Chapter 19 – Keeping Vigil

Soft footfalls outside the room notified them of someone approaching. Half expecting the visitor to be Elrond, they were surprised when Elrohir appeared at the door. Bouncing up to his feet, Elladan sprang towards his twin and took him by his arm. “What are you doing out of bed?” he admonished his younger brother, while guiding the weakened elf to the chair that Glorfindel had so kindly vacated.

“I’m getting sore from lying down. Besides, I feel fine, just a little weak.” Thanking Glorfindel for the seat, the younger twin shrugged his brother’s hand off. “I won’t fall to pieces you know. You don’t have to hold me together,” he quipped with a smirk, as Elladan pressed him down into the chair. “Any changes with him?”

“I’m afraid not,” Elladan replied.

“I thought I felt his fingers twitch earlier, though,” Glorfindel added, “but it could just have been my imagination.”

The three of them sighed in unison and then shared a mirthless laugh.

“Estel blames himself for what happened,” Elrohir stated the obvious. “I fear for him if Legolas does not pull through.” His last four words were barely above a whisper; as if by keeping his tone low, the chances of it happening would be lower as well.

“Do not say such things, Elrohir,” Glorfindel berated the younger twin. “You must have faith in your brother and friend. Legolas _will_ be fine and Estel _will_ be able to find something of use.” Just as the last word left his mouth, Erestor strode into the room.

Springing to their feet, the three elves surrounded the advisor, drowning him with questions regarding the search. Erestor stood dazed by the bombardment of questions. Having no idea who to answer first, he finally lifted his hands, palm out, requesting that they stop talking.

“Slow down!” he exclaimed as he retreated from the anxious crowd and moved towards the bed. His gaze fell upon the elf prince’s pale face, and he couldn’t help reaching out to touch his cheek briefly. “We found some bottles hidden in a secret compartment behind a cupboard. Unfortunately, none of them were labeled, but I’m sure Lord Elrond will find them useful. We believe that those were ingredients for concocting vile potions and poison, for they were hidden well. If not for Estel’s curiosity, we would never have found them.” Erestor paused to allow the information to sink in, before continuing. “We also found a strange plant in the backyard, one that grew in isolation, with no other plants growing within two feet of its location. Estel believed it was poisonous. He has taken everything to his father in the healing room. They’re trying to determine the contents of the bottles and the nature of the plant now.”

“That will take a while.” Elrohir let out a heavy breath. The throbbing ache in his neck reminded him of the constant pain Legolas must be in. Even in the state of unconsciousness, the wood-elf’s face was twisted with unspoken suffering. Silence filled the room, for no one knew what else could be said or done. All that was left was a long, agonizing wait and the collective prayer directed at the elven prince.

*****

Afternoon turned into night, but still no news was heard from Elrond and the other healers. Aragorn now sat slumped in the chair beside his friend’s bed, his head rolled to one side in an uncomfortable angle. The soft sound of breathing could be heard from the sleeping man. The ranger had rooted himself in the chair after his father chased him out of the healing room for being overly agitated. He, in turn, chased the twins, Glorfindel and Erestor out of Legolas’ room so that they could get some rest and also to allow him some peace and quiet with his friend. That was almost six hours ago.

Soft footsteps approached the room, but the sleeping man did not stir. The figure entered quietly with a tray and laid it down on a small table near the end of the bed, before moving to Aragorn.

“Estel...” The voice was quiet and gentle, so as not to startle the slumbering human. “Wake up.” The voice got more persistent when the man showed no signs of waking. Elrond tapped Aragorn on his arm lightly, and the man jerked awake instantly, his head snapping up sharply.

“Leg’las?” The man asked groggily but urgently, still trying to clear his mind from sleep. “Is he...” His voice faltered as the thought that Legolas had passed on while he had slept struck him. His heart hammered in his chest, and he could feel his blood pounding in his ears. “Noooo...” The mournful words broke from his lips before Elrond could explain the reason for rousing him.

“Shh... it’s all right...” The elf lord rubbed the young man’s arms to calm him down. It tore at Elrond’s heart to see his youngest son in such grief.

Aragorn inhaled deeply trying to steady his rapid heartbeat. “He’s not... dead?” the ranger asked with a shaky voice.

“No, my son. He lives still. I just need your help,” the elf lord explained to the young man, who was still trying to recover from the initial shock that he had bestowed upon himself. “But we have to work fast. His strength is waning, and he is fading by the seconds. We don’t have much time.”

Aragorn nodded curtly, his heart still thundering against his chest. “What must I do?” he questioned his father, his voice trembling in fear and apprehension.

“Get him into a seated position. I need to apply the poultice to his wounds.”

Heeding Elrond’s instruction, Aragorn slipped his arm under Legolas’ shoulders and lifted the elf’s upper body off the bed. While supporting the limp body, the man sat down on the bed and slid in behind the prince into a position which would allow Legolas to lean back against his chest. Pulling his friend’s head against his shoulder, he brushed the golden hair away from his face.

“Hold him tight. He might get a little...” the elf lord hesitated for a second, “he might get a little physical.”

Aragorn wrapped his arms across Legolas’ chest and signaled with a small nod that he was ready. Elrond removed the bandages from the wood-elf’s midsection carefully but quickly and set it aside. The prince’s upper body was now bare, and Elrond grimaced at the sight of the ugly wounds. The area around the puncture wounds was swollen badly, turning the skin a sickly shade of blue and dark purple. Crimson blood oozed out slowly from the cuts once the pressure of the bandages was removed, and the sticky wetness now ran down the young elf’s stomach and back in small rivulets. Elrond secretly wondered if the young one could survive the infection, even if the anti-poison worked to stop the bleeding. Shaking his head to push the dreadful thoughts aside, the elf lord concentrated on the task at hand. He scooped out a copious amount of paste from a bowl and spread it onto his palm. Setting the spoon down, he rubbed the paste between his hands and then pressed them, one in front and the other at the back, to Legolas’ body.

TBC…