Chapter 23 – Escaping the Truth

Legolas heard voices behind him, and his heart went cold at the sound. They had found him! They knew he had escaped! Risking a quick glance behind him, the prince lost his footing in panic when he saw the two figures watching him.

‘No!’ his mind screamed as he broke into a run... or at least he thought he was running. But the footsteps kept getting closer, no matter how fast he ran, and soon his pursuers were right behind him. Bracing himself for the blow that he knew were coming, he was surprised when the hands that grabbed him by his arms were firm but gentle. The owner of the hands spun him around, and Legolas found himself staring into a pair of confused silver-green eyes.

“You’re awake...” Aragorn’s voice broke when he saw that the elf was indeed Legolas. “But why... why are you running from me? Do you blame me still?”

Legolas blinked hard after his initial shock. “You.” He looked at Aragorn, confusion marring his pale and sweaty face. “I...I know you...” The prince struggled to remember. His befuddled mind slowly worked out the details of the human’s face. “Aragorn...”

The human nodded vigorously, having temporarily lost the ability to speak. He was overcome with joy and grief, happy that his friend had finally woken, but saddened that he was trying to avoid him.

“H-H’ve to g-get out...” Legolas mumbled urgently. “T-They coming...”

“Who’s coming?” Legolas’ words confused and frightened the ranger.

The blond elf’s gaze turned upon Elrohir, who stood some distance away to give the two friends some privacy. “They hurt me. They are c-coming!” the prince repeated.

“No one will hurt you. You’re in Rivendell,” Aragorn soothed the distraught elf. “That’s Elrohir. Don’t you remember him?”

“El’hir? R’vndell?”

“Yes, you are safe.” Elrohir stepped forward into the light and moved towards the duo so that Legolas could have a clear view of him.

“Elrohir.” The wood-elf repeated the familiar name and turned to look at Aragorn once again. “Estel...”

“Yes, it’s me,” the man assured his friend.

With a sigh of relief, Legolas let his defenses down, and the exhausted elf sagged against Aragorn, almost dragging the human to the ground with him. The ranger staggered backwards as the additional weight fell upon him, but Elrohir’s quick reflexes prevented the two from toppling on top of each other. Steadying the human, Elrohir lowered the semi-conscious elf onto the grass, with the help of Aragorn. The man then removed his cloak hurriedly and draped it over Legolas.

“We need to get him back inside,” said Elrohir. “Adar will have a fit if he learns that our dear prince tried to escape from his house,” the elf added as he scooped the frail creature into his arms gently. Nudging Aragorn in the arm with his shoulder, Elrohir tilted his head towards the entrance to the house. “After you, little brother.”

Aragorn shook himself out of his thoughts and started back towards the building in a hurry, only to run into a near frantic Elladan.

“Estel!” the older elf gasped as he came nose to nose with his human brother. “Have you seen Legolas? He’s...” Elladan stopped in mid-sentence as his gaze traveled beyond Aragorn’s shoulder and fell upon his twin and the bundle in his arms. The elf’s jaw dropped, and he gaped at the sight. “By the Valar!” Elladan exclaimed. “How did he manage to get out of bed?”

Without waiting for an answer and not expecting one either, the oldest son of Elrond ushered his brothers into the house, before closing the door and shutting out the cold.

“He should be thankful that he’s the prince of Mirkwood, or I would make him walk back to his room on his own,” Elrohir grumbled good-naturedly as the siblings made their way upstairs.

“...heard that...” came a slurred and slightly breathless reply from within Elrohir’s arms, followed by a soft groan.

All the moving around did not help his healing wounds, and Legolas’ body surely did not like the unwelcome exercise. He hurt all over and felt like he would fall apart if they did not reach their destination soon. All he longed for at that moment was to slip off into the welcoming darkness, where he could be free of the pain. Another moan escaped his lips as he felt his body being shifted slightly by his carrier while Elrohir settled him carefully onto the familiar bed. Legolas kept his eyes closed, trying to will the pain to leave him, but to no avail. He heard footsteps around him, but he could not make out to whom they belonged. A wet cloth was pressed onto his forehead, and he welcomed the cool sensation. Someone was checking his bandages, probably to make sure that he had not ruined Elrond’s handiwork during his little performance earlier. The process hurt him, but he tried to suppress the whimper rising up his throat. For the sake of his friends, he needed to be strong. They were no doubt blaming themselves for his injury, in one way or another, even though he could not recall what had happened. All he knew was that he was engulfed by a fiery pain that wound into every fiber of his being. Each breath that he took sent a fresh surge of agony through him, and the elf wished that he could hold his breath forever... never to breath again, for the task simply pained him too much.

“Legolas? Are you all right?” He heard someone ask, and only did he realize that he had been moaning out loud.

The injured elf tried to reply, but words refuse to come. He tried opening his eyes, but the action proved to be too much for his weakened body. When the ‘someone’ leaned over to check on him and unintentionally bumped into the mattress, the fire inside him flared with renewed strength. Unable to hold back any longer, the elf prince cried out as pain tore through him, ripping his consciousness from his body once again.

Elrohir gasped when Legolas’ pain-filled cry was cut short and his body went limp. Reaching out nimbly, he pressed his fingers on the elf’s neck and let out a long sigh when he found the weak but rapid pulse under his digits. Elladan and Aragorn looked on anxiously from behind the younger twin, both wearing a deep frown on their faces.

“He has lost consciousness.” Elrohir turned from the bed, his expression grim and tense. “But maybe it’s better for him. It was a miracle that he made it downstairs. I can’t imagine the pain...” The younger elf trailed off as his hand moved unconsciously to his neck, touching the still tender skin lightly.

Placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder, Elladan guided the elf away from the bed. “There's nothing we can do for him now. All that is left for us to do is wait. But since he had regained consciousness, I suppose he’s out of danger.”

Elrohir nodded and dropped down onto a chair with a grunt. “I need a vacation,” he said in attempt to lighten the mood. “Some place where disaster cannot follow... somewhere you-” the young peredhil jabbed a finger at Aragorn, “cannot follow.”

The young man pressed his hand against his chest and inhaled sharply. “Are you saying that I’m a walking disaster?” Aragorn asked with a hurtful voice.

“No, I didn’t say that. You did.” The next thing Elrohir knew, he was trying to dodge a cushion launched straight at his face. Having not enough time to rise from the chair, the younger twin tilted the furniture to his right, instead, to avoid the flying object, only to lose his balance and topple over. He landed on the floor with a loud thud. The cushion sailed past, narrowly missing his head, and ended its journey in...

TBC…