Legolas finished packing up the last of his gear and strapped the various bags and bundles together onto a makeshift harness.  As he set the burden in place across the eagle’s broad, feathered back, the large yellow eye of Menellach turned to study him and Legolas bowed slightly, acknowledging the bird’s scrutiny.  The giant predator cawed loudly and his feathers ruffled and twitched beneath the unaccustomed harness rigging, but he seemed willing enough to accept the nodded gesture of respect from the Elf.  After a time, his huge head swiveled back to survey the plains and wastelands that stretched before them and he patiently waited for Gwaihir’s command to depart.

          Legolas had saddled both horses and secured what valuable yet unnecessary gear they possessed upon each of the horses’ backs.  These provisions would be retrieved from Mirkwood once their mission to the Forest of Druadan had been completed.  A lengthy letter to his father had been hastily penned and secured to Astalder’s halter.  The horses had been fed and watered and seemed eager to leave the dusty plains behind and after a few comforting and encouraging words from Legolas, Astalder readily set out; the newly acquired black stallion following behind.  Mângwaew had already taken to the skies and high overhead, the giant eagle circled about and then swooped back down over the horses’ heads, herding them before him and exhorting them to press on toward the borders of Mirkwood’s southern realm.  Legolas watched them until all three had disappeared from sight.

          While the Elf sorted through their belongings, Gandalf turned his attention to Strider and engaged in the cleansing and bandaging of the numerous wounds that covered his body.  Because of the gaurhoth poison coursing through his veins, most of the deep gashes caused by the clawed hands of the wolf-men had already begun to heal.  Even the arrow wound to his hip had sealed over and the bruised skin around the puncture appeared to be only slightly discolored; yet that same poison was adversely affecting the ranger in other ways.

          The gauntness had returned to Strider’s face as had the dark circles beneath his sunken eyes.  His skin felt cold and clammy and was stretched taut against his bones, giving the ranger a skeletal appearance.  Gandalf shook his head with worry as he noted how Strider’s ribs jutted out in raised ridges, indicating just how much weight the ranger had lost over the last few months.  As Legolas joined him, he glanced up at the Elf prince and pointed to the heavy chains still wrapped tightly about the man’s chest.

          “I think it is safe to remove these until we get some clothes on him.  He is still in a very deep sleep.  If we traveled any way other than by eagle’s flight, I would chance keeping them off, but we cannot have him awaken in mid flight and start thrashing about.”

          Legolas silently nodded and produced the key for the locks from an inner tunic pocket.  While the wizard unchained the ranger, the Elf searched through Strider’s bundles for a tunic, shirt and trousers.  Together with the ranger’s boots, he brought the clothing back to Gandalf and both proceeded to pull the new garments over Strider’s unresisting and pliant body.

          “I think we can leave the ankle restraints off for now,” Gandalf decided.  “He will be easier for you to support if he can straddle the eagle’s back and you hold him around the waist.”  He nodded to Legolas and the Elf effortlessly picked up his friend and carried him to the awaiting eagles.

          “I shall lift him onto Menellach’s back,” Legolas said to the wizard.  “But you will need to hold him steady until I can climb up behind him.”

          Gandalf nodded.  “Very well.  Whenever you are ready.”

          Trundling Strider’s dead weight up and onto the monstrous eagle’s back proved much harder than he thought it would be, but Legolas finally managed to get Strider’s legs up and over the giant bird and with Gandalf’s assistance, climbed up behind the comatose ranger.  He tucked his legs under the bird’s massive wings and settled his body into place, much like he had when riding upon the great dragon, Naurnyar.   Then he pulled the unconscious ranger back against his chest and circled both his arms around Strider’s waist.  When he was certain that they were both steady and balanced, he nodded to the wizard and Gandalf turned to Gwaihir.

          With several shrill shrieks and caws, Gandalf communicated to the Lord of the Eagles that they were ready to depart and both giant birds rose gracefully to their feet.  Their enormous wings stretched outward and with a, short running leap, both were airborne and streaking upward into the cloudless sky.  Legolas clutched the ranger tighter to his chest and then turned his face up to the sun, eyes closed, feeling the warmth of its rays upon his cheeks.  The whistling winds whipped and buffeted about them and the Elf reveled in the sheer speed of their flight.  His long, blond hair streamed out behind his head and tossed by the winds, swirled about his shoulders.  Flying across from him, Gandalf clutched his pointed hat and grinned at the Elf and Legolas could not help but smile in return.

          The huge birds winged their way on a southwesterly course and the dusty lands of the barren plains sped past beneath them at a dizzying speed.  The brown wastelands eventually gave way to the swampy bogs and fens of the Dead Marshes and the Wetwang and then they crossed over the Anduin River and the island of Cair Andros and entered into the grassy regions of Anórien and Gondor.  By dusk they had reached the Forests of Druadan and the eagles slowly circled the ruins of the great watchtower of Amon Dîn, searching for a suitable place to land.  As the sun finally sank behind the vast mountain ranges of the Ered Nimrais and its fading rays left the dark green forests in a grey twilight haze, the mighty eagles lighted upon the crumbling stonework of the beacon hill, and safely deposited their travelers onto the gigantic stones of the ancient site.

          Strider had not stirred throughout the journey upon Menellach’s back, but as Legolas slid down from the eagle and reached up to pull the ranger down, a soft moaning sigh came to his lips and he began to mutter and mumble incomprehensible words and sounds.  Legolas carefully laid him down upon the nearby stones and made him as comfortable as possible while he returned to the bird and began to remove the harness holding their bags and sacks.  When he had finished unloading everything, he moved to stand before the great eagle and he formally bowed his head, his arm crossing over his chest and his hand resting over his heart.

          “Hannon le, pen beleg*,” he said.

          The monstrous bird flapped his magnificent wings, causing a whirlwind of dust and leaves to swirl across the stones of the ancient ruins and he shrieked loudly as his head lifted up toward the heavens.  Then his plumed head lowered and he emitted a soft chittering squawk toward the Elf in reply.  Gandalf chuckled as he appeared at Legolas’ side and he grinned at the Mirkwood prince.

          “Menellach says that he is indeed mighty and has favored you with his regard.”

          The Elf’s eyebrow rose, but he merely nodded to the eagle once more and then quickly moved to check on Strider’s condition.  Gandalf shared several last squawking exchanges with the great birds and then both launched themselves from the topmost stones of the watchtower and winged their way back north toward their aeries in the Misty Mountains.   As the wizard rejoined Legolas at Strider’s side, the Elf looked up at him and asked.

          “Now that we are here, how shall we go about finding the Drúath?”

          The wizard laughed easily and knelt down beside Legolas.   He produced the key the Elf had given to him earlier that day and as he unlocked the restraining chains from Strider’s body he replied.

          “Two great eagles have appeared out of the heavens and landed upon the ancient ruins of Amon Dîn bearing a man, an Elf, and a wizard.  I should think that would be quite a miraculous event in the lives of these primitive forest men.  They will undoubtedly see it as a sign from their Spirit Gods.  I suspect they will find us.”

          He removed the final set of chains and pulled them off the ranger’s body.  “He seems to be coming ‘round.”  The wizard gestured toward the piled supplies resting not far from Legolas.  “He will need water.”

          Legolas nodded and quickly moved to do the wizard’s bidding.  He returned with a water skin and the leather flagon containing the potion.  He handed the water flask to the wizard.  “The potion is almost gone,” he commented.

          Gandalf nodded as he placed the water flask to Strider’s mouth and let several drops of the cool liquid wet the ranger’s parched lips.  Strider stirred slightly and his glazed eyes slowly opened.

          “Legolas?” he whispered; his voice was raspy and feeble.

          “I am here, mellon nin,” the Elf answered.  He put his arm beneath the ranger’s shoulders and lifted him up to a sitting position.  He set the flagon containing the ill-smelling brew to his mouth and titled it upward.  “You must drink the potion.”

          Strider was too weak to even protest and allowed the Elf to pour the liquid down him.  He coughed and choked several times and Legolas held Strider’s head and shoulders upright until the fit had passed and then he eased the ranger down, resting his head and upper body across his lap.  He gratefully took a blanket from the wizard and wrapped it about the ranger’s shoulders and chest and smiled down at Strider as he held him, sharing his own body warmth with the shivering man.

          Strider’s questioning gaze fell upon the strange, crumbling stone walls and the unfamiliar scenery about him.  “Where are we?” he croaked.

          “Amon Dîn,” Gandalf answered and Strider’s head whipped around to face the wizard.

          An incredulous expression came over his pale face as he stared at the maiar.  “Gandalf?”

          The old Istari smiled warmly.  “Yes, dear boy.”  He clasped Strider’s cold hand between his gnarled ones and looked deeply into the wearied silver eyes of the ranger.  “Had I known what great peril awaited you in the Land of Rhûn, I would never have sent you there.  I am sorry.”

          Strider’s frail smile fell upon the despondent wizard and his eyes told the ancient maiar that he held no ill feelings toward him.  “I do not blame you, Gandalf.  It was a chance we both took.”  He laughed sadly.  “And the news I bring you is not what you had hoped for.  Both have fled Arda, and I fear, never to return.  Only their apprentice, Glîngroth, remains, guarding the Cloud Tower and vainly awaiting their homecoming.”

          “Ah, Glîngroth,” nodded the wizard, chuckling.

          At Strider’s puzzled frown, Legolas answered.  “The darkling advised Mithrandir of our dilemma, and he, in turn, brought the great eagles to rescue us.” 

          “Eagles?” said Strider, and his frown increased.

          “I will leave it to Legolas to explain,” smiled the wizard.  “Right now, I wish to study the scrolls containing the necessary spells for the conjuring and ridding of this curse from your body.  Hopefully, we shall soon see this horrendous calamity come to an end and you back to health and recovery.”

          Both Elf and ranger watched the wizard as he moved over to the hastily piled heap of gear and supplies and rooted about for the leather folio containing the parchments.  With an absent wave of his gnarled hand, a small fire erupted from between the cracked stones at his feet and he sank to the ground and began to read the scrolls by the fire’s light.  Strider’s shaky hand upon the Elf’s arm drew the prince’s attention away from the wizard and he looked back down at his injured friend.

          “What happened?” Strider asked.  His frightened eyes searched those of the Elf, seeking answers to questions he could not voice outright and Legolas knew that he was asking about the battle with the gaurhoth and its aftermath.   Legolas studied his worn and haggard face with a pained and anguished expression, but he could not speak the truth of what had occurred.

          “Please, Legolas,” Strider whispered.  “Tell me.  I cannot remember anything that happened.”  He paused, his eyes pleading with the Elf.  “I must know.”

          Legolas nodded reluctantly and eventually began to relate the events following the initial gaurhoth attack.  He left out nothing and when he was finished telling Strider everything that had occurred, his haunted eyes turned away from the ranger’s stark and pale face.

          “Forgive me,” Legolas whispered.

          Strider’s hand reached up and fiercely gripped the Elf’s arm.  “There is nothing to forgive, Legolas,” he murmured.  “You saved my life.”

          A harsh and bitter laugh issued from the prince’s lips and he refused to look at his friend.  “Saved you?  I shot you with an arrow!”  He gasped and an involuntary shudder shook his slender shoulders.  “I thought…. I thought I had killed you.”

          Strider’s piercing silver eyes stared at the Elf’s exquisite profile with an intensity that forced Legolas to turn and face him directly.  When he did, he could see the truth in the ranger’s heart when he spoke.  “You did save me.  The pain and shock of that arrow hitting me caused me to transform back into myself.   Had it not been for that, I know the demon would have destroyed me; I would not have had the strength to fight it.”

          Legolas turned away again, yet his head nodded ever so slightly.  He did not trust his voice to speak but he pulled the ranger up and held him closer to his chest, resting his cheek against the top of Strider’s head.   The human’s hand squeezed his forearm again and then he felt the ranger relax within his arms and knew that sleep had overtaken his frail and weakened body once more.  Gently he laid the man back down upon the stones and tucked the blankets around him.  

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

          Legolas approached the fire and gracefully sank down beside the grey-haired wizard, lightly resting his bow upon the tops of his knees.  His cautious gaze scanned the trees and hillocks surrounding the ruins and his ears were ever alert to any strange or unusual sound.  Gandalf contentedly puffed on his long-stemmed pipe and continued to read through the various scrolls that were now scattered about his lap and the ground around him.  He glanced sideways at the Elf and spoke in a soft, quiet voice.

          “You neglected to mention one very important ingredient required for Strider’s cure.”

          Legolas stiffened.  “The blood,” he whispered.

          “Emmmmm,” the wizard nodded.  He pulled one of the scrolls closer to the fire and read aloud.  “’The blood of the victim must be poured into the silver chalice; another of the same family must also shed blood.’”

          The wizard glanced up from his reading and looked directly at the Elf.  Legolas’ eyes lowered and a guilt-ridden flush tinged his face a rosy pink.  Finally he looked up at Gandalf.

          “In truth, I never believed we would ever reach Druadan.”  His gaze drifted off into the distance, looking at the trees beyond yet not seeing them; seeing instead the barren plains and Aragorn’s wasted body lying still upon the ground.  Slowly he turned back to face the maiar.  “I thought there would be no need.”

          Gandalf puffed on his pipe and mumbled something the Elf could not understand and clouds of blue-grey smoke slowly circled his head.  He set the scroll down upon the others and his blue eyes narrowed as he studied the Elven prince seated next to him.

          “I would imagine you always thought deep within your heart that you would be the one to offer this blood should the time ever come,” the wizard stated.

          The veracity of these spoken words stunned Legolas.  For in truth, he had held this belief tucked away within his heart from the very first moment he had read those fateful words.  And although knowing he was not tied to Aragorn by blood, he had always felt bound to him in spirit.  He had jealously protected that relationship and held dear the strong, unconditional trust he and the ranger shared.  Who better than he to offer this sacrifice?

          “The bonds of a brother in heart and spirit are oft times much stronger than those of mere flesh and bone,” Gandalf said softly.  “The friendship you share with Aragorn is forged in steel; impenetrable to any evil known to Elf or man.”

          Legolas’ eyes narrowed and his face hardened with resolve.  “I would give my life for him.”

          Gandalf nodded, already knowing this to be true.  He slowly lowered his pipe and stared at the Elf.  This prince of Mirkwood was so much more than immortal Elfkind for he was possessed of a powerful force and magic not seen since the Eldar.

          Does he even realize what great strength he possesses, I wonder? the wizard mused.

          “As he would for you,” Gandalf replied and his gaze traveled to the form of the sleeping ranger.  Legolas, too, turned his eyes to the young Dúnedain chieftain and the hope of Middle Earth and then he turned to face the wizard.

          “He cannot die, Mithrandir,” Legolas stated with a hardened strength of will that would not be denied.  “You must tell me that my blood can help to save him.”

          Before the Istari could answer, Legolas sprang to his feet.  An arrow materialized within his hand and he raised his bow, aiming it toward the darkness that surrounded the stone ruins.  His upper body moved from side to side and his eyes narrowed as they tried to penetrate the blackness of the dark woods.  He glanced down at the wizard and his voice hissed out.

          “We are being watched.”

*Thank you, mighty one.