Chapter Twenty One

Elladan was the first to wake up. He opened his eyes, and immediately realized that he had been asleep with them closed. Right behind that came the memory of why he had been sleeping that way. ‘My body was trying to heal itself,’ he thought.

It took him a moment longer to take stock of his condition. To his immense relief, he felt fine. Even the bite wound on his neck no longer hurt. He reached up to feel of if and was surprised to note that the teeth marks had almost closed up. They were definitely on the mend. But how? he wondered. How had he been able to heal what should be getting worse not better?

Elladan sat up and looked at his twin, sleeping beside him. He was anxious to find out if what had happened to him had also happened to Elrohir. He reached over and shook his brother.

Elrohir woke immediately. Looking around, he sat up, and when his eyes came to rest on Elladan’s face, he asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Let me see your left arm.”

The request puzzled Elrohir, and it was reflected in his furrowed brow. Nevertheless, he extended his arm.

Not taking the time to explain just then, Elladan took Elrohir’s arm in both of his hands. He pulled his brother’s sleeve up, unwound the bandage and inspected the bite marks.

Elrohir knew his brother well enough to know that Elladan had a good reason for doing what he was doing and was not likely to explain himself until he finished his examination.

It didn’t take long for Elrohir, looking down on his own arm, to see that the bite marks had nearly healed. It was the same way Elladan’s wound had done, although he didn’t know that at the time. “I do not understand,” was his stunned comment.

“Neither do I, brother, but my wound has done the exact same thing.” The two just stared at each other.

“If our wounds are healing, is the poison gone from our bodies, as well? Does this mean we are not dying?” Elrohir asked in confusion and no small amount of hope.

Elladan just shook his head. “I have no more answers than you do. We must check Estel.”

Both elves made their way over to the human, lying on his side with his back to them. They rolled him over on his back and shook him.

Aragorn’s eyes snapped open. He was only mildly startled to see both of his brothers hovering over him. “What? Is something wrong?” He tried to sit up quickly but was held down by Elladan’s firm hand. He wasn’t going to let Estel sit up until his condition was determined.

“That depends,” Elladan answered. “Let us see your hand, Estel.”

The ranger was no less puzzled than Elrohir had been, when the same request had been made to him, but also like Elrohir he held out his hand, knowing without being told, which one was being asked for. He looked at both of his brothers closely but could not read anything in their neutral expressions. He had grown up with these elves, and he could usually read them pretty well, but when they wanted to hide their emotions from him, they could do it.

Elladan unwrapped the bandage on the man’s hand. The deep scratches were not even close to being healed. The elf sighed. “How do yo feel, Estel?” He put his hand on the man’s forehead and couldn’t hold back a smile, when no fever was detected.

Aragorn, who had been awakened so suddenly he hadn’t had time to assess his condition, did so now. He felt weary, like he had been running uphill all morning. His hand did not hurt the way it had the night before, but it was sore. He could easily tell that just by having the bandage removed from it.

Fearing the man would tell him he was fine just because that’s what he usually did to forestall worry on his family‘s part, Elladan adopted a stern tone when he asked, “Be honest, Estel. It is important. How do you really feel?”

Aragorn knew that he had to tell the truth this time. “I feel tired.”

“Is that all? Are you in any pan?”

“Yes and no, in that order,” He didn’t think the soreness counted. That wasn’t really the kind of pain Elladan was referring to. As for the first question, he could honestly say he felt nothing else wrong. “Please tell me what is going on.”

“Think about it, Estel. Do you not think we should be in much worse shape than we are in right now, considering the speed with which the poison affected Legolas? Look at this.”

Both elves showed their bite wounds. The ranger just stared at them. After a moment, he grabbed both of them in a tight embrace, “You are healed...or close enough to it. That’s wonderful.” The look on his face was pure joy. “How?”

“We do not know,” Elrohir replied. “Elladan woke me up and we compared wounds.” He almost laughed at the sound of that statement but kept going without any side comments. “We both feel well. We had to check to see if you were also well.”

“I am human, so there is no way to tell for sure, except that my hand is definitely not infected, and it would be by this time, if it was going to get that way.” He marveled at his own words. “That must mean...”

The ranger didn’t finish the sentence but instead looked over to where Legolas was still sitting against the large oak tree. The elf was sound asleep, eyes also closed.

Aragorn was at his side in an instant. He gently shook Legolas’s uninjured shoulder and called his name, fully expecting him to open his eyes and react the same way he himself had. But there was no response.

Thinking his friend was in a very deep sleep, he toyed with the idea of leaving him be. But he had to know how his friend fared, so he tried again to rouse the wood elf. When there was still no response, the man gently pulled the tunic and shirt on the elf’s left shoulder down, hoping the state of the wound would give him an insight as to the elf‘s condition. He, of course, was hoping it would look the same way as those of his brothers. He began unwrapping the bandage.

The horrible bite marks looked the same: red, swollen and badly infected. Fear gripped Aragorn‘s heart like the iron grasp of icy fingers, as he felt of Legolas’s forehead. Heat was still radiating from the elf‘s skin. The ranger‘s shoulders slumped. “I do not understand.”

Aragorn then shook Legolas harder, and putting his mouth near the elf’s ear, called his name loudly. There was still no answering word or movement from the Mirkwood prince.

Aragorn sat back on his heals and stared at his brothers, shaking his head. “Why have we begun to heal, and he hasn’t? It makes no sense.”

The twins had no answer for their brother or themselves. It truly did not make any sense. They were elves, as Legolas was. They were getting better. Even Estel, who, as a human, was much more susceptible to illness, was at least no worse off than he had been the day before. And it looked like he would suffer no further ill effects from the howler attack.

Aragorn, ever the healer, felt of the elf’s pulse and listened to his heartbeat. Both were barely detectable. The man shook his head more vehemently. “There has to be an answer for this mystery.” He looked again at the twins. “There has to be.”

“He was bitten two days ago. The poison from that and the infection has had longer to work on him,” Elrohir offered, barely able to speak.

“Then why did he not get better yesterday, his second day, as we got better today, our second day?” It was a logical question.

Elladan worked the puzzle over in his head. “Maybe Elrohir just gave us the answer.” When both of his brothers looked at him, he continued. “Legolas had both the bite and an infection. The two together may be what is making him worse instead of allowing him to heal.”

“That might explain why we are not ill, but then why did we not become infected, as he did?” the younger twin asked.

When no answer was forthcoming, Aragorn reached out, gripped Legolas under his arms, careful not to disturb his left shoulder, and pulled him up and away from the tree. Then he turned and laid him down on the soft earth near where the fire pit was located. He leaned over the elf and gently took his left hand and lay it on top of one of the oak’s large roots. Aragorn couldn’t bring himself to break Legolas’s connection with the tree.

It was then that Elladan and Elrohir became aware of the mournful sound of the trees, who were once again whispering their despair. The twins didn’t know if Estel could somehow feel it, but a quick glance between them told the other that they weren’t going to mention it. Estel was upset enough.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Elrohir asked, not taking his eyes from the flushed face of his elven friend.

Elladan sighed. “He is in the same condition we believed we would be in today, and we had given up on ourselves, because there was no help for us. There is still no help.” The elder dark-haired twin almost winced at the harshness he heard in his own voice.

The words the man then spoke were bitter. “Knowing that we had all been fated to die here had been acceptable, for the reason Elladan just gave. Knowing that the three of us will now live, while Legolas may not is not acceptable.” Aragorn was careful to use the words ‘may‘.

Elladan asked, “How has anything changed, Estel? I want Legolas to live as much as you do. But what can we do now that we could not do before?”

Aragorn clenched his teeth and shook his head. He had no answer, as he turned a solemn face toward his brothers. “But I do know one thing: I will not lose him like this!”

There was nothing the twins could say to counter what their human brother had just said, for deep down they felt the same way. Yet the hopelessness of the situation could not be brushed aside simply because they wanted it that way.

The ensuing silence was almost deafening. But it was soon filled with low moans. All three brothers’ attentions were focused on the figure lying on the ground before them.

Aragorn leaned over the blond elf and gripped his right shoulder. “Legolas. Mellon nin. Can you hear me?” He wanted to shout but held his voice in check, forcing himself to speak normally instead. “Legolas.”

The elf turned his head toward the sound and slowly opened his eyes. He stared at the man, and there was no recognition in his eyes.

Aragorn saw the blank stare, and inwardly groaned, yet he refused to admit what his mind was telling him. “Legolas?”

The archer blinked but gave no other sign that he heard or understood the word spoken to him. Instead, he grimaced and reached his right hand up to touch his left shoulder, which he was dimly aware was the source of the intense pain he was feeling.

Aragorn reached out and took hold of Legolas’s hand and gently pulled it away, knowing that even the lightest touch on the infected wound would send spasms of agony through the elf‘s weakened body. He lay Legolas’s arm across his stomach and kept his hand over it until he was sure the archer wasn’t going to try again to touch his wound.

Legolas didn’t resist. In fact, he didn’t react at all, except to follow Aragorn‘s movements with his eyes, meekly accepting whatever was being done to him. The man was dismayed, because he didn‘t think Legolas was mentally capable of understanding anything at this point.

The elf’s blue-gray eyes glittered from fever and pain. After another moment, he closed his eyes and let out a breath. A second one did not follow it for a long time. Aragorn was about to grab Legolas and shake him, if necessary, when the elf’s chest rose slightly, and he inhaled and then exhaled another breath. The ones that followed came much too slowly. By contrast, Legolas’s heartbeat began to double its pace and was racing much too fast. It couldn’t go on like this for long before it gave out completely.

“Please, Eru,” Aragorn pleaded. “Do not take him. You spared him once before for a reason. Please do so again. He can‘t have fulfilled his purpose yet.”

The ranger did not even notice that both Elladan and Elrohir had each put a hand on his shoulder and were squeezing it tightly. They had also put their hands on Legolas’s head and bowed their heads, their lips moving in silent prayers of their own.

“No!” Aragorn suddenly said, jerking his own head up and turning it toward Elladan and Elrohir. “We cannot just sit here and give up. He is too near death for us to spare the time for our own fears and sorrows. We have to figure out why he is being affected differently than we are. I can‘t help thinking that we’re missing something, something that might save him.”

The three brothers separated and each sat down, Aragorn in the middle. “We have to figure this out. Let’s take stock of what we know.”

Elrohir started. “We were all bitten by the howlers, so that alone is not the answer.”

“Good. Then we can eliminate just the bite,” Aragorn told them. “What else?”

“Elrohir and I were bitten but did not get an infection.”

“I was bitten, too, and I have no infection,” Aragorn stated. “But that leads to the question of why Legolas got the infection. His elven healing ability should have prevented that.”

“The blood,” Elrohir cried with sudden remembrance. “Legolas was bitten and swallowed howler blood.”

“Yes, of course. We forgot about the blood,” Aragorn agreed, fighting the urge to slap himself on the forehead. “All right. You two ingested no blood, and with no infection that puts you in the clear. The only thing you both have in common with Legolas is the bite, and we‘ve dismissed the bite alone as being the cause of his illness.”

“But you, Estel, had scratches caused by howler teeth, equivalent to a bite, and you also had howler blood on the wounds, so using that logic, you should have developed an infection, too.”

“It still makes no sense. Why am I not...” he avoided the word that came unbidden to his mind. “Why am I not sick like Legolas?” He let out a deep breath. “I say again that we are missing something. It’s probably staring us right in the face.”

“Could it be that Legolas swallowed the blood and you had it absorbed into the cuts?” Elrohir asked. He was beginning to feel like he was just throwing out any idea that came to mind. But he knew they couldn’t afford to overlook anything that might lead to a solution.

“I don’t think that matters,” Aragorn replied. “I don’t believe that how it got into our systems is important, only that it got there.” He couldn’t be positive that was the case, but he would have been willing to make a sizable wager that he was right.

No one said anything, as they each tried to sort through the deadly puzzle. It seemed that they had reached another dead end in their reasoning.

The answer was there. Aragorn, in particular, was sure of it. And to make matters worse, he thought that it would end up being a very simple answer as to why he and Legolas had both bite marks in their flesh and howler blood in their bodies, and yet he was fine while Legolas was dying.

The man felt like he was trying to grab a handful of smoke. Why wouldn’t the answer come to any of them? Why did it remain just out of their reach? Were he and his brothers destined to just sit in ignorance while Legolas’s body shut down, and his spirit faded before their eyes?

TBC