Estel stirred, half-awakened by the sound of a collision in the room, beside him. Roused, but not yet alert, he lay there drowsing listening to the sound of his brothers’ muttering voices, but not paying attention to the words they spoke. Comforted by their presence he turned towards them, still in the throes of sleep. At the motion he let out a sigh as his fatigued muscles sank into a more comfortable position. As the voices began fading further away to nothing, he sighed again, and sank deeper back into his sleep. A very short time later, he was disturbed again, this time by voices outside the door. More alert now, and a little refreshed by his sleep, he contemplated moving to check on Legolas.

Much of his guilt had been relieved by Legolas’ words, but it was now beginning to return, intermingled with fear. His more awake mind remembered Legolas’ appearance, and the pain he had attempted to disguise. The symptoms Legolas had exhibited did not fit with what he had observed concussion patients experiencing. Aragorn feared that Elrond had known there would be complications from the drug, and that was why he had spoken so harshly to him the night previous. Blinking himself away from these thoughts as the door opened, he shrank back into the chair abandoning all thoughts of reaching Legolas. Concealing himself in the shadows of the darkened room, he perceived who these new visitors were.

Four elves entered the room, Elrond in the lead. Estel frowned as his father stumbled towards the bed, he looked exhausted; hunched shoulders and a stiff neck told of a restless night, bent over papers. Had his father been up all night worrying about Legolas? Researching Rucin’s effects on elves to make sure that nothing further was coming? Estel’s heart sank, and guilt rose as he caught a glimpse of the pallor accented by roughened sore eyes, half-closed. This, and the way he ducked his head from the small rays of light that managed to enter the room, told of an awful headache. Worse though was the naked fear on his father’s face, as he looked towards Legolas. Estel despaired, knowing he was the cause of both his father’s and Legolas’ distress. Closing his eyes, Estel tried to recover himself.

Eyes shut, he missed the look that Elrond took towards him. Shock rose in Elrond’s features as he saw the exhaustion and guilt lining the young human’s face, ageing him dramatically. An immense wave of guilt swept over him as he realised that much of his son’s distress was caused by his thoughtless words the night before. Resolving to clear this matter up with the boy at the earliest moment, Elrond eyed him still; knowing that the news he brought would only add to the guilt and pain, not lessen it, as he truly desired to do. He turned away.

Estel re-opened his eyes then, in time to see a limping Glorfindel following his father. The warrior elf was battered and bruised, his whole demeanour expressing pain. Glorfindel was hunched over to one side, relieving the pressure on his injuries. Estel could instantly diagnose broken ribs along with some nasty scrapes and what were probably huge purple marks hidden beneath the tunic. Wondering to himself what had happened, and just when Glorfindel had returned, Estel’s gaze turned to the final two visitors.

The twins lagged behind their elders, stealing swift looks of concern at them as the two staggered their way over to Legolas’ bed. Their concern was intermingled with bemused glances to the other, hoping for insight into the uncharacteristic behaviour. Glorfindel had ever offered silent support to their father, but Elrond had never been so open in his need; seeing him at a loss, and so dependant on the blond was extremely worrying.

Estel looked on, eyes hidden beneath the fringe of his shoulder-length hair, body motionless, suppressing a smile at the matching bruises on their faces. Even as he watched, Elladan lifted a hand to his brother’s face examining the extent of his, and scowling in his father’s direction. Elrohir winced and batted away at his brother with his free hand, turning to the corner to check on Aragorn. Elladan followed his twin’s motion, and also glanced at the corner where Estel sat, checking to see whether he was awake and had noticed his father’s presence. Sighing with relief that the young one still slept, Elrohir followed after his father, hurrying to see to Legolas. Elladan moved forward to support Glorfindel who was faltering.

Estel watched on as Elrond strode directly over to the bed, frowning at the untouched breakfast. Wincing in relief that the blinds were drawn down preventing most of the light from entering the room, Elrond brought a hand to his head rubbing at the ache behind his eyes. All his attention directed at the figure in the bed, he sat down unknowingly exactly where Estel had been seated less than an hour earlier. Looking down at the pale face beside him, he sighed. From where Aragorn sat, he was unable to get a clear look at Legolas without moving too much and attracting unwanted attention. The pale blur he could make out was almost indistinguishable from the whiteness of the pillow it lay on, hair disarrayed. Forced to rely on his father’s expression to determine Legolas’ condition, Estel studied him carefully.

Elrond closed his eyes, shuddering as he strove to force back unwanted memories. Legolas’ condition was so similar to his previous experiences, that one face became interchangeable with the other. Legolas was taut with strain, sweat beading on his forehead. Blood trickled down one side of his mouth, where he had bitten through his lip; even in sleep he was not at rest. Muscles twitched as he tossed uncomfortably in the bed, unable to get comfortable. From his nearby vantage, Elrond could hear Legolas muttering to himself; by-products of the dreams he was experiencing. Blinking, he strove to separate the memory from the reality, and concentrate on the figure lying before him, not the one from the past. One deep breath later, and his duties as a healer overpowered his momentary preoccupation.

Leaning forward Elrond placed one hand on the young elf’s forehead, feeling for a temperature, frowning as he found one. As he wiped away at the blood that was slowly meandering its way down Legolas’ chin, despair laced through his features. The weariness in his brow seemed to increase as, with every passing moment, the sight of Legolas threatened to drag him back into the painful memories and shadows he had long strived to suppress. Watching him, Estel’s face mirrored his, losing all colour at Elrond’s expression. Elrond displayed an immense grief in his eyes, well hidden unless you were searching for it. It was pain from a wound too hurtful to heal, one that had just been scraped open, by him. Estel began having trouble drawing breath, pressured down by the weight of his guilt. Elrond’s introspection was interrupted by Elrohir, who had reached the bed.

“Ada, here are your herbs. What do you need prepared in order to heal him?” Elrohir asked, practically running forward in his eagerness to have Legolas well so that everything could return to normal. He placed the box on the bed, to one side of his father, and stood there looking at him, waiting for instruction.

Estel winced at the eagerness in his brother’s eyes, knowing that he was the cause of all that was wrong in the family today. Mentally shaking his head, Estel could not believe that Elrohir had failed to read his father’s eyes correctly. Elrond held no hope for Legolas, so where was the younger twin getting his? Estel sat there, lost in thought, as Elrond sat there, staring at the box, making no move to help the prince. Elrohir continued, exasperated. “Ada, do not delay! He is in pain, why do you not end his suffering?”

Elrond lifted his gaze to his son’s but was unable to hold it, and shifted to look across the bed at Glorfindel. Elladan, still occupying the role of medic to the warrior, had ensured that Glorfindel was comfortably seated, on the opposite side of the bed, where he had a view of both Legolas and Elrond, without needing to move far. Clear eyes gazed back into his, mirroring the pain and despair that sparkled in his own. Images flashed before both sets of eyes, drawing tears with them as the memories threatened to drag them under. Each recognised the symptoms that Legolas was displaying, and each knew that what was to come would be that much the worse for anticipation.

Beside Elrond, Elrohir shuffled impatiently clearing his throat in an attempt to redirect his father’s attention towards the more pressing concern of their friend. Recognising that this moment could not be delayed any longer, Glorfindel leaned forward, wincing as the motion aggravated his injuries, and placed a supportive hand on top of Elrond’s free one, where it lay supporting his weight, on the bed. Elrond sat there looking down at the entwined hands, both to gather his thoughts and gain strength from the encouraging squeeze Glorfindel blessed him with. Drawing courage from his friends’ support, he lifted his gaze again to his son’s mixture of exasperation and enthusiasm. Loath to disillusion him, Elrond knew however that it would be less painful if he informed him now of what was coming. Holding in a large breath, he released it slowly, and began. “I do not know how to heal him Elrohir.”

Elrohir looked perplexed by this, he did not understand. “What do you mean you do not know how to heal him? I heard you say you had experienced this before.” Elrond winced at the puzzlement in his features, mixed with the absolute conviction that his father would be able to heal this.

Elladan’s eyes widened in shock at his brother’s words, this was the explanation for Elrond’s behaviour. He feared Rucin, feared being re-infected with it. He had been where Legolas was now! “Father, you were affected by Rucin? How, who gave it to you? What is it like, did you fly?” Looking at his father’s perplexed expression he hurried on, “More importantly, why do you say that you cannot heal him, when it is obvious that you have recovered, why do you not use the same treatments on him that were used on you?”

Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose, headache blossoming into a full-grown migraine. Without ceasing his massaging of his forehead he responded to Elladan’s inquiries. “I…” he was interrupted before he could go any further.

“Stop Ada, it is obvious that the memory of this brings you pain, Glorfindel I hesitate to ask this of you, since it is obvious you are pained by it also, but would you take up the story? If Ada was in such a state as Legolas is in now, it is unsurprising that he cannot remember what was used to heal him. Please, it is obvious you have some experience of this, obvious that you were there. Tell us how Ada was healed so that we might do the same for Legolas.” Elladan had interrupted too early, and Elrond’s headache bloomed again as he tried to find the words to let his son know just how far wrong he was.

“You are mistaken Elladan,” Glorfindel said. It was he who continued where Elrond faltered. “Your father was not infected with the Rucin, though he may have wished it was he who was.

Estel saw Elladan turn a bewildered, fearful face to his father, begging for a clear answer. “I do not understand. Elrohir, you said that Ada had experienced this before. What did you mean? “

Elrohir turned to look at his brother, all enthusiasm gone as the fear that Elrond may not be able to help Legolas appeared on his face. If he had misunderstood, if his father had not been infected, then it was all too possible that there was no cure, and that Legolas would die. That they had not heard of any elf being infected with this, offered only two practical explanations. One, was that the infected elf was ashamed of his weakness and refused to mention it. Elrohir hoped it was this. The other explanation was that he was dead.

Desperate to find a less painful solution than that Elrohir tried to get Elrond to confirm that he had been infected. “I overheard him reading a journal extract, describing symptoms. When I asked him he admitted, through the expression on his face, that they were descriptions of Rucin’s effects; that he had had experience with this. That is true is it not Ada?”

Estel, looked at his father, and saw the grief in his eyes. He felt his heart clench with fear; Legolas was going to die, and in pain, and it was all his fault.

“As Glorfindel said, I have not experienced the effects firsthand, though I did observe them in another, over a nine month period. I can somewhat ease the pain Legolas will experience, but there is little else I can do. I cannot repair the cause of his illness.” Elrond finally found the strength to speak up.

“Surely you must be able to counteract the drug in his system? Neutralise it in some way” At his father’s futile headshake, the other twin chimed in with suggestions, dredging around for another solution.

“Can you not bleed the drug out of his system, or dilute the potency with something to lessen its effects?” Elrohir simply refused to believe that his father was infallible, that he could not cure their friend.

Elrond rubbed away at his headache, barely able to think past it. Squeezing his eyes shut, to prevent what light there was from aggravating it, did little to ease it. He could feel an immense throbbing, beating in time with his heartbeat, it felt almost as if his brain was contracting and swelling. Estel leaned forward in concern.

Again it was left to Glorfindel to provide the answers. “There is no drug in his system Elrohir, and therein lies the problem.”

“I do not understand; if there is no drug then how is there a problem?” Elrohir was completely lost now.

Elrond spoke up then. “It is the absence of the Rucin,” he suppressed a small shudder at the mention of that name, “that causes the problem. Legolas’ body is now dependant upon its very presence to function.” As the blank looks continued in his direction he sighed. “Legolas is addicted to the Rucin. Without it his body will eventually cease to function, and shut down; even now that process begins.”

As the listening twins digested that news, they heard a sudden gasp for breath, and swung around to observe a white-faced Estel, fists clenched and mouth open, gasping in shock. Elrond’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh Estel, would that you had stayed sleeping a few moments longer. I would not have broken this news to you like this.” He took a step towards his youngest but was halted by the look in his eye.

Elladan stepped forward his worry expressing itself through anger. “That is twice today you have fooled me into thinking that you were sleeping, while in fact you were callously eavesdropping. I will not make that same mistake again! How much did you overhear?”

Estel rose awkwardly to his feet, arms wrapped tightly around himself. Completely ignoring Elladan, it was unlikely that he even realised his brother had said anything. His entire concentration was focussed Legolas. Taking a deep breath he approached the bed where all four elves now stared at him with a mixture of anger, fear and compassion.

“Is it true Ada? Is Legolas addicted to the Rucin?” At Elrond’s reluctant nod he continued on, stepping closer as he did so. “And he will die without it?” Again Elrond nodded. “Then let me search for some more, we can give it to him before he enters withdrawal and he will be fine.”

Elrond shook his head, sadly, in disagreement. He was reluctant to destroy all of Estel’s hope, yet knew that it was far better met here, than later. “Do you forget already the last time that he took some? It causes mental instability Estel; prolonged exposure will only increase the damage while lessening its benefits. If we continue to dose him with this his depression and withdrawal will become more severe as his body grows accustomed to its presence. There are not just physical effects, but psychological ones as well.”

Elladan reached forward gently pressed a hand to Aragorn’s shoulder as the human bent his head downwards, blinking away tears at the thought that his error would cause his friend’s death. Truly his father had been right to upbraid him for idiocy, it was a wonder to him that he had not been immediately evicted from the house. Surely they would wish to banish the murderer of Legolas, if only to in some ways mollify Thranduil. It was treason to kill a member of the royal family, far worse than banishment ought to be his fate, he should be executed. He snapped out of his thoughts as Legolas stirred, face creased in pain, body arching as his muscles tensed involuntarily.

Leaning over the reclining figure Estel placed a soothing hand on the elf’s brow, wincing as he felt the beginnings of a fever; obviously the Rucin was causing the elf’s body to upset its self-regulation. Looking into the face of his friend, he barely recognised his features, obscured as they were by the hardened lines of pain. His skin was taught and lacklustre, losing much of its beauty. Elrond also stepped nearer, and began unwrapping the bandage covering Legolas’ leg wound. Estel went to help but was pushed away as Elrohir stepped forward to do the same. Feeling uncomfortable and unwanted, Estel hurried to treat the head wound, before Elladan could reach it, not that he had any intention of so doing; he was preoccupied with keeping a close watch on Glorfindel.

Unwinding the bandage, and lifted the wadding that protected the injury, Estel was unprepared for the sight of his friend’s blood. Wincing, he added yet another injury onto his long list of responsibilities. Wiping the wound clean, he was able to see that it was fairly well healed; what was worrying though, was that it had not healed nearly as much as it should have by now. Obviously the lack of Rucin was interfering with the body’s attempts to heal itself. From the muttered exclamation further down the bed, and the gasp of shock from Elrohir, it was apparent that the wound down there suffered the same fate. The elf was in no danger from these injuries, but he was not well, that was plain to see.

Having finished re-bandaging the wound, Estel turned to try and get a glimpse of the sword wound, but Elrond had finished, and had bade Elrohir to raise Legolas’ leg slightly, in order to rewrap it. Legolas awoke, startled, as his leg was brutally abused. With an inarticulate cry of pain and fear, he kicked out at his torturer. Disorientated, he attempted to rise to his feet, unaware of where he was, and that he was safe. Finding himself too weak to support his weight, he sank back down, and after several minutes where none dared approach him; he opened his eyes with recognition in them.

“What are you staring at?” He gasped out, glaring at Estel, who stepped back somewhat startled by the look of aggression in Legolas’ eyes.

“N...nothing,” Estel stammered, surprised by Legolas’ vehemence. “I was only checking your injuries. I am sorry”

Elrond interrupted before the pain in Legolas’ eyes could find an outlet in Estel. “It was my fault Legolas, I should have woken you first, and made you drink something for the pain.”

“I am in no pain, my Lord.” Legolas was blatantly lying, his teeth clenched against the undoubted agony he was in as every muscle seemed to have a will of its own.

“Let me give you something anyway, for my own peace of mind” Elrond knew that he would have little peace of mind ever again, but he tried not to let that show in his face. Elrohir produced a ready mixture that would dull the pain, but keep Legolas alert.

“I will not drink any of that, how do I know what is in it?” Fever bright eyes eyed the cup warily, shrinking back from it.

“Legolas it will not harm you, it will help you,” Elladan put forth his opinion.

“I cannot know that, for all I know you could be trying to poison me further than I already have been,” Legolas glared at the human.

Estel winced, realising that the elf still held him to blame for his condition. Attempting to correct his wrong, and at least afford Legolas some relief from strain, he tried a compromise. “I will drink some, and prove to you that you have nothing to fear from it. Will you drink it then?”

“If you think that I would drink out of the cup once you have put your nasty human lips there then you are insane!” Estel flinched at the vehemence in Legolas’ voice.

Elrond stepped forward to shield his youngest from the unwarranted anger. “It is not poison, and will do nothing but let you lie comfortably. If you would still like proof then I will taste it. It would not have the same effect upon elves as it does humans, so even were Estel to sample it, you would have no reassurance.”

“I do not want it, I just want you to leave, all of you. Leave me in peace.” Legolas knocked at the hand of Elrohir who had advanced with the cup.

“Legolas, we care for you, we do not like to see you hurt, please drink this.” Even the stern voice of Glorfindel could do nothing to sway the elf.

“Get out!” Legolas tried to sit up and get out of bed, as no one seemed willing to leave him alone, so he must go. Estel stepped forward to hold him down, but Legolas hit out at him. “How dare you touch me, it is your fault I am like this, get out, and stay out! I do not wish to see you again.”

Aragorn paled. Unwilling to believe that Legolas really did hate him he tried one more time to appease the elf. “But you said it was not my fault, you forgave me. What is making you say these things?” Even as he spoke, Aragorn was trying to settle Legolas down. When his struggles grew even more agitated, Elladan and Elrohir joined in to hold him down.

“Let go of me, you are all in league with him. Let me be!” he cried.

Elrohir withdrew his hand, crying in pain as the prince bit deeply into him. Blood burst across the covers, and he recoiled away from the bed, clutching it to his chest. Elladan immediately let go of Legolas and went to examine him. Taking advantage of the fact that Estel was the only one holding him down, Legolas thrust him away from the bed, onto the floor. Fear-induced adrenaline enabled him to rise to his feet, and he poised himself ready to kick the human before him. “Filthy human, take your dirty stares far away from me, I’ll show you not to poison me!” he screamed.

Elrond and Glorfindel stepped forward to hold back the prince, but he paid them no heed in his desperate attempt to reach Aragorn, and pushed them aside. Glorfindel fell, gasping in pain as his wounds were aggravated by one of Legolas’ wild swings. Elrond grasped Legolas around the waist, holding him back with a firm grip. Legolas still struggled. “Let me go, let me get rid of the human. He’ll poison you all!”

Elrond could see that there would be no dealing with the delirious prince while Estel was in the room, and bade him leave the room. “Estel, your presence is aggravating him, go.”

Aragorn stared up at his father, hurt leeching out of his eyes, vision blurred with tears at Legolas’ words.

“Estel go.” Elrond repeated.

Aragorn could not move, he stood there stunned, mind selectively replaying the conversation. ‘Get out and stay out!’ he trembled as he remembered the ferocity with which Legolas had spoken. He had meant for Aragorn to feel like this; he hated him. ‘Go,’ now even his father felt that his presence was a nuisance. Just as last night he thought that Aragorn was useless. This was his fault.

“Estel leave, now. You are making this worse.” Elrond spoke firmly, desperate to spare the human any more pain.

Aragorn turned abruptly, and left the room.

When the human was gone, Legolas ceased his struggles, and was lowered back into bed by Elrond. Elladan and Elrohir stared after their brother, keen to follow him, yet delayed by the need to find out what ailed Legolas. Glorfindel had managed to regain his seat, and was sitting there, albeit hunched over, pale, and breathing heavily through the pain. The four remained motionless, attempting to work through the shock and analyse what had just occurred.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Estel fled from the room, his father’s and Legolas’ words echoing through his head. Clasping his hands over his ears, he attempted to block them out, but alas they where not external, but repeated internally, it was his own mind that betrayed him. Running to his room, he searched desperately for his pack before realising that he had left it in Legolas’ room on his return last night. Grabbing the blanket off his bed, he hastily shoved a handful of garments into it, before picking up his sword, and strapping it on. Looking around to see if there was anything else he wanted to take, he gently picked up the leather-bound sketchbook he often used. Opening it, he caught a glimpse of he drawings he had made, of his father and brothers, of his home; flashes of moments that meant family to him.

Choking down a sob, he caressed it one last time and flung it on the fire to burn. At the back of his mind had always been the niggling fear that Elrond had just been tolerating him, until was old enough to protect himself, that his brothers were there only to teach him to defend himself, before they would throw him out. But that had only been a slight fear, one he had always lived with, and which had shown no evidence of truth until now. Until Elrond had rightfully blamed him for Legolas’ death, until he had asked him to leave. Estel was an orphan now, in all sense of the word.

Taking one last look around the room, he turned and ran down the corridor, using the back stairs, as far away from Legolas’ chambers as he could get. Briefly stopping in the kitchens, he stole some bread and fruit that was left out in case anyone was hungry. Reaching the doors, that always stood open to welcome guests, he paused. Taking one final deep breath, he left the warmth of the building behind him, and stepped out, leaving his home behind him. Reaching the stables he saddled up his horse, after pondering for a time whether he should take it or not. He had been a gift from his father, but all acknowledged him as his. Deciding that he could always have him returned, and that his primary aim right now was to just get away as fast and as far as he could. He mounted the horse, and rode away in the direction of the waning sun.

After an hour’s hard riding, he looked back, seeing the golden reflection from the river, and the roofs of his former home. As he watched the sun passed behind a thick accumulation of clouds, and the light faded. His home was no longer visible and his world had been plunged into darkness.