Chapter 15 – From Bad to Worse

Elladan's mind drifted as his legs carried him automatically into Elrohir’s room, depositing him in the middle of the chamber, where he stood rooted to the floor while his father laid his precious burden onto the bed. Healers bustled into the room carrying water basins, bandages, and various healing herbs, making their way around the elf standing unmoving in their path.

A pair of strong arms took Elladan by the shoulders suddenly, and the elf snapped out of his reverie with the touch. Turning around, he found himself staring at Celboril. The servant was trying to steer the elf away from the busy path towards a large chair at the corner of the room.

“Sit down, Master Elladan. You look like you’re going to fall over soon,” the older elf said gently, while lowering the exhausted elf into the over-stuffed chair.

Elladan sighed heavily and sank into the seat. His eyes darted around the room, following the movements of his father and the healers as they fought to lower Elrohir’s fever and clean the cut on his neck before stitching it to promote healing. He never noticed Celboril’s departure as the servant left the room silently.

Elrond unwound the sodden bandage from his son’s neck and tossed it into an empty basin before picking up a piece of damp washcloth and daubing around the wound tenderly. The cut was partially crusted with dried blood, but a part of it still seeped. The elf lord pressed the cloth lightly on the wound and heard his son whimper under his touch. He jerked his hand away, his heart breaking into a hundred pieces at the pitiful sound.

“I’m sorry, my son.”

The soft whisper floated through the quiet room, and Elladan let out a small sniffle at his father’s words. He knew exactly how the elf lord was feeling at that moment.

“Tell me what happened, Elladan,” Elrond requested from the bed, his sight never leaving Elrohir as he worked on closing the wound on his son’s neck.

“It was Thad, father,” the dark haired elf said blatantly, but when he received no reaction from his father, he added, “the son of Baran.”

Elrond’s body stiffened at the mention of Baran, and his head snapped up suddenly. Quickly finishing what he was doing, the Lord of Imladris cleaned his hands and left the remaining tasks to the healers. He made his way across the room to Elladan and crouched down beside him, looking intently into his silver-gray eyes.

“Tell me more.”

“Thad blamed Estel for his father’s death. He hired someone to ambush Elrohir and I, rendering us defenseless with some sort of powerful muscle relaxant. That was when I received this wound.” Elladan reached up and touched his torn and tattered tunic. “But fortunately, the knife they used was one of our own and not their foul weapon.”

The elf paused when his father brushed a lock of stray hair away from his face, and then he continued, “He wanted to kill us so Estel would feel the same pain and grief he felt when he lost his loved one. He forced Estel to fight and kill Legolas by threatening him with Elrohir’s life... and that was when he cut Ro on the neck with that poisoned dagger.” Elladan shuddered at the recollection of the details, which Aragorn and Elrohir had told him after he was freed. “The poison not only hinders the normal clotting of blood, but also increases its victim’s sense of pain.” Pausing momentarily, the older twin gathered his strength before delivering the final blow. “And he threw the dagger at Legolas, stabbing him in the back.”

Elrond paled visibly at the information. If a small cut on Elrohir had brought him such discomfort, he dared not imagine what condition the elven prince would be in. Elladan’s next words brought his world crashing down upon him.

“Father... Legolas fell onto Estel’s sword when he pitched forward after Thad ambushed him.”

Sweet Eru! Elrond had to brace himself on the arm of the chair to prevent from falling backwards. Elladan reached out a hand and grabbed his father’s arm to steady him.

“That is the reason why they are riding slower than us. We cannot control Legolas’ bleeding, and the slightest movement causes him great pain,” Elladan explained, although he knew that fact was already quite clear. Before Elrond could question him further, shouts erupted downstairs, signaling the return of his human son and the elven prince. The commotion moved rapidly up the stairs and past their room into the guestroom in which Legolas always stayed when he visited them. Springing onto his feet, Elrond summoned two of the healers and rushed out of the room towards the one next door.

*****

Erestor was just setting Legolas gently onto the bed as Elrond and the two healers dashed into the room. Aragorn was hovering anxiously around the bed, until the advisor forcefully pulled him aside to allow the healers access to the injured elf.

Legolas was still as death. All color had left his face, and his lips were tinged slightly blue. His eyes were closed; dark circles marring the pale skin under his them. The rise and fall of his chest was barely noticeable, and the bandage around his body was stained dark red. The elf lord did not understand how the young prince had managed to stay alive for so long.

“Get a fire burning! Hurry!” Elrond shouted the command at no one in particular. “We must keep him warm!”

Erestor rushed to the fireplace and started a fire, as Aragorn added more logs onto the hearth. Soon, flame warmed the room, but unfortunately the heat failed to warm the cold body of a certain elf prince.

Working diligently, Elrond rolled Legolas onto his side and examined his injuries. The wounds were small but fairly deep. Usually they would not have been fatal, but with addition of the poison, the wounds could bring death to the Mirkwood prince. The elf lord wondered if stitching the wound would make any difference, but he could not just sit and do nothing. No matter what the expected outcome, he still had to do his best. So with the help of Dûrsereg and Nilram, he cleaned and closed the wounds, before wrapping a heavy bandage around Legolas’ abdomen. Finishing all that could be done, the two assistant healers retreated discreetly, leaving Elrond, Erestor, and Aragorn in the room with their friend.

Elrond placed his hand on the injured elf’s chest and chanted quietly, his soft elven glow extending around Legolas as he shared his strength with the dying elf. Aragorn stood numbly by the fire, watching his father infuse his strength into the limp body of his friend. He half expected the prince to suddenly open his eyes and tell him that everything was all right. However, Aragorn knew that wasn’t going to happen this time.

Waiting for his father to break off from the trance, Aragorn approached him tentatively. “H-How...” the human stammered. He couldn’t bring himself to say more and choked on the rest of his words.

Elrond shook his head sadly. “We have done all we can. It’s all up to him now.” The elf lord clasped his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “He’s lost too much blood, and the bleeding has not stopped yet. I don’t know if he can survive the night... but if he is still alive by late morning, there may still be hope.”

Aragorn’s shoulders shook as broken-hearted sobs racked his body. Sorrow and anguish overwhelmed him, and the pent-up emotions that he kept locked up inside of him tore down his defenses. The ranger wept openly in front of his father and the trusted advisor.

TBC...