Round Robin
Chapter 2
By Elvensong

Aragorn was thrust back into the waking world by a distant voice. He sat up quickly; there was no choice now. The storm raged with all its force, blowing and echoing its cries through Estel's room; but the man could no longer sit and do nothing while one of his closest companions was lost out in the vast wilderness. Limping to his closet, he grabbed his sturdiest cloak and wrapped himself in it. Looking out the window at the rain and the night, he blew out his candle.

"I'm coming, Legolas."

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Sleep was the greatest enemy the night presented to one lone Elf, sitting under a great tree. The tree was wise, and ancient. Its voice was deep and powerful; but even it could be of no help. With all its power, the tree called to the Elves who lived in this land, speaking of one who was lost, willing itself to be heard; but none could hear it over the wail of the storm.

All the tree could do now was try to protect this Firstborn as well as it could; but with the wind coming seemingly from all directions, this became a task too great even for one so noble.

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Unsure of how long he had been there, Legolas tried to keep himself from falling into Elven dreams. Whether he would ever wake from them was be questionable, given his injuries this night. He tried to think of better times, of Mirkwood, and those trees that, for too long, had been silenced by the gathering dark.

Memories came back, of playing in the royal court, hiding under tables to startle unsuspecting visitors. He had never actually surprised any Elf of his land, he knew now; but they often played along with the young prince's antics.

These memories brought warmth to his heart, but little to his body. As he began feeling the cold of this storm, the knowledge that something was terribly wrong with him seeped into his mind. Last time he had felt the cold had been over five hundred years ago when he lay wounded by the spiders on a hunting trip in the far edges of the forest. Legolas thought of the long, terrible trip back to the Halls of the Elf King. An image of the look on his father's face, full of worry, actually brought him comfort. Thranduil was cold to all outsiders; but to Legolas, he was always Ada.

Smiling slightly with memory, Legolas tried to shift his position, but found his body less than willing to cooperate. The cold air caused him to cough and prevented him from being able to breathe deeply. Broken ribs in his side were not at all helpful in his attempts to adjust his legs so that they were under him and able to keep warmer that way. He had stopped bleeding in some places, but even the slightest movement would bring the blood flow back. The Elf worried even more about the wounds he could not inspect without removing the thin clothing that was all between him and the cold.

Now his thoughts drifted to his closest of friends, Aragorn son of Arathorn; Estel in the world of Elves. Worry crept into the Elf's mind. In his delirium, he thought he had heard his own voice calling out into the night for his friend to aid him. With the night as dreadful as possible, he prayed to the stars that dear Estel would not do something so overly foolish.

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Having gathered everything he would need, Estel reached the exit of the house. Thunder shook the ancient books that lined the shelves and, steeling his nerves, he prepared himself for the rush of cold wind that would greet him.

That was when he heard it: the striking of stones that signaled the lighting of a candle.

"Estel."

Aragorn turned and remained still, letting the next move be made by the figure in the corner.

TBC...