "never mind. Last night was last night and today…" Shaking her blonde head, she started walking, calling behind her, "I'll see you around."

The young woman had hurried off long before Aragorn had recovered himself enough to call after her and asked for a better explanation of just what was going on. As he trudged down the corridors, his mind was spinning, this time with his thoughts rather than because of his post-celebration dizziness. He wanted to go back to bed and sleep off this horrendous headache but a deep ache had settled in the pit of his stomach instead. What had happened last night that had upset the woman so?

Confused as he was, it took the man a while to realise that rather than heading back to his rooms, he was instead aimlessly wandering around deserted hallways.

Pausing, Aragorn leaned back against the nearest wall, feeling the rough but wonderfully cool stone soothing the back of his neck. He tried to think upon the strange woman's obviously hurt words, on his own body's instinctive reaction to her closeness but every time he tried to grasp on one explanation it eluded him in its entirety.

With his head spinning and frustration and therefore impatience beginning to settle in, Aragorn came to a decision. One thing that he was certain about was that he needed a cool, more experienced opinion on all this. Regardless of what had recently transpired between them, Aragorn wanted his guardian.

Tracking Legolas down was not as easy as he had hoped. Personally, Aragorn had not seen Legolas in days and so had no clue where exactly in Meduseld the Elf was staying. The Rangers had no idea either and the Rohirrim proved just as clueless when he asked them. And all proved reluctant to help in the search for the Elf they believed had unforgivably betrayed them.

Frustrated and angry now, Aragorn strode through the halls until he reached where Eomer was staying. As Lord of Edoras, he must surely have known the location of the elusive Elf. Slamming into the room without pausing to knock, Aragorn found Eomer sat on the floor with maps spread in front of him.

"Where is Legolas?" Aragorn demanded of the commander without preamble.

"I'm sorry?"

"Legolas. I can't find him anywhere and no one will help me. Do you know where he is?"

Eomer shook his head, admitting, "I'm afraid I do not. I haven't seen him since we got here."

"Well, he must be somewhere," Aragorn shouted, although it was more through renewed panic than genuine anger. Despite all the nasty things he had said to his guardian in recent days, Aragorn's heart pounded in fear at the thought that he might not see him again.

"Calm down," Eomer told him as he climbed to his feet, being careful not to dislodge any of the torn maps set out before him. "Hama," he turned to the other man in the room whom Aragorn had not even noticed until now, "do you know where Legolas was placed in the hall?"

Scratching his thick ginger beard thoughtfully, Hama considered this for a moment and Aragorn shuffled on his feet to keep his patience in check as he waited for the man to search his memory. "I do believe he was given accommodation in the east wing."

"Hm." As far away from the commander's quarters as possible, Eomer realised.

"East wing. Where is that?" Aragorn asked abruptly.

He didn't know quite why he suddenly felt so intensely that it was vital that he find his guardian and mentor but Aragorn ran as fast as he could through the corridors, following the directions Hama had provided him with. This was no longer a selfish search for advice. He was worried.

It was perhaps not surprising that the bitter men had put Legolas in the east wing, the worst-maintained part of the house of Edoras. Far from the splendour of the Golden Hall, this place was more akin to Helm's Deep, worn and decaying. It seemed that hardly any of the rooms were occupied as many of the doors hung open on their hinges.

Coming to the room Hama had directed him to, Aragorn stopped and opened the door without knocking.

There was no bed or even a thin mattress in the room; just a threadbare, rumpled blanket laid out on the dusty wooden floor where Legolas had obviously slept the night before. It was dark, with heavy wooden shutters covering the windows and no candles or fire burning, so it was also bitterly cold in the room, which was clearly only barely fit for human habitation and most certainly not fit for housing a prince.

However, the was no sign of the Elf anywhere, so Aragorn called out, "Legolas, are you in here?"

Although there came no response, Aragorn didn't leave but stepped further inside. The Elf's pack laid on the floor but there was no other sign that Legolas had even been here.

"Legolas?"

Just as he'd decided that his mentor must have forsaken his terrible room and ventured out into another part of Meduseld, Aragorn heard a soft moan from across the room and he froze. It was barely audible and would no doubt have been missed had Aragorn not been so alert for proof that Legolas was still here.

Taking a further step into the room, Aragorn looked about. Nothing. Except…This time it was a weak cough that drew his attention – towards the only other door in the room. Obviously, Legolas was in there and Aragorn dashed over to it, grabbing the knob and yanking it open, uncaring that he had not been invited inside.

"Legolas!" Aragorn exclaimed in horror, launching his shocked body forward to where his guardian laid face-down on the floor of the small, filthy bathroom. Laying his hands on the Elf, as though by doing so he could simply divine what was wrong with him, Aragorn took in the scene that had greeted him.

Legolas was dressed in clean clothes, but they were drenched in sweat and dust from the floor clung to them. His breathing was shallow, the hand that Aragorn grasped tightly was cold to the touch and his skin was deathly pale.

How long had the Elf been lying here all alone, unable to call for help?

Guilt washed over the young man, cramping in his stomach. Had Legolas been laying face-down on this floor since last night whilst he and his fellow Men were partying?

"Legolas, can you hear me?" Aragorn leaned close, hoping for but not expecting a response. He received none. He laid his hand against Legolas' pale cheek then immediately withdrew it. "Ai, you are so cold!" the young man exclaimed. Drawing back, he shed his own jacket and laid it over the Elf for warmth. As he did so, he noticed something infinitely more worrying. The silver tunic – one the Elf had been given by Erestor in Rivendell Aragorn realised – bore a deep red bloodstain on the side where Legolas had been previously injured. "Oh my…Your wound! Damn it," the young man swore out loud at his own stupidity. In his anger at Legolas' betrayal of his fellow Men, Aragorn had forgotten – or maybe ignored? – the fact that Legolas had been so recently injured.

"Um, alright, I'll…I'll get help. I'll be right back." Even as he spoke, Aragorn was climbing to his feet.

Another soft moan caused Aragorn to halt suddenly in his tracks, however. Although his eyes remained tightly closed, Legolas' hand reached up weakly to the bowl of the dirty toilet, next to which he was laid, and attempted to drag himself up but found that he could barely even lift his head off the floor.

"Legolas? Legolas!"

Dropping back to the floor beside the Elf, Aragorn tried to guide Legolas' hand back down but the Elf fought him as best he could, still trying to drag himself up.

"You need to lay still. Your injury…"

"Aragorn," the ailing Elf murmured quietly and his eyes opened a slit to blearily look up at his ward. "Help…me…up."

"You can hear me?" His voice held excitement and no small amount of relief at being recognised.

His own faltering voice much thicker now, Legolas repeated, "Help," still struggling to drag himself upwards.

Finally taking note of his guardian's words, Aragorn gently took Legolas' arms, supporting him up into a slumped sitting position. Even as he asked, "What?" though, Legolas' pale fingers gripped the edge of the toilet bowl and he leaned over, vomiting violently as he did so.

Aragorn had no choice but to support Legolas' thin, trembling body as he retched, for it seemed the Elf had not the strength to hold himself up.

Aragorn wondered how often during his time all alone in these cold, lonely rooms Legolas had repeated this same process and again his stomach clenched with painful guilt.

Once Legolas had finished, he fell limply down, relying on Aragorn to keep him from dropping to the hard stone floor, gasping shallowly in an attempt to catch his breath in the wake of his exertions.

Gently, Aragorn lowered his guardian to rest on the floor. Legolas made absolutely no attempt to move; he merely laid utterly limply on his front on the flagstones of the bathroom, one arm folded beneath him, the other resting out in front of him. Now the man found himself torn between staying with the ailing Legolas and running to get help.

His conundrum was sorted a minute later when Legolas' eyes opened again, this time focusing on his frightened young ward, and said croakily, "Help me…up."

Worried that Legolas was nauseous again, Aragorn eased him up carefully but once he was sat, Legolas pushed weakly at his guardian.

"I…" Legolas shook his head, unable to continue. He was too weak, it seemed. His gaunt face was paler than Aragorn had ever seen it before, his eyes rimmed with dark circles from lack of sleep.

"Listen, I have to fetch a healer; you need help. Can you walk?"

Although Legolas made no response, Aragorn forced him up onto his feet. Unfortunately, the Elf's legs were too weak to support even his light frame and almost as soon as he was upright he collapsed back against his ready ward. In his current state, Legolas was unable to even mumble an apology, nor protest as Aragorn awkwardly held him up, uncertain as to how to continue.

"Legolas?" the boy called shakily. If only his guardian would tell him what to do.

Yelling for help would do no good; there was no one about in this part of the castle to hear. And there was certainly no hope of Legolas walking back to the main wing of the hall.

"I need to get a healer," Aragorn repeated desperately, gently lowering Legolas back down to the floor, apologising under his breath when his mentor groaned at the movement. Once the Elf was safely laid down, this time somewhat more comfortably on his side, Aragorn explained to him, "I have to leave for a while but I'll be back in a moment with a healer. They'll be able to help you then."

As before, Legolas made no response; he simply laid there, breathing heavily as if it was a great strain.

"I'll be right back," Aragorn called behind him as he raced from the room, back through the corridors of the east wing of Meduseld towards where he knew the healers had set up the hospital area for the injured transported from Helm's Deep.

By the time Aragorn had returned with a Rohan healer in tow, Legolas had crawled his way back to the toilet and was draped inelegantly over the bowl again.

The healer stepped towards him, unfazed by his condition, immediately pressing her hand to his brow to find it burning hot with fever.

Looking across at Aragorn, who stood helplessly wringing his hands in the doorway, she ordered, "Get me a bowl of cold water. It is imperative we bring his fever down before we try to move him from this wretched place."

Aragorn nodded then obligingly began rifling through what small cupboards lined the bedroom walls. He did eventually find a bowl and returned to the bathroom. Unfortunately, Legolas seemed to have been put in the most run-down part of the golden castle of Rohan where there was not even a simple store of water. Slamming his hand down on the useless basin, Aragorn looked back to where the healer was proceeding to unbutton Legolas' shirt, leaving him draped over the bowl where they'd found him as he seemed somewhat at ease in that position.

"There's no water in here. I'll go find some."

On his way into the centre of Meduseld, Aragorn ran into a rather bemused Kinnale and Janor but did not pause to explain to them what was going on. Legolas needed him more.

"Shush. Do not fight me; I am only trying to help you," the healer was saying to Legolas when Aragorn returned with a bowl of cold water. On the floor again now, Legolas was grasping the woman's wrist with weak fingers as if trying to force her away from him. It was perhaps brought on by pain, Aragorn thought, seeing the healer's free hand peeling away the blood-caked bandage that had concealed Legolas' wound.

"Can I help?" Aragorn asked reluctantly, stepping towards them.

Immediately, the healer detected the concern in his eyes, which were focused on her trapped wrist. She was quick to reassure him, "He has not the strength to hurt me."

Honestly, Aragorn didn't know whether to be reassured or disconcerted by this. Under normal circumstances, Legolas would have been able to snap that thin wrist with frighteningly minimal effort. That he was unable to do so now was a sure sign of his illness.

"Perhaps this would be easier in the bedroom where there is more space."

"I do not think he can walk."

"Maybe if we help him."

Nodding obligingly, Aragorn carefully laid the bowl of water down on the floor and slowly moved over to his guardian. "Are you sure moving him won't hurt him more?" he asked, his tone anxious.

"So short a distance should cause no permanent harm."

"Can we not take him to the healing halls then? Surely he would be better off there?"

"First I need to get control of this bleeding. Left untouched he will bleed out and then be beyond my help," the healer explained calmly as she lifted one of Legolas' arms to place it over her shoulder.

"Is it alright. I can carry him."

The woman looked him up and down, trying to judge if he could indeed manage this burden. "Very well. But carefully," she warned as Aragorn crouched down at her patient's side.

Lifting the prince proved effortless. Legolas weighed almost nothing. Weak hands gripped at Aragorn's shirt and a sharp gasp of pain escaped Legolas' lips as he was lifted up off the cold floor. Aragorn apologised in a whisper even though he was uncertain whether Legolas could hear his words of regret.

Aragorn carried his mentor slowly, steadily into the bedroom, being careful not to jostle him. How very wrong this felt, taking care of one who had always taken care of him.

"Set him down on the blanket," the healer instructed. Rushing ahead of him, she went to the shutters and pulled them open to allow some daylight into the room so she could work. "I'll need a cloth and that water. We have to bring his fever down slowly."

"Is his wound infected?"

"Most likely."

The healer knelt next to Legolas and gently began to unbutton his shirt. The Elf tossed his head in protest but the young woman met no resistance from him that she couldn't handle herself. Nonetheless, Aragorn sat next to his mentor, having retrieved all the healer could ask for, and snatched Legolas' hand, squeezing tightly to let Legolas know he was still there and no longer suffering this affliction alone.

Now that she was able to peel away the bandage, the healer got her first proper look at the wound marring her patient's side and winced. It did not look good. Over the years since she had been taught the art of healing, the woman had seen all too many war wounds and with so few supplies and herbs available for use, infection setting in was a common side-effect.

This was no small infection though. The wound was hot to the touch and oozing slightly. Obviously, it was painful because even at her gentle touch a cry escaped her patient and he shied away.

"I am sorry, Legolas, but I have to clean this wound."

Legolas gave no hint that he had heard what had been said, he simply tossed his head to the side. So the healer began to expertly cleanse the wound. After the battle at Helm's Deep, the healers had been inundated with similar hurts so by now it was almost second nature treating this kind of injury.

Under normal circumstances, Legolas would no doubt have proven a troublesome patient but now he seemed too weak to even form a verbal protest let alone struggle against the healer's efforts. As Aragorn continued to hold onto his guardian's hand, Legolas laid limply on the floor, deathly pale and breathing shallowly, as if each single breath was a chore almost too difficult to endure. Every so often, that breathing would hitch or he'd gasp softly in pain.

"We're nearly done," the healer reassured as she laid a fresh bandage over the wound to help ease the bleeding.

Once she had patched him up, the healer laid the wet cloth she had prepared against his furrowed brow.

"Is he going to be alright?" Aragorn anxiously asked of her.

"I hope so." Not the most encouraging response she could have given but vague enough not to be constituted as a promise.

As the healer packed away her sparse supplies, Legolas shifted uncomfortably on the floor, his eyes opening a slit to look blearily up at the dull grey ceiling.

"Legolas? You're going to be fine now," the young man promised softly, his voice slightly more choked than he would have considered ideal. "You're going to be…"

Before Aragorn could finish, Legolas began coughing, a deep, hacking cough that immediately struck fear into Aragorn's heart. The cough sounded so terribly, so frighteningly similar to the one he had heard coming from his father before he had died. He simply could not stand losing his guardian in the same way as he had lost his beloved father.

Worried that another bout of vomiting could very well follow, the healer told Aragorn, "Let's get him onto his side."

Carefully, they both shifted a compliant Legolas over onto his good side and it was a good job too. The Elf almost immediately started retching again, although he had nothing left in his stomach to bring up. Unable to do anything more than soothe his mentor, Aragorn retrieved the basin the healer had been using and positioned it carefully under Legolas' mouth.

How he despised seeing his guardian so utterly helpless. This was not how his most trusted companion was supposed to ever be. Legolas was unerringly strong, immune to the illnesses that may have affected lesser men. Never had Aragorn been witness to his mentor's suffering, not like this. No doubt, Legolas would despise the idea of his ward, whom he had always tried to shield from his sufferings, being witness to such vulnerability, such weakness.

After the Elf's retching had ceased again, he lay unmoving on the floor and Aragorn looked up to discover that the healer had disappeared from his side – he hadn't even noticed her leaving.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long for her return. She came back bearing a larger bowl of water and was this time accompanied, most surprisingly, by a worried-looking Kinnale.

Upon seeing Legolas, pale and trembling, laid out on the floor, his head practically pillowed on the future King of Gondor's lap, Kinnale uttered a foul oath under his breath. He should never have let the vengeful Rohirrim banish Legolas to this lonely, isolated part of the Golden Hall, no matter how far out of favour the Elf had fallen with the Men. Guilt twisted inside his chest like a knife. This was his fault. Had he insisted that Legolas be housed along with the rest of the returning warriors then someone would have noticed sooner that the Elf had fallen ill. As it was, it was entirely possible that had Aragorn not decided to come by this morning, Legolas would have laid on this cold floor and died all alone in this forsaken place and no one would have been any the wiser.

One look at Aragorn's grim expression told Kinnale that the boy felt much the same way.

"Don't you think he'd be better off in the healing hall where there are other physicians?" Kinnale asked the young healer as he finally came to Legolas' side.

"I want to wait a couple of hours to be absolutely sure that his wound has stopped bleeding completely before I attempt to move him. He has lost a lot of blood already and he cannot afford to lose any more."

"Will he live?" Blunt and seemingly indifferent though the question was, Kinnale was filled was renewed dread at what the answer might be.

Before the serious healer could answer though, Aragorn snapped, "Of course he will!"

Kinnale nodded uncertainly at the young man, his eyes roaming over Legolas' prone body. "Of course," he mumbled to himself. He then turned to the woman who was laying another wet cloth on Legolas' chest in an attempt to bring down his fever. "Do you need anything?"

"Not right now."

The healer knelt down at Legolas' side, opposite Aragorn, so she could wash the Elf down with the cold water-soaked towels. Legolas whimpered at the touch as if in pain. He shivered and trembled at the cold sensation pressed against his already cold skin. However, he no longer fought those trying to help him, although Aragorn thought that this was most likely due to a lack of strength rather than lack of will.

In fact, the only time Legolas did make some small noise of protest was when the healer unbuckled his belt and went to drag down his trousers. He weakly hit out his hand in the healer's general direction in an attempt to stop her but his actions went entirely unheeded.

The healer bathed Legolas completely in the cold water, ignoring the Elf's self-conscious protests even though he didn't seem certain of what was going on around him. Meanwhile, Aragorn soothed Legolas' brow, trying to reassure the Elf that all would be well. Kinnale stood by the door, uncomfortably looking anywhere but at the prince. Friends they may have been but this felt like an unforgiveable intrusion into Legolas' privacy. Surely Legolas would never have approved of his presence when in such an exposed position.

With the possibility that even in his current state of only semi-consciousness, Legolas might be feeling embarrassed at being so observed, Kinnale cleared his throat then said, "I'm just in the way here. I think I'll wait outside."

"Relax, Commander," the young healer smiled, unfazed by what was making the other two men so uncomfortable. "I'm all finished now."

"Great."

Rolling her green eyes at the bulky man loitering in the doorway, the woman muttered, "Are all Rangers so squeamish?"

In response, Kinnale shot back, "Are all Rohirrim so disrespectful?"

"Please stop arguing," Aragorn interrupted before the young woman could come up with a sharp retort.

Getting up off the floor, the healer picked up the bowl of water and went to the door, which Kinnale begrudgingly opened for her. "I'm going to see if there are any herbs to spare."

"Can you not give him something to ease the pain?" Aragorn called to her from where he was still sat cradling Legolas' head in his lap.

"We have no such herbs here in Rohan."

"Nothing at all?" demanded an increasingly irritated Kinnale.

"No."

"Perhaps you could ask a more senior healer if there might be something to help Prince Legolas feel more at ease," the large man suggested almost menacingly.

"Yes, I suppose I could do that, but it would be a waste of my time because I already know the answer," she ground out in reply, torn between remaining professional and losing her temper with this know-it-all Ranger.

"A little wasted time I can live with," Kinnale countered easily. "Maybe we should go see your boss together, just to be sure."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"He said stop arguing," Aragorn's voice suddenly interrupted both man and woman and they both turned to see Aragorn bent down, apparently listening to the blonde Elf. "He told you to stop fighting."

Kinnale took a couple of steps towards them and sincerely said, "My apologies, Legolas. We will go to the healing hall and return a little calmer." The healer also opened her mouth to speak, although Kinnale expected it to be in order to snap out a sharp comment at being told what to do rather than to utter her own apology to the shivering Elf, but the Ranger gently took her arm and guided her out into the hall, closing the door behind him to provide Legolas with some degree of privacy in the unlikely event that someone should pass by.

Suddenly finding himself alone with Legolas again, Aragorn looked around the bare room then back down at the pale, shivering Elf. He pulled the damp cloth from Legolas' brow to refresh it and Legolas shuddered violently again, his head thrashing slightly in the man's lap.

"The healer will be back soon," Aragorn assured, simply for something to say to break the hush.

After wringing out the cloth in the small bowl of water the healer had left behind, Aragorn went to replace it but was halted suddenly by blue eyes looking blearily up at him in confusion.

"Legolas, are you awake?"

Legolas' lips twitched ever so slightly upward at the unnecessary question but he nevertheless answered, "Yes," so quietly that it was barely audible to the man.

"How do you feel?"

Another unnecessary question that this time the Elf decided not to answer. Instead, he closed his eyes wearily for a long moment.

Shivering violently again, Legolas opened his eyes to look up imploringly at his ward as he asked, "Could I…have a blanket…please?"

"Uh, I suppose so." The healer, before she had left, had given him no instructions. A blanket could surely not do any harm. He gently pulled the blanket from under Legolas' thin form, damp though it may have been from the healer's attentions, and wrapped it around the shuddering Elf. He wasn't really sure whether the request had come from his feeling the cold or just simply feeling embarrassed at being left unclothed on the floor by the young female healer. Either way, the prince seemed more at ease, covered as he now was in his threadbare blanket and that in turn comforted Aragorn.

To Be Continued…