Chapter 22 – Prisoner of the Mind

Hands. He felt hands all over him… prodding… pressing… hurting him. Why were they hurting him? Hushed whispers whirled about him, but they sounded muffled and foreign to his ears. Who were they? He tried to concentrate on one voice in an attempt to make out the words, but he could not seem to separate one from the other. The voices twisted and blended together, the words jumbled into a language that he had never heard before. But the voices faded away as the owners retreated from him. Gone were the voices… along with his pain.

He had to escape, to get out of this prison quickly, before his tormentors returned. He lay there for a long time, willing his fingers to move, and it felt like an eternity before he managed to flex them. Senses started flowing back into his body at a painstaking rate, but eventually he felt strong enough to at least open his eyes. Prying the heavy lids open, he had to suppress a groan as the room spun sickeningly, forcing him to squeeze them shut again. He tested his legs and arms and was surprised that they were not bound.

‘Must have thought me too weak to attempt an escape.’

Trying to push himself up from the bed, he fell back promptly onto the pillows as knives of pain shot through his body.

‘And they are probably right.’

Bracing himself for the pain, he tried again, this time successfully pushing himself into a sitting position. Daring to open his eyes again, he blinked hard, trying to bring the double images into focus, but failing miserably. In spite of that, he gazed around his surrounding. He was in some kind of room. The place was dark and warm… uncomfortably warm. His skin felt like it was burning. A dull ache started to build behind his eyes, and his breath felt hot under his nose.

‘Have to get out.’

That was the only thought that ran through his mind. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he laid his bare feet on the cool floor. With great difficulty, he pulled himself up, with the help of the bedpost, and stood unsteadily, his hand pressed firmly on the heavy bandage around his abdomen. The walls and furniture around him wavered, and the exit to the room twisted and swayed in his vision. Praying that he could make it out without crashing into the wall, Legolas staggered towards the door.

His throat was dry and parched; each breath he took burned his lungs. His legs were weak from lack of use, and he felt like he had not walked for weeks. It took him forever to finally wobble his way to the door. Bracing himself on the doorframe, he panted heavily, ragged breath tearing through his heaving chest. Despite his vulnerable position, he risked closing his eyes for several seconds to gather his rapidly fading strength.

The place was quiet. The hallway seemed to be deserted, and he couldn’t sense the presence of any guards. Staggering out of the door, he continued down the dark corridor as silently as possible, with little success. His movements lacked their usual gracefulness, and he bumped into the railing, causing it to creak under his weight. Legolas held his breath and listened intently for the approach of guards, but miraculously none came. Heaving a sigh of relief, he continued on, his world still spinning nauseatingly, making him a little sick, but he did not have the luxury to stop and rest.

Legolas realized that he was in a house, and the residence looked vaguely familiar, but his feverish mind could not place the location. Besides, thinking made his head hurt, so he decided to carry on with his plan. Moving to the end of the corridor, he found a flight of stairs leading downwards. Stumbling down the steps, he was relieved to reach the bottom landing without pitching headfirst down the stairs. Leaning heavily on the wall to reassess his surroundings, he couldn’t believe his luck when he saw the front door several feet away. Swaying dangerously on his feet, he gritted his teeth against the increasing pain in his lower back and stomach. He gripped the bandage that lay over his wounds tightly in his fist and headed clumsily towards the door, hoping that the fresh night air could clear his fuzzy mind somewhat.

The journey to freedom was taking forever. Each step sent searing pain through his body, and he was forced to move slowly to prevent himself from passing out. Sweat beaded on his brows, and the wetness was making its way down the sides of his face and neck, drenching his clothes and making the thin material cling uncomfortably to his skin. But he would not allow such small discomfort to deter his mission. He had to find Aragorn and get out of this place, before they discovered that he was gone. Aragorn. Where was Aragorn? His mind was a complete jumble. He could hardly form a coherent thought, let alone remember what had happened to his friend. Dragging his exhausted body towards the door by sheer will power, the elf finally reached his destination. Pressing himself against the doorframe Legolas forced his body to remain upright as he took in large gulps of fresh air. Unfortunately, the night air did little to help the screaming pain that plagued him.

Opening eyes that he did not remember closing, the elf prince berated himself for his carelessness. Forcing his brain to give the command to move his legs, Legolas took a tentative step forward, praying hard that his legs would continue to hold his weight when he stepped through the threshold into the garden.

The night was quiet and serene. Legolas drew in a sharp breath as his bare feet made contact with the damp grass, not because it pained him, but because he had not anticipated the coldness that pierced his skin. The elf shook himself mentally, gathered his strength, and lifted one foot, placing it in front of the other. Moving slowly and without a destination, Legolas made his way sluggishly across the field, away from the house. He had no idea where he was heading, but moving seemed like a good idea to him at that moment.

*****

Aragorn sat on the stone bench, his face turned skyward at the thousands of stars shinning brightly in the cloudless sky. Elrohir sat beside his brother, a hand resting lightly on the human's knee, silently lending him the strength and courage that he lacked to face whatever might happen. For five days Legolas had held on and fought the infection, but the prince did not seem to be getting any better. Their father had said that unless Legolas awoke, he would eventually lose the battle and slip into eternal rest. For five days Aragorn had tried to coax the elf back to consciousness, but he had received no responses whatsoever. Tonight was the first time Legolas had shown the tiniest sign of waking, but his hope was crushed when the elf failed to respond to his pleadings.

Aragorn blinked once, tears of frustration and despair that had pooled in his eyes rolled down his cheeks. Wiping them away forcefully with his sleeves, the man stifled a sob that rose up his throat. He could not make himself believe it was not his fault that Legolas lay dying in the room. Elrohir patted Aragorn's knee lightly, for he did not know how to comfort the young man any longer. Words were spent, and only actions remained. The human gave his elven brother a forced smile, thanking him for the emotional support.

“The stars are bright tonight,” Aragorn said suddenly.

“Yes they are,” concurred Elrohir. “And Earendil is especially beautiful,” he added. “There may still be hope, Estel. As long as he still draws breath.” The words were gentle, but held much resolution as the younger twin tried to calm his brother.

Aragorn nodded. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as a gust of wind swept through the garden, a small shiver shaking his body. Noting the human's discomfort, Elrohir suggested that they return to the house.

“Father will have my skin if you fall sick under my care,” he joked, trying to lighten the situation.

The young man snorted and rose quickly to follow his brother as the elf turned a corner and disappeared from his sight. When he rounded the corner, he saw his elven brother staring at a figure moving away from the front door of the house, and the figure looked a lot like...

“Legolas?” the human called out automatically.

The figure twirled around and stumbled a little but turned back and hastened his pace.

“Legolas!” Aragorn shouted at the retreating elf and started running after him.

TBC...