Chapter 14 – Against All Odds

Legolas stirred under Aragorn’s arm, as if sensing his agitation and apprehension. The elf twisted against his body, causing Aragorn to tighten his grip on the Mirkwood prince.

“Shh… be still, my friend,” the ranger soothed kindly, brushing a lock of stray hair out of the elf’s pale face and tucking it behind his ears.

His fingers brushed past the elven prince’s face and stopped dead in their track. Pressing the back of his hand on the cheek, Aragorn felt a slight flush on the previously cold skin. His heart skipped a beat at the discovery, he and silently admonished himself for his negligence. Tightening his legs around the sides of his horse, the young ranger urged the animal into a quick canter. He did not dare to ride too fast for fear of aggravating Legolas’ injuries. However, if he could not get the elf prince back home in time, nothing would matter anyway. Legolas would most probably succumb to the infection. Weighing his options, Aragorn decided that Legolas would stand a better chance with infection than bleeding to death. Therefore he maintained his current speed, hoping against hope that they would make it back home before the full force of the fever struck.

Legolas shifted slightly. A low moan sent a weak vibration through Aragorn’s palm, which was still pressed firmly against the elf’s chest.

“Estel…” The thready whisper would have been lost if Legolas had not reached up and taken hold of the ranger’s hand.

“Hold on Legolas, I’ll get you home and you’ll be fine,” the man said, not knowing if he could fulfill his promise to his friend. Nevertheless, he had to think positive and hold on to what little hope he still possessed. Squeezing the prince’s hand tightly in his, he prayed to Ilúvatar to spare his friend’s life.

“Promise me…” Legolas struggled with his words. He needed to speak to his friend, in case he did not survive the trip. “Do not blame yourself… not your fault…” It was all he managed to say before having to pause for breath, which was now coming in short, painful rasps. He was trying hard not to show his pain, but his body betrayed him as a spasm coursed through his form.

Aragorn’s breath caught in his throat as he heard the elf’s words. How could he not blame himself? It all started because of him. He was the culprit. Thad was aiming for him, but instead it was his brothers and friend that ended up paying the price.

It was all his fault.

“Promise me… please…” the elf pleaded.

Not able to hold back his tears any longer, Aragorn let them flow freely down his face. His throat constricted as if someone had wrapped a hand around his neck and squeezed his windpipe shut. He couldn’t breath, and, for a frightening moment, things started to go dim. He thought he was going to pass out, but then he thought of Legolas. If he fell, he would bring Legolas down with him, and he didn’t think the elf could withstand the pain. Forcing his lungs into overdrive, he drew in a wheezing breath, and his head cleared somewhat. Taking another deep breath as the invisible hand around his throat eased, his world slowly came back into focus.

“Promise me…” Legolas pressed on, determined to get an answer from Aragorn.

“I promise,” the young man said with a small sob.

“Thank you… all of you…” His voice was getting weaker, if that were even possible. “Tell my father… I love him…”

“No. You tell him yourself!” Aragorn almost shouted. “You hear me? You tell him yourself!!” But his words fell on deaf ears as Legolas’ hand slipped from his grasp and fell limply to his side.

Aragorn inhaled sharply as he felt Legolas’ hand fall, and his heart seized in his chest. “NO!!” His scream reverberated into the night. Reaching up with a trembling hand, he pressed his fingers against Legolas’ neck searching frantically for a pulse. Letting out a strangled sob after several long moments, he released the breath that he did not realize he was holding when he felt a weak and erratic pulse, almost undetectable but present, nonetheless. However, he could no longer feel the warmth of his fever, and the elf felt cold to the touch. The prince’s bleeding had also slowed, because he no longer felt the warm blood seeping into his tunic. Legolas’ body was shutting down.

“Don’t you dare die on me, Legolas Greenleaf!” Aragorn whispered sternly into the wood-elf’s ear, as he kicked his horse into a full gallop. He had nothing to worry about now. The prince would not feel any more pain, nor bleed any more than he would regardless of the speed they were riding at. The only thing that mattered now was getting him home before all was too late. But perhaps it was already too late.

*****

Elladan held on tightly to his brother as they rode with great speed into the night, closing the distance between themselves and their home. The older elf could now see the gates of the Last Homely House, the formidable wooden fence stood tall and mighty under the dim moonlight.

“We’re home, `Ro. Hold on,” he spoke softly, but Elrohir was barely conscious to hear him. His fever had spiked during their trip, and the young elf felt unusually warm against his twin’s body. Cold sweat covered his face and neck, flowing in small rivulets down his back.

Elrohir moaned softly in response, but Elladan was not sure if his brother even understood what he said. Spurring his horse onwards, he was glad to see that the gates were open, obviously in anticipation of their arrival.

Elrond was blessed with the gift of foresight, and Elladan was certain that his father had foreseen their return. He must have sensed something was amiss and therefore expected their need for speed. Slowing his horse as he entered the courtyard, he was not surprised to see his father and his father’s advisor waiting for them in the garden. Elladan pulled Iarephel to a stop and slid off the horse rather ungracefully, with his brother still clutched tightly in his arms. As his feet connected with the ground, his knees gave way, and the two brothers crumpled into a tangled heap with a small grunt.

Elrond and Erestor made their way over to the twins in a few quick steps and crouched down beside them, but before either of them could speak, Elladan blurted out their dilemma hurriedly.

“`Ro is running a high fever… the poison is hurting him… the wound won’t stop bleeding… Legolas is hurt bad… they’re riding right behind us…” The words tumbled out of the distraught elf in one breath.

“Slow down, Elladan.” Elrond placed a hand on his eldest son’s shoulder to calm him. “Are you hurt?” The elf lord’s gaze fell on his torn and bloodstained tunic.

Elladan shook his head vehemently. “I’m fine. But the cut on `Ro’s neck is not healing and…”

The elf lord interrupted his son with a wave of his hand. “Let’s get Elrohir inside first. Erestor will wait for Estel and Legolas.” With that, the elf lord slipped one hand under the younger elf’s knees and the other under his upper torso, lifting him off the grass with practiced ease. Elladan stood with the help of Erestor and gave the advisor an appreciative smile, before following his father promptly. His legs still wobbled unsteadily, but he was grateful that neither his father nor Erestor questioned him further. He would gladly tell them the full story once he was sure that everyone was on the mend. Now that he had gotten his brother home safely, he wondered how Legolas fared.

TBC…