Chapter Twenty Three

Each time either of the elven twins looked over, at their human brother, Estel had his eyes wide open, staring straight up above him. He had not crossed his arms, as they thought he might do to show his displeasure, but he was obviously not going to risk falling asleep against his will again.

The elves just shook their heads. “He is lying down at least. What more can we expect from one so stubborn?” Elrohir observed.

Elladan nodded absently but made no comment. He was too deep in thought to respond, mulling over Elrohir’s question about whether there was anything that could save Legolas.

The elder elf was searching his mind for something his father might have taught him that had been long forgotten. So far, he could think of nothing, but as he continued working over the problem, a nagging sensation began to grow in his mind that Elrond had indeed mentioned something that could be applied here.

Elladan became more frustrated as time passed. He didn’t want to admit that there might be an answer somewhere in his memories that could be used to save Legolas, and it was refusing to come to him. If Legolas died, and he either remembered or found out later from his father what the solution had been, Elladan knew he would never forgive himself. If there was a solution, and it involved a treatment they had no way of performing, such as creating an antidote, that was beyond their control and as such was a different matter. For some reason, he couldn’t dismiss the thought that that wasn’t it.

The elf searched the recesses of his mind yet again for anything and everything Lord Elrond had ever mentioned regarding infections. Most of what Elladan knew involved mortals, since elves rarely got infections. Perhaps whatever would work on a mortal would work on an elf. No, that wasn’t logical. However, there was the fact that Legolas’s elven healing ability had been neutralized or at least blocked in some way. Would that not make the current circumstances similar to a mortal, particularly a human, with an infection?

The word antidote sprang to Elladan’s mind again. And again, he told himself that there was no way to make one while they were out here in the forest. They did not possess the supplies nor even the knowledge to create an antidote their father could have made from memory. Elladan sighed in continued frustration. Had they not all gone over and over this already?

Elrohir saw the myriad of emotions chasing each other across his twin’s face: anger, frustration, defeat, hope. “What are you thinking about that has you so unsettled?” When he realized what he was asking, he added, “Besides Legolas.”

“Ada taught you, me and Estel about infections, did he no?.”

“Yes, but they did not really involve elves,” Elrohir replied, confirming Elladan’s thought. “He wanted us to know for Estel’s sake and for the other mortals that come to Imladris in need of healing from infected wounds.”

“I know, but I have the infernally insistent notion that there is something in those lessons that can be applied here. I hate that it is eluding me so thoroughly.”

Not only did Elrohir’s attention sharpen, but Aragorn, who had of course, been listening, sat bolt upright and looked at his oldest brother. “What are you thinking? Is it something we can use to cure Legolas?” He scooted over to sit between his brothers, a look of pure hope on his face.

“I cannot put my finger on it, but...”

“Do not rush yourself,” Elrohir advised. “Just go over all that you remember, slowly and carefully. We can all three sort through the facts and hopefully discover what we need to know.” He knew that despite the urgency the young archer’s condition prompted, rushing through a jumble of thoughts would, in the end, take longer to sort out.

Elladan closed his eyes and pictured himself back in Lord Elrond’s library, as the two of them went through the various books and scrolls that he now believed contained the information the three brothers were currently seeking.

“I remember Ada reading from a book that described what happened to cause infections in morals. It listed all of the symptoms: redness at the wound site, swelling, fever...” Elladan paused and then his eyes snapped open. He almost stammered, when he said, “It described how a mortal’s blood produces the antitoxins to kill the poison. If the mortals do not die from the infections, they cure themselves.”

“Yes. I remember Ada explaining that to me,” Elrohir said, as the impact of his brother‘s words began to dawn on him.

“So do I,” Aragorn confirmed. “Because I am mortal, Ada went over and over it until I fully understood. He said that knowledge could save my life one day.”

Both elves turned their heads to look at Estel. It was Elrohir that finally spoke. “I think that is why you became a little ill yourself, dizzy and achy, as you called it.”

Elladan managed a small smile. “Your body has been producing those antitoxins to ward off an infection. How do you feel now?”

“I still ache a bit, but not as bad,” the man answered, realizing for the first time that what he said was true. The antitoxins were seemingly fighting off whatever infection was trying to invade his body.

Elladan continued. “Legolas, as an elf, has probably never had an infection in his life. His body does not know how to fight one off. I doubt he even possesses whatever is needed to produce the antitoxins. It would be useless to someone who was not designed to need that ability.”

Elrohir brought up an opposite view. “It may be that elves already possess those antitoxins, and that is why we do not get infections.” He thought back but couldn’t remember if Lord Elrond had told him that, or if it was just something that occurred to him now. “Whatever is blocking Legolas’s healing ability may be blocking those, as well.”

‘Either theory could be right.” Aragorn looked at Elladan. “Now my body has produced enough antitoxins to protect me.”

Nodding, the elder twin said, “That is why you feel better, Estel. That is the antidote, and it is doing its work.”

“Then we must get the antidote I’m producing into Legolas.”

“It may not work on an elf.” The last thing Elladan wanted to do was dampen the hope that had just sprung up between the three brothers, but they needed to be practical.

“We must try ,” Aragorn said more loudly than he intended. “We can’t just abandon the idea, because it might not work!”

“No, of course not,” Elladan was quick to say. “I only meant, we have to be prepared for failure.” He hated that word, but if what they were proposing did not work, Legolas would die. And that would definitely be a failure, and one that would devastate them.

Without discussing how they should proceed, Aragorn took out his knife. When he noticed his brothers staring at him, he just stared back. “If the antidote is in my blood, then there is only one way to get my blood out of my body.” He tilted his head, as if to say, Right?

The thought of what Aragorn was about to do sent shivers down Elrohir’s back, but there was no denying the man was right. There was only one way and the knife was it. But knowing that didn’t make the idea of his youngest brother piercing a vein in his wrist any easier.

“Wait.” Elladan called out.

Aragorn looked at the oldest twin. “We must hurry. Legolas needs the antidote as quickly as possible.”

“Yes,” agreed Elladan, “but we must think this through. Do you intend for him to just...drink your blood?”

Aragorn paused for just a heartbeat. “If that’s what must be done.” His tone reflected his feeling that there shouldn’t be any doubt that he would do whatever he must to save his friend.

“Suppose the digestive juices in his stomach destroy the antitoxin?”

No one had thought of that. “Legolas swallowed the howler blood, and it certainly wasn’t destroyed,” Elrohir pointed out with a touch of bitterness at what had resulted, because it hadn‘t been destroyed.

“We do not know what properties that black blood contained. Those creatures were created as immortals, and this is mortal blood we are talking about.” Elladan looked at Estel. His apologetic expression made it clear that he wasn’t inferring the man’s blood was inferior, just that it was obviously different from whatever the howlers had running through their veins.

Incredibly, it was a moan from Legolas that gave Aragorn the answer. He turned a smile on the twins. “Legolas’s shoulder wound.”

The elven brothers thought Estel was referring to the reason behind the moan, though they couldn’t fathom why the man was smiling. They both nodded. It hurt their hearts to hear the pained misery in the sound.

Aragorn could tell by his brothers’ reaction that they hadn’t understood what he meant by his statement. He didn’t point that out but instead said, “It needs to be drained and cleaned again. I can administer the blood that way.”

Since elves and humans had sometimes joined together and mixed their blood throughout the history of the two races, there was no thought that there could be any kind of incompatibility between Aragorn’s edain blood and Legolas’s pure elven blood.

Elladan grinned. Now he understood the smile. “You are indeed a clever healer, Estel. That is the perfect way to introduce the antitoxin into Legolas’s body. Let us set to work.”

Elrohir pulled a clean cup from his pack for the ranger to drain his blood into. He knew that what they were doing was the only way, but the idea of it still made him shiver.

Elladan sorted through his pack for the relatively small bandage for Estel‘s wrist and the larger one that would be needed for Legolas‘s shoulder.

Just as Aragorn held the knife over his wrist, when Elladan took the knife out of his hand. “I will do it, Estel. It must be done carefully, and you would be trying to do it one-handed.” he said firmly.

“How will you know how much blood Legolas will need?” Elrohir asked his twin.

Elladan had been considering that. How much should be used? All of Aragorn’s blood contained the antitoxin. Would only a small amount be enough for Legolas’s body to begin producing more? Would it even begin producing more? There was the disheartening thought that the human’s blood may be rejected by the elf’s body.

Finally, in complete honesty, Elladan said, “I do not know. We can only guess and hope that it is enough. What else can we do?”

Aragorn’s answer was to hold his right arm out toward Elladan. “Take however much you think you will need.” A little or a lot. It mattered to him not at all.

While the ranger held the cup under his wrist, Elladan located a single vein and then quickly made a prick through the skin until the vein was pierced, balancing the need to get deep enough to obtain enough blood to do some good and not cutting too deeply.

The precious blood began dripping into the cup strongly at first, but soon the bleeding had all but stopped. Aragorn looked at the approximately two and a half inches of blood in the bottom of the cup. “Is that enough?” the man asked, making it clear he wasn’t too sure it was.

“It will have to be,” Elladan said. He handed Estel a cloth to put over the cut to make sure it stopped bleeding completely. “Legolas’s wound will be able to absorb only so much, and it will take time. If I take more blood than this, I fear what is left will congeal before it can be administered.”

Aragorn nodded. That was good enough---for now. He would insist that Elladan get blood from his other wrist, if more was deemed necessary. He hastily wrapped a bandage around his wrist.

The three brothers moved over beside Legolas. The blond elf lay almost motionless, his body barely able to sustain his breathing enough for the effort to be observed.

Just as had happened two days before in the little rocky shelter, Elrohir lifted Legolas up into a sitting position and leaned the young elf’s right side against his chest. And just as before, Aragorn used his knife to make a circular cut along the swollen teeth marks. After he had drained the infection that had once again collected in the wound, he took a clean piece of cloth, dipped it in the blood and dabbed it into the cut. He then soaked up the last of the crimson liquid and lay the cloth over the wound. Reaching for the clean bandage, Aragorn bound the elf’s shoulder.

At last the man sat back on his heels. “We’ve done all we can. We must all pray this works.”

Laying Legolas back down, Elrohir did what Aragorn had done that morning. He put Legolas’s left hand on one of the large roots of the oak tree. It wouldn’t hurt to have the tree lend its strength to the wood elf, who would hopefully soon be mending.

Aragorn sat beside his friend and held his right hand. He would do his best to lend his own strength to Legolas just as he was sure the oak was doing.

~*~*~

The sun settled below the western horizon, plunging the gloom of the twilight forest into much deeper shades of darkness. None of the Rivendell brothers had eaten anything for their evening meal. One of them would have had to go hunting or fishing. None were hungry, but more importantly, none wanted to leave the clearing until Legolas’s fate was known.

As time passed, the elven prince didn’t seem to be getting any worse. At least, he hadn’t had any more convulsions nor had he made any sounds of distress. Of course, he hadn’t woken up, either.

Tension in the little clearing was palpable. No one spoke. There had been attempts earlier to make conversation, but it had turned awkward and then petered out completely. There was only one subject on everyone’s mind, and they were each reluctant to put it into words. Legolas would either live or die, and until one or the other became apparent, the three brothers would keep their thoughts to themselves.

Elladan stoked the fire and added more small branches. He soon found himself just staring into the flames, seemingly in a trance. It was the sound of moaning that brought him back to himself.

When he turned toward the source of the sound, he saw Elrohir and Aragorn kneeling beside the prone form of the Mirkwood prince. In an instant, he had joined them.

Legolas was shivering and a fine sheen of sweat covered his face and neck. Aragorn reached out and put his hand on the elf’s forehead. At the touch, Legolas jerked his head and gripped the tree root tightly. It was clear, or at least it appeared to be clear, that the touch had startled him.

Aragorn hated the momentary fear he had caused Legolas, but he still couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his face. “His fever has broken. The blood treatment worked.”

Elladan didn’t want to make a prognosis before checking the bite marks. The fever alone did not necessarily mean success. Not wanting to unwrap the large bandage on Legolas’s shoulder, Elladan instead decided to examine the wound on the young archer’s wrist. It may be smaller, but it would still be a good indicator of what was happening with the young elf.

When he unwound the bandage on Legolas’s wrist and held his hand up to see better in the firelight, the elder twin saw that the bite marks had closed, and the redness and swelling had almost disappeared.

Words couldn’t truly describe the joy that flooded the clearing at the moment that all three beheld the healing wound. They were generous in their praise for the miracle that had been wrought.

~*~*~

The next morning, Legolas woke up with the sun. He forced his eyes to focus, and when they did, it was the happy, smiling faces of his friends, eating an early morning meal, that greeted him. Was he better? Why else the happy mood of his friends?

Legolas decided to take an inventory of his condition. He didn’t want to lie about how he felt, so he needed to make sure whatever he told the others was the truth.

His shoulder hurt, but the intense pain was gone. He was tempted to touch it but didn’t want to draw attention to the fact he was awake just yet. He also didn’t want to wake up that intense pain should it be just under the surface of his awareness. He could tell he was weak, but considering everything he had gone through, some of which he was sure he knew nothing about, weakness was certainly understandable. He didn’t feel hot any more, and his head no longer hurt. He decided, with great relief, that he was recovering.

All in all, he felt almost normal. So deciding, he grinned and said, “May I have some of that rabbit. I find that I am quite hungry.”

Three pairs of eyes turned as one to stare at him.

“Legolas,” Aragorn said, grinning widely.

“Well you finally decided to rejoin us,” Elladan remarked, his grin easily matching that of his youngest brother. He didn’t have to look at Elrohir to know his twin’s face reflected his own.

Aragorn laughed. “I think he had to come back before Elrohir ate his portion of rabbit.”

“I would not do that,” the younger twin protested. “We went through too much to save his silvan hide to let him starve now.”

~*~*~

By the next morning, Legolas was fit enough to travel. After they had all cleaned the campsite, he turned to each of his friends and embraced them warmly, telling each how much they meant to him and how grateful he was for what they had done for him.

His embrace with Aragorn lingered just a little longer. Legolas whispered in the man’s ear, “Thank you, Estel, for giving of yourself to save me.”

When they parted, Aragorn blinked back unshed tears. “I will do anything for you, mellon nin, just as you have done so many times for me.”

Elladan and Elrohir loaded the packs on the four horses and led them to the clearing. Just before they all mounted, Aragorn snapped his fingers. Pulling an object from his belt, he handed it to Legolas. It was one of the elf’s white-handled long knives.

Legolas’s eyes lit up when he saw it. Running his fingers lightly over the engraved blade, he asked, “Where did you find it?”

“In the cavern. I just stuck it in my belt and didn’t think of it until now. We didn’t recover your bow or quiver, I’m afraid, Or your cloak,” Aragorn added.

“They can be replaced. My father gave my knives to me. I am happy to have one of them back. It means a great deal. Thank you, Estel.”

“Do I get a thank you, too?” Elrohir asked, as he handed Legolas the twin to the knife the blond prince held.

“Where did you find that one?” Elladan asked, totally surprised. Elrohir had not told him he had it.

“The cavern. I did not have a chance to mention it at the time. And then I also forgot.”

“Thank you, too, Elrohir,” Legolas said teasingly, though the emotion in his voice almost choked him. He swallowed. “I do not know who would have been more upset if I had lost these, me or my father.”

“Now you won’t have to find out,” Aragorn said, as he slapped the elf on his good shoulder and turned toward the horses.

~*~*~

The four turned their backs to Black Mountain and were finally on their way to Rivendell. They were, for once it seemed, going to arrive there with each all in one piece. That was dependent, of course, on them staying out of trouble long enough to get from here to there.

~End~

A/N: Thanks to all of you, who read this little tale, especially those who took the time and effort to leave a review. My next story, coming soon, is called, Cold Wind. I hope to see all of you then.