Chapter 21 – Falling Apart

Aragorn dozed in a large chair beside the bed where his friend rested. A book lay unattended across his lap, the pages flapping softly as the night breeze found its way through the open window. The weather was getting colder with each passing day, but the cool air was not able to ease the raging fever that plagued the Mirkwood prince. The infection brought on by his injuries had spread into his blood, and for the past five days, none of his caretakers had gotten any decent sleep. Day and night they tried to bring the fever down, but to no avail. Legolas was dehydrated, but they could not get any fluid into him. Whatever they managed to force into the prince was rejected violently by his body, and eventually they had to stop trying for fear of choking him. That would do more harm than good.

The man shifted slightly in his sleep, his movement disturbing the balance of the book. The reading material slipped from its perch and landed on the floor with a loud thud. The sound of the impact reverberated in the silence of the night. Aragorn jolted awake and jumped onto his feet in an instant. He swayed slightly as his sleep fogged mind adjusted to his sudden movement and tried to connect his legs to his still awakening brain. Blinking several times to clear his blurry vision, his eyes slowly adjusted to the dimly lit room. Letting out a heavy sigh, the man bent over and picked up the book, tossing it back carelessly onto the chair.

Checking Legolas’ temperature for the hundredth time since he took over the watch from Elladan, he was disappointed when the persistent fever did not show any signs of leaving its victim. However, he thought the intense heat had diminished somewhat and hoped it wasn’t just his imagination. Wringing out the cloth in the basin that they kept beside the bed, Aragorn bathed Legolas’ chest and arms, before placing the cool material across his forehead. The elf moaned as the wet cloth made contact with his burning skin, and he turned his head towards the source. Aragorn’s heart leapt as he noticed the elf’s reaction to the external stimuli. This was the first time in many days that Legolas had shown any signs of movement at all.

“Legolas?” Aragorn called out to the archer gently, but all he received was another small groan.

“Legolas, please wake up,” the young man pleaded, but only silence greeted him. Aragorn wanted to scream. He was frustrated and angry. Angry with himself for causing his friend such pain and torment. Angry that he had been unable to pull his sword back fast enough. Angry that he had been unable to find a cure to the vile poison. The ranger banged his head on the bedpost repeatedly, trying to silence the little voice inside his head that kept telling him that Legolas was going to die. Finally, the man burst into a loud sob and sank onto the floor, burying his face in his hands as he wept openly in sorrow and pain.

So profound was his grief that he felt his heart ripping inside his chest and his lungs constricting forcefully behind his ribs, making breathing an agonizing task. He felt dizzy from lack of air, and his head swam sickeningly. When he forced his eyes open, the man was not surprised to find bright green spots floating before his vision. Pulling himself unsteadily to his feet, he knew that if he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, he would pass out, but no matter how hard he tried, his body refused to cooperate. The grief stricken human gasped and wheezed, desperately trying to breathe, but he could not. As the world around him slowly swirled out of focus, he thought maybe that was for the best. The pain was just too much to bear, and he welcomed the temporary relief.

Strong hands grabbed him from behind as he staggered backwards, holding him firmly by the arms. Aragorn felt himself being lowered to the ground, but his oxygen-deprived mind was too shocked to identify his rescuer, until the person moved to embrace him gently, running a hand up and down his back.

“Relax, Estel, don’t rush it.”

The voice was soothing yet commanding. Aragorn’s fingers closed instinctively around the fabric of his father’s robe, gripping onto it for dear life as his chest heaved painfully. Surprisingly his father’s presence seemed to have helped his breathing, and cool, refreshing air finally filled his burning lungs. His head cleared somewhat, and the loud ringing in his ears faded to a faint buzz.

“Ada...” the young man sobbed brokenly as he buried his face in the crook of the elf lord’s shoulder. “It hu..hurts.” Tears burned his eyes, and he felt a great unrelenting pressure upon his chest, crushing him. He took a shuddering breath and pushed away from his father. One hand still gripping his father’s clothes, he raised the other and pounded his fist against his chest vigorously. “I hurt!”

“Estel!” Elrond barked as he pried the human’s hand away from his body and pinned it down by his side. “Stop it!” the elf lord shouted in a frenzied panic as Aragorn let out a shrill scream that almost shattered his eardrums. Unable to watch his son in such misery any longer, Elrond pinched down hard on the nerve on the side of his son’s neck and immediately felt the human go limp in his arms.

“I’m sorry, my son.” Elrond apologized softly as he lowered the unconscious man onto the floor.

“Estel is taking this really hard,” said Elrohir, who had entered the room with his older brother and father, speaking up for the first time since they stepped into the chaos.

“Will he be all right?” asked Elladan, as he got over his initial shock and laid the tray that he was carrying onto the small bedside table, before crouching down beside his youngest brother.

Elrond reached out and wiped the tears from Aragorn's pale face, as Elrohir proceeded to crush some athelas leaves into the bowl of boiling water that they had brought with them. The sweet smell of the healing herb filled the small room, instantly flooding its occupants with a temporary sense of serenity.

Aragorn moaned. His lids fluttered open sluggishly, and he found three pair of silver-gray eyes staring down at him. Struggling to sit up, the human accepted Elladan’s aid, as the older twin slipped his hand behind his brother's back and helped him sit up. Inhaling deeply, the young man let out a long sigh and lowered his head into his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled, “it’s just that...I can’t bear to see him like this... withering away...”

“He’s not withering away. In fact, I think he’s getting better,” Elrond consoled his distraught son.

“He is?” Aragorn asked incredulously. “But when I checked...”

“You’re tired. Why don’t you go get some fresh air, while we take care of Legolas,” interrupted Elladan, before Aragorn could see through his father’s ‘misinformation’.

“Dan is right. Come, I’ll walk you to the gardens.” Elrohir grasped Aragorn by his arm and pulled him to his feet, ushering him out of the room before he could protest.

Elrond and Elladan watched as the testy human was escorted out of the room, before letting out the breath that they were holding. Elrond shook his head sadly and turned to his remaining son. “Let’s get to work.”

They proceeded to bath the elf prince’s wounds, turning him onto his side to have better access to his back. The task was tedious and gruesome, for the wounds were badly infected. The poison in his veins had retarded the healing process rendering the wounds slow to mend.

“Do you think he will live?” Elladan asked solemnly, as his nimble fingers continued to work on the elf prince, his eyes never leaving his patient.

“I do not know. If he wakes, the chances of his survival will be greatly increased.”

“But it has been five days already, and he hasn’t showed any signs of waking.”

“We have to keep trying and keep hoping. To lose hope is to give up.”

Elladan nodded slightly. Finishing up the last of the dressings, the dark-haired elf eased Legolas onto his back once again and gave one of the prince’s hands a firm squeeze. “Do not surrender to this evil! You hear me?” Placing the limp hand across Legolas' chest, the older twin followed his father out of the room. Had he known that the wood-elf had responded to Aragorn’s ministration earlier, he would never have left Legolas unattended.

TBC...