I do apologize for the long wait. Due to certain circumstances, I was unable to upload this chapter until now. Therefore, I decided not to wait until Christmas to give you this one - consider it as an early present :)
For all my partners-in-crime (I think you will know what that means ;)), thank you very much to help me with that little experiment! Your code-words brought a smile to my face everytime I read it! Thank you very much! :)
Oh, and guess what? THE WORLD DIDN'T END, meaning we'll have lots of opportunity to finish this story... and start the next one about Legolas and Kìli. Now who's excited for this one? :P
BETA: TheButterflyCurse996
Angelfabeth: Mmm, there are more stories in which trees are speaking :P I mixed up some of the elements :) Jolly thank you! :)
Arwenia: Oh, I'm so sorry for you :( It sucks :( Hopefully the words will be flowing soon enough again!
cicadadream: Here you are, even after a long waiting :P
ElrondofImladris: No problem, you did eventually! Jolly good! :) Oh, that's why :) Thank you for answering :) And to keep it fair, I'm a girl too, but I guess you could have guessed that :P Oh, but I LOVE cliffies... as you see ;)
ElvesAreEpic: Jolly thank you ;) I hope I didn't let you wait too long... :P
Evenstars: So, you have two names? Cool! I'm studying Italian now, even though I only know the basics (allora, ciao! Mi chiamo Archiril :P)
Guest: Why, thank you, even though I have absolutely no idea who you are :P Hopefully, you'll enjoy this chapter too!
Imaginariamente: Jolly thank you! :)
Jasper6509: Mine too... Mmm, I'll think about it ;)
NIghtRunner144: Well, let's hope they'll find the antidore in time :P
Shadowhawq35: Jolly thank you! Glad you enjoyed it :)
Squiddy the Beth: I have absolutely no idea what you're name means, but jolly thank you for your review... and the code ;)
StainedGlassFlowers101: Sorry for the waiting! Next chapter will come sooner, I promise! :)
TheButterflyCurse996: Mmm I'm thinking... I'm thinking... I'm thinking... Okay, what did you wish to say? :P
Vanillawood: I jolly well liked your review :) Thank you! :) (Okay, I guess that wasn't a grammatically correct sentence... ah well.)
Ynnealay: Okay, I'll think about it in next chapters :) Thank you for pointing that out! :) yeah, he's so stubborn! I told him not to go there, but he wouldn't listen... :( Anyway, I'm really sorry for the long wait, I jolly promise you next one will come up sooner :)
It was such a pitiful sight that Aragorn almost wept, if his healer instincts had not prevented him to show emotion. A lithe form was lying unmoving in the bed, his face almost as white as the sheets that covered him. His golden hair was spread upon the pillow, but it seemed pale and lifeless, just as his kin, even though the sun was caressing it gently. His normally playful eyes were closed.
Aragorn held in a deep breath, thinking of anything else he could do to ease Legolas' suffering. Truth to be told, the elf hadn't showed any signs of discomfort yet, but Aragorn knew that would not last long. Soon enough, Legolas would wake up from his unconscious sleep, and before long, the coughing and vomiting would begin, weakening him, before sending him into a sleep of death.
Perhaps it was a blessing that soon after the discovering of the illness, the elf had fainted, leaving Aragorn behind, bewildered and in a primary state of panic. Within minutes, he had scooped Legolas in his arms and brought him to the Healing Hall, before laying him in a clean bed near one of the great windows.
He should awake soon now. A gentle breeze was refreshing him, bringing back some color to his face, even if it was only a shy blush, barely noticeable. Softly, Aragorn laid a finger upon his fair features, and traced his cheekbone so very lightly, all the way down to his lips, and his chin. Then he went back up. Just as he was about to reach out to his nose, Legolas' eyes fluttered open.
Aragorn's heart clenched as he watched the turmoil on the elf's face. The normally so bright and playful eyes were confused now, and clouded, and his cheeks were rapidly becoming flushed with a swiftly rising fever. The elf blinked up a few times at him before he managed to focus on the man's face. Then he frowned.
"Estel?" he asked. His voice sounded so uncertain, so doubtful, as if he was afraid that the king was nothing but a dream. Aragorn nodded and grabbed the elf's hand, wishing to prove him that he was real. He even managed to smile lightly.
"Yes, Legolas, it is me."
"Oh." A small laugh graced his face for a few seconds, then –to Aragorn's horror- he closed his eyes again. Quickly, the man shook him gently.
"No, Legolas, you cannot go to sleep just yet. You first have to tell me how you feel." The elf was silent for a few moments, while he processed the words in his mind, and his answer was short and weary.
"Tired. Want to sleep."
"But you can't! Not yet. Stay with me a little longer, my friend."
"Why?"
"Because I wish to ask you some questions." Legolas thought about that, then nodded tiredly.
"What do you want to know?"
"Do you feel nauseous?"
"Yes."
"Feverish?"
"Yes."
"Pain?"
"Yes."
"Where?" The elf vaguely gestured to his chest and belly, before letting his hand fall back onto the blankets again. With dread, Aragorn noticed how weak and absent-minded his friend had become in a couple of, that he even did try anymore to hide the extent of his discomfort. Even now, he was silent again, and his eyes were closing. Gently, he shook his friend again.
"Legolas?" The elf sighed heavily, faintly irritated.
"What?" This made Aragorn pause. He really did not want to see Legolas succumbing to that dead-like dormancy anymore - the paleness of his skin or the labored breathing or the weakness in his limbs had shocked him more than he could have imagined – but he couldn't keep the elf awake forever. He was being selfish, and he had to stop it. So he just shook his head.
"Nay, tis nothing, my friend. Rest a little. You will need your strength," he added softly. Legolas didn't seem to have heard it though. With a definite relieved expression across his features, his eyes slid closed again, and was fast asleep within seconds, leaving Aragorn behind the Healing Hall, disappointed and frustrated.
He had to find a solution! There had to be a cure! Again he searched his mind for any clue. He relived dialogues with the sick elves, with Elentìriel, with his father. He browsed through the books of herb-lore, both in Rivendell and in Minas Tirith. He thought about ancient malices, and tricks of the enemy. So lost he was in his thoughts, that he didn't hear Elentìriel approaching until she laid her hand upon his shoulder.
With a stifled curse, he jumped and turned around, only to face the sad eyes of the she-elf.
"Elentìriel! Please forgive me, you startled me."
"I understand. It is I who should be apologizing," she replied with a soft voice, but she didn't look at him. Her green eyes were scrutinizing Legolas. Aragorn recognized the shock and grief he had felt, but there was something else too, a sharp and bitter emotion, that could destroy the soul. Guilt. Before he could speak of it, Elentìriel broke the silence.
"He looks so fragile, Elessar." Her whispering voice was filled with anguish, and a lone tear escaped her eye. "I never saw him so vulnerable. He looks like a frozen flower – one that will shatter at the slightest touch. Estel, I…" Her voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes for a second. Gently, Aragorn took her hand.
"Do not despair, Tiri. Legolas is strong. He will not let this plague win."
"So was Sulfalas. So were so many others here. They were warriors, Aragorn! They have fought and survived the Shadow for such a long time, they have battled foes greater than you can imagine, and now they are dying like children! What have we done to deserve this? Valar, I curse you." Her last words were whispered, as if she didn't dare to speak such poisoned words aloud, yet the venom in them was clear. Her eyes shone with a bright fever of anger. Aragorn only pulled her closer, until he enveloped her trembling body within his arms. She struggled only briefly, before sighing and leaning against him.
They kept standing there, minutes passed, in a silent wake alongside their ailing friend. It was Aragorn who broke the silence.
"Do not curse the Valar, Tiri. They cannot alter the Song. It will be us who will have to find a remedy. And in order to do so, you'll have to free your heart of anger… and guilt." Abruptly, she pulled away.
"I know not of what you speak." Nervously, she tucked some hair behind her ear, but let one side fall before her face as a curtain, that veiled her downcast eyes. Aragorn however, gently pushed it out of her features.
"I think you do. You think it's your fault Legolas is infected, don't you?" His voice was soft and compassionate, but Elentìriel didn't take notice of it. She only paid heed to his words, and heard condemnations and anger in them. Weeping, she bowed her head, yet her voice was passionate.
"Yes, my lord, it is my fault. It is my fault, even though I didn't want it. Now punish me as you wish, I will accept whatever fate you lay upon me. For it is my fault, my fault only and my fault alone, that Legolas is lying here! Alas, that I should have lingered on these shores only to see our prince suffering this fate. Alas that I have survived in the darkness so long! Better had it been if I had died defending my home, so that I would never had the chance to kill him!" Now finally she looked at him, her eyes dark with despair. Slowly, she fell to her knees, her gaze never leaving his, and she spread her arms in total surrender.
"I am at your mercy, my lord. Punish me as you wish." Her voice was dark and low, no longer silken, but raw in her grief. Quickly, Aragorn bend and helped her up.
"Please, Tiri, don't do this. It's not your fault. How could it? You haven't…"
"I was the one who had infected him, Estel," she moaned, tears running openly over her face now. "I have been in contact with the ill, and I have given him the plague! Valar, why am I still healthy? Why do I have to be the bode of such tidings?"
"Tiri, Tiri, hush now, my friend. No-one could have foreseen this. If anyone is to blame, it would be me, for allowing him into your room –or rather, on your balcony. You had no say in this. Hush, Tiri, please. Everything is going to be alright, I promise. We'll find a cure. Hush now, penneth. It's gonna be alright." Softly, he took her in his arms once again, and rocked her slowly. And there, she finally gave in. Sobbing, she clutched unto Aragorn, burrowing her face in his clothing. Her fingers clasped the soft silk, refusing to let go. Aragorn only held her closer, and comforted her.
Their blessed silence was broken when a messenger entered the hall. Faintly worried, Aragorn noticed he bore the white tree and the moon of Ithilien. He released Elentìriel and turned, acknowledging the young man's reverence with a nod and bidding him to speak.
"My lord, lord Faramir of Ithilien sends you this message with haste. I was not informed of the content, but I will deliver your answer with all speed," the man spoke respectfully. Aragorn hid his amazement. A messenger, who did not know what message he was carrying? It must be a dire situation indeed. He took the scroll and unrolled it.
February, 14th in the Year 3025 of the Fourth Age
Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien
Adab Ithil, Ithilien
Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King of Gondor and Ithilien
White Palace, Minas Tirith.
My lord,
It is my sad duty to inform you of the sudden death of three elves who dwelled in Ithilien. The cause of their passing is unknown, but it appears as if they have been affected by a strange illness.
The three elves were part of a delegation that was sent to the other elven realms to inform their lord and ladies of the new rule of prince Legolas. After they had fulfilled their duties, they returned to Ithilien. Several days later, the first symptoms showed up. The elves started coughing up blood, and a fever raged through their bodies. We treated them the best we could, my lord, but to no avail. All three of them passed away this night.
Since their return, other elves are beginning to show the same symptoms. Already, there are at least two dozen in the healing halls, and their number is increasing. I beg of you, my lord, send aid as soon as possible, for otherwise I fear this plague will sacrifice the lives of many elves.
Yours sincerely,
Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien
PS: Please don't tell Legolas about this letter. I would not wish him to worry, and certainly not to come here while the plague is still spreading. Keep him there in Minas Tirith, Aragorn. Do not let him become a victim of this illness, until we know more about it. And please, send us aid as soon as possible. Too many elves have died already.
Faramir.
Aragorn felt a heavy despair welling up inside of him. The plague was spreading! They had done everything to contain it within the White Walls, and yet it seemed as if some malice had carried the illness away, bringing it to the other elven realms. A bode of a cruel death.
"Estel? What is it?" Elentìriel had seen the sorrow across his face, and leaned closer now, peering curiously at the letter, yet she did not read it. Sadly, Aragorn handed her over the parchment. Her eyes flew over the words, widening in shock. By the time she had reached the end of the letter, her mouth was half-opened and her face pale. She looked up in shock.
"Estel… The delegation… they must have reached Eryn Lasgalen by now!" Aragorn was still too much in an icy terror to grasp the implications of what she said. He only nodded.
"Yes. And what?"
"They must be infected also, Aragorn! They traveled with those ill elves! Valar, the plague has reached my home! What do we have to do now, Estel? What can we do?" But Aragorn couldn't answer, for in his mind, visions arose.
Visions of a deserted Rivendell, without the merry singing and feasting near the Anduin River.
Visions of Lothlorien, finally conquered by evil, the golden mallorn-trees withering.
Visions or Mirkwood, his best friend's home, inhabited by spiders and orcs, who were roaming the halls of the elven king.
Visions of Legolas, laying deadly pale upon his bed, his hands folded across his chest, his eyes closed, his breast not moving – never to wake up again.
Did I already mention how honored I am by your reviews! I love each letter of them! Thank you so much for your kind responses and corrections and tips! I love you! Merry Christmas to ye all! :)
xXx Archiril