Chapter 24 – A Crippled Life

Elrond heard soft chatters upstairs and guessed that his sons had decided to reconvene in Legolas’ room. He walked briskly towards the guestroom, intending to tell them to give the poor prince some peace and quiet, but when he stepped through the door, several things happened almost simultaneously. He saw a cushion flying, Elrohir tipping his chair and falling over, and Aragorn gaping in surprise. Before the elf lord could even react, the cushion hit him squarely in the chests and the momentum forced him back a step. Catching the small pillow against his body, the elf lord watched in amusement as Aragorn’s expression changed from surprise to horror, while Elladan tried to help untangle his twin from the chair. Several quick strides brought Elrond to the center of the room, as his children recomposed themselves and greeted him nervously.

“We were just...” Elladan started to explain, but Elrond stopped him with a wave of his hand. The elf exchanged a nervous glance with his brothers and took a deep breath, bracing himself for his father's rage... but it never came.

Instead, Elrond approached the unconscious elf and pressed his hand on the prince's forehead, feeling the fever emanating from the body like a heated hearth. “Has he awoken?” he asked.

“Yes, but only for a while.” Elrohir went to his father's side and quietly told him what had happened. Elrond nodded occasionally as his son filled him in on the events that had transpired only a few minutes ago.

“Will he be all right, Ada?” Aragorn asked after Elrohir finished his tale. Although Elladan had already told him that Legolas was out of danger, he wanted to hear it from his father. He needed the confirmation.

Turning to face his son, Elrond spoke slowly. “Yes... he will survive...”

Aragorn eyed his father intently, waiting for the other half of the sentences, but it never came. Instead of waiting for the older elf to continue at his own pace, the ranger prodded his father. “But what, Ada? Please tell me. I want to know the truth.”

A soft sigh escaped from the elf lord’s lips. “The fever worries me. If we cannot get his temperature down soon, he may suffer some irreversible damage to the brain.”

Aragorn’s heart sank at his father’s words. Brain damage. The proud Mirkwood-elf would choose death over a crippled life. If they could not break his fever by dawn, they had already lost him.

“Is there anything you can give him to ease the fever?” Elrohir asked. He refused to give up after all they had gone through to save Legolas.

“I can put together something...” Elrond walked over to the open window and braced his hands against the windowsill. Looking out but not seeing, the elf lord turned his thoughts inwards and searched through his memory for a remedy that he could use.

Aragorn and the twins stood by the bed in awkward silence, watching their father deep in thought. A few minutes passed, and Elrond remained motionless. The human fidgeted uncomfortably. He wanted to approach his father, but was afraid to interrupt his thoughts. Instead, the man shuffled his feet, and before he knew it, he was pacing the small area before the bed.

“Would you stop that?” Elladan complained softly. His brother had picked up the habit of pacing, most probably from their father, when he was worried or in distress. His actions only served to aggravate the already tense situation.

“Sorry.” Stopping his pacing abruptly, the boy turned his attention to Legolas.

Although the prince was insensible, his face was creased with pain. It broke Aragorn's heart to see his friend in this state. The wall that the elf usually erected around himself had disappeared, to be replaced by a vulnerable inner spirit. The elf's ragged and labored breathing sounded deafening in the quiet of the night, and the ranger had an uncanny fear that it might stop any moment. Picking up the cloth from this friend’s forehead with an unsteady hand, Aragorn rewet it and proceeded to bathe his friend’s arms and chest, attempting to lower his temperature by some external means, while waiting for his father to come up with a solution.

A solution, which he hoped, would work.

Elrond pushed himself away from the window abruptly and walked briskly towards the door without a word. Three pairs of eyes followed his movement, and Aragorn opened his mouth, wanting to ask his father what he had come up with, but elf lord was already gone, leaving the three siblings in stunt silence.

Aragorn slumped onto the floor with a pained sigh. He was frustrated beyond words, and he had an urge to break something to release his tension. The man could not comprehend how his brothers could remain so calm in this kind of situation. He envied their self-control and wished he could be more like them... more rational... to think with his head and not his emotions. Picking up the cloth from the basin, he wrung it with such force that he heard the thread in the material snap under the stress. The ranger let out a frustrated growl and tossed the towel back into the bowl with a small splash. Water sprayed onto his face as he stifled a soft sob.

“Peace, Estel.”

Strong hands pressed down on his shoulders as Elrohir tried to calm his distraught brother.

“Do not let the guilt consume you. Things will work out if you hold on to hope,” Elladan added gently from beside his twin. Picking up the cloth, the older elf continued Aragorn’s abandoned task, while Elrohir led the human away from the bed and settled him into a large chair.

Taking the human's face in his hands, Elrohir looked into the pain-filled eyes. “Have faith in father. Have faith in Legolas. He is too stubborn to give up. He will pull through,” the elf tried to reassure the man, even though fear gripped at his own heart. Elrohir could not allow his brother to see his doubts and worries, for it would surely plunge the human into despair and hopelessness. Silently, he said a prayer for the Mirkwood-elf, begging the gods to spare his life once again.

Minutes dragged passed in painful silence as the brothers drew strength from each other’s presence. Patiently, they waited for their father’s return.

“What is taking him so long?” Aragorn almost shouted. He wasn’t expecting an answer, only wanting to vent his frustration. His anger towards himself was immense, and the pressure in his chest built steadily, until it was almost choking him.

Slamming his fists down on the armrest, the man pushed himself forcefully to his feet and started pacing once again, ignoring the saddened glances cast at him by his brothers. Fists clenched tightly at his side, Aragorn felt like an angry volcano ready to erupt at any moment.

TBC…