Blade's Brother…….

DISCLAIMER : Nope, don't own a thing, it's all the Professor's!

AUTHOR'S NOTE : This is going to be a long one…..just so's you know.

Chapter 1 - A Strange Foreboding

Darkness covered Imladris. Stars, silver points of fire, shimmered in the clear sky and the air was cool and still with the promise of dawn. The trees stood silent, not a breath of wind stirring the new growth of spring leaves which clothed the valley in a living mantle of soft green. In the house itself - home of Elrond Half-Elven - all was quiet.

In a room overlooking the gardens on the east side, a single lamp glowed, casting a golden wash over the lawn below. Every so often a figure passed the arched window opening, momentarily blocking the light, occasionally pausing to glance out as though searching for something, scanning the gardens and the paths leading out of the valley. Seeing nothing, the figure let out a short breath and turned from the window. A small fire burned in the pre-dawn chill, its glow adding to the soft light cast by the lamp placed on a small writing desk. A sword scabbard and bow sat propped against a chair, with the sword itself, blade gleaming a soft gold in the firelight, lying on the neatly made bed next to a pot of oil and a sharpening stone.

The familiar task of cleaning the blade, begun some time ago, usually brought solace from concerns and worries. Caring for the weapon brought calmness and perspective to the young warrior who was its owner, but this night it had brought no comfort and had been abandoned in favour of a restless pacing.

Now he returned to the fireplace, placing another log on the small blaze and staring into the flames with worried grey eyes.

"Legolas, mellon nín, where are you?"

It had been three months since his friend had left for a visit home. Once full of light and life, Greenwood the Great was now a dark place, populated by giant spiders and strange creatures so that Mirkwood seemed a fitting name. The area kept free of shadow by the elves of Thranduil's realm remained fair still, but Legolas held a deep connection with the land, deeper even than most of his kind, and the growing darkness in the rest of the forest had saddened him deeply. It was for this reason and because of Legolas's growing rift with his father, that the Prince had been persuaded to leave his home. He dwelt now in Imladris, returning to Mirkwood only rarely, to see his mother and fulfil those duties Thranduil saw fit to impose on his son.

Aragorn knew how much the growing distance between the Elven King and his heir grieved his friend. Legolas adored and respected his father, but as the darkness grew, Thranduil retreated into his own realm, guarding its borders and making no attempt to halt the rest of the forest's slow descent into darkness. Aragorn knew Legolas had questioned his father about this, about how it seemed that some paralysis held Thranduil in its thrall, preventing him from reacting.

"He will not tell me," he had told Aragorn in frustration on one occasion. "When I asked for his leave to aid the White Council at Dol Guldur, he forbade me to go, saying it was my place as his heir to keep myself safe." Legolas had grimaced, " It is as though he would place me in a fur-lined box! It was my mother who persuaded him, though he gave his permission reluctantly. and in the end, had it not been for the intervention of Mithrandir, I believe he would not have given his consent even then." He paused again, frowning, "Yet even my mother cannot," he paused and shook his blond head, correcting himself, "… will not, tell me why my father acts so strangely." Legolas now looked at Aragorn, and the ranger could see confusion and a centuries old frustration in his friend's eyes, "Whenever I ask, she will say only that there is something in my father's past of which he will not speak, which drives him to try to keep those he loves from harm and it is that also which makes him turn a blind eye to the evils around him."

Legolas had said no more and they had not discussed it again, and when the Sindarin Elf returned from his rare visits home with a grim expression and shadows in his blue eyes, Aragorn offered silent understanding.

Now Legolas was overdue. He had received a message from Tathar, his friend and weapons teacher and had left Imladris saying he would return in a month. Aragorn had offered to delay his trip with the Rangers to accompany his friend, but Legolas had shaken his head, saying with a smile that he would return soon, probably before Aragorn and his brothers returned from their own travels.

Yet when Aragorn had returned, several weeks ago, there had been no word from Legolas. Elrond had sent messengers to Mirkwood, but there had been no reply. Something was badly wrong, Aragorn could feel it. It iced his blood and left him restless, unable to find sleep.

He sighed and his frown deepened. The sun had risen as he fretted about Legolas's whereabouts and the air was bright and fresh. Turning from the window, Aragorn left his rooms and padded through the quiet corridors to the hall where he knew there would be breakfast laid on the long tables.

Entering the huge vaulted chamber, he saw his brothers, seated in a corner, their dark heads bent together in conversation. At his approach, they both looked up.

"Suilad, Estel," Elladan smiled at him.

Elrohir made room for Aragorn, slanting a look at the ranger, "Has there been any word?"

Aragorn shook his dark head, not wishing to voice his concerns, Elladan reached behind his twin to lay a gentle hand on his brother's arm. "Legolas can defend himself, Estel," he said quietly. He meant his smile to be reassuring, but it didn't reach the Elf's eyes.

"We will go to Mirkwood," Elrohir ventured, "Perhaps he……."

"My sons," a quiet voice made them all look up.

Elrond stood by the table, a parchment in his hand. Wordlessly, they rose and followed the Lord of Imladris from the room to a private hall.

Closing the door, Elrond turned to them. A cold dread gripped Aragorn at his expression and he faltered, "Ada?"

Elrond looked at each of his sons in turn, his gaze coming to rest on Aragorn and he spoke in a voice which seemed to come from far away.

"Lînivren is dead."

Aragorn felt himself reel in shock, dimly aware of the stunned gasps of the other two. Expecting to hear of Legolas having been grievously hurt…..or worse, still he had not expected this.

Lînivren, Thranduil's beloved Queen, was as much beloved of the Elves of Imladris as she was of the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood. Born in Doriath, she had later travelled to Lindon and there had met Elrond. She and Elrond and Elros, Elrond's brother, had become close and when Elros had chosen the gift of Men, Elrond and Lînivren had grieved together. In Lindon also, Lînivren had met Thranduil and had eventually left to wed him, but she and Elrond had remained closer than most siblings.

Aragorn now looked to his father, and saw that Elrond stood motionless, as though speaking the words aloud had finally made the shattering news he had given his sons reality. With a murmur of comfort echoed by his brothers, Aragorn returned the solace the Elf-Lord had so often given him as a child, gently closing his arms about his father. Elrond did not move, but in his stillness, Aragorn perceived a terrible grief, all the more keen for the fact that the Elf-Lord did not give voice to it.

Beside him, Elladan and Elrohir too stood as if all breath had left them, struggling to comprehend the loss of one who had been so beautiful and so beloved. They grieved too for Legolas who had been so close to her, her only child; for Thranduil, who had worshipped the very air she breathed, and for Elrond, for the Elf-Lord's loss of a soul-sister and for the death of one of the Firstborn, the death of one not born to die. In the small chamber, flooded with the brightness of the morning, their grief enclosed them in black despair, making the bright morning air tremble with sorrow.

Through his own grief, Aragorn dazedly recalled the first time he had seen Legolas's mother. It had been in the gardens at Imladris, when she and Thranduil had joined their son for a visit. She had worn a green gown which seemed made of leaves, layered one on another and edged in gold so that she shimmered in the light of the sun. Her golden hair had been bound with a intricately wrought coronet and her blue eyes, the exact shade as her son's, were like the blue of a wind-tossed lake, deep and fathomless. He had been utterly entranced, wondering if, even among the Elves, there could be another so fair.

He had stared at her, unable to help himself, unable to move or breathe, "M…Mae govannen Lady," he had managed at last, as those around him shared quietly amused smiles. It was an effect Lînivren often had, even on Elves, immortal, and used to things of beauty. On a young man of barely seventeen, the effect was devastating.

Her smile was warm, "Mae govannen, Estel."

Remembering himself just in time, Aragorn stepped with Elrond and his brothers to greet the others in the Mirkwood party. He was dimly aware of Legolas, grinning at his friend's stunned expression.

On another occasion, Aragorn had been in Mirkwood, having accompanied Legolas on one of his visits home. At the borders of the Elven lands, Legolas had suddenly halted, holding up a slender hand. Aragorn had moved his horse closer, thinking Legolas had sensed some threat.

Legolas had sat motionless, his expression was intent, golden head tilted a little to one side, as if he listened for something the Human could not hear.

Then he smiled, jumping lightly down from his horse as green and brown clad figures materialized out of the trees. Legolas greeted them all joyously, then one of the slender figures detached itself from the others. A green hood of softest wool covered the face of the Elf, but as the warrior approached, the hood fell back, revealing the same features which had bewitched Aragorn the first time he had seen her, the laughing blue eyes, the bright hair, braided now in the fashion of a warrior. Lînivren had embraced Legolas, crying out, "Mae govannen, my son!"

When the two Elves broke apart, they had smilingly approached Aragorn, who stood with the rest of the hunters, most of whom he knew fairly well by now. Lînivren's arm was looped over her son's shoulders. She had lightly embraced Aragorn, "Suilad, Estel! It is good to see you!"

Aragorn was once again utterly entranced, for few Elves, outside his own family and Legolas, were given to embracing Humans.

Thranduil's Queen was dressed identically to the rest of the party, in a tunic of soft brown leather and leggings which allowed for ease of movement, a bow clasped in a hand which held the weapon as if it knew well how to use it. And such proved to be true. On their way back to Thranduil's caverns, Legolas and Aragorn had become involved in the hunt which they had inadvertently run into and Aragorn saw that Lînivren was clearly the designated tracker of the group and easily the most skilled. She directed them unerringly to their quarry, and it was her arrow which brought the stag down, finding its heart with deadly and merciful accuracy so that the animal had no time to register its fate before it fell dead to the forest floor.

And her voice, as she knelt and murmured the words of thanks and respect to the spirit of the stag , was like all the Elvish songs he had ever heard and again Aragorn had thought that there could be no Elf-woman on Middle-Earth that was the match of this Queen, for such would have to be the spirit of Lúthien reborn.

Aragorn pulled himself with an effort from the bittersweet memories as a nagging fear pushed insistently through his thoughts. He stepped back, "Ada?" Waiting until Elrond looked up, he questioned softly, "What of Legolas?" The young Human dreaded to think of his friend's grief.

Elrond retrieved the parchment and scanned it once more, searching for news of the Elven Prince. He looked up at Aragorn before calling out, "Erestor?"

When Elrond's chief councillor appeared at the door, Aragorn could see that the news had somehow already spread throughout Imladris. Quickly, Elrond asked, "Is there any word of Legolas? Where is the messenger?"

"I will fetch him," Erestor responded. Within moments, the messenger from Mirkwood was ushered into the room and Aragorn saw that it was Tathar, Legolas's friend and teacher.

The Silvan Elf's shoulders were slumped and the normally sparkling eyes were dull. Even Tathar's bright golden hair seemed to lie lank and lifeless on his brown tunic. But he bowed respectfully to Elrond and waited for the Lord of Imladris to speak; Aragorn saw on his face the dread of what he knew they would ask, a fear which the son of Thranduil's chief advisor fought hard to control.

Elrond placed gentle hands momentarily on the younger Elf's shoulders and Aragorn could sense that even through his own sorrow, his father extended his healing gift to touch the heart of the warrior. He bowed his head, saying formally, "My sorrow for the loss of your Queen …. she was dear to us also."

Tathar visibly fought renewed tears, "Thankyou, my lord," he managed at last.

Elrond tightened his grasp on Tathar's shoulder in wordless comfort before questioning gently, "And what of Legolas? How fares your Prince and the King?"

For the space of several moments, Tathar did not move. Then he raised reluctant eyes to meet those of the Elf-Lord, saying in a whisper, "I do not know, my Lord….. He has gone, but we do not know where. He…he left after the King…." the younger Elf stopped, and they tensed instinctively against his next words.

Panic flared in Aragorn and he stepped forward, "After he what?" he demanded of Legolas's friend in a voice harsher than he had intended.

The Silvan Elf was clearly exhausted. He murmured something inaudible and Elladan and Aragorn caught the young warrior as he swayed unsteadily.

When Tathar had been placed on a bed in one of the guest rooms to rest, Elrond seated himself by the bed and looked up at his three sons.

"Leave us for a while," he commanded softly, "You also, Estel." Elrond forestalled Aragorn's instinctive protest, understanding and sympathising with his son's need to find out what had happened to Legolas.

Elladan put a gentle but firm arm around his younger brother's reluctant shoulders and after a brief moment of resistance, Aragorn allowed himself to be led away. The last view he had of the scene by the bed was of Elrond leaning over Tathar, reaching out with healing senses to discover what he could of the Elf's condition and Legolas's fate.

***

Hours later, Aragorn, having finally succumbed to exhaustion, was dozing in a chair in the Hall of Fire. Elladan was seated across from him, curled into the comfortable depths of another chair, eyes mere slits, watching the glowing embers as he wondered what had happened to the Elf who was both friend and family. Elrohir was perched in the window seat, staring out into the spring night, arms hugging his knees.

The room was dim and they were its only occupants. The Last Homely House had quieted early. Tomorrow they would lament for Lînivren, but for tonight, the Elves of Imladris remembered she whom most had known well and all had loved, with quiet sorrow.

Standing in the doorway, Elrond watched his sons for a moment, seeing how despite his seeming inattention, Elladan glanced often at Aragorn and Elrohir now and then turned his head, troubled eyes watching both his brothers.

Elrond's heart ached for them, and he had to steel himself for what he must now tell them, battling his own disbelief and anger, which in some small measure helped to temper the grief.

Elrohir, half-facing the door, saw him first, lifting his head and turning to look at the silent figure of his father. The movement alerted Elladan and woke Aragorn, whose keen senses picked up the slight movement and sudden tension in the room.

Elrond came forward and seated himself by the dying fire, staring into it for long moments before he spoke. The twins and Aragorn watched him silently.

At last Elrond spoke, not taking his eyes from the fire, "Legolas has gone and none know where. Mirkwood was attacked by orcs, and Legolas led a party out to hunt them. They found the creatures and ambushed them, but three of their party were killed." Elrond paused, "Legolas was the one who found Lînivren," the flames flickered on his drawn face in the dim light, shadowing his eyes, "He brought her home……"

Elrond looked up but it seemed to Aragorn that his father could not meet his gaze. His sense of foreboding increased, but Elrond was continuing, voice now holding a note of anger, "Thranduil went after him, but none know what passed between them. Tathar could say only that he saw Legolas's face when he emerged from the chamber. He was bleeding from a cut to the lip and his eyes were empty. He left before dawn and none have seen him since in Mirkwood or beyond it. Tathar's warriors have searched in secret, though Thranduil forbade it. He blames Legolas for Lînivren's death and he has not spoken his name since that day."

Elrond fell silent and Aragorn closed his eyes. He had been expecting evil news, but nothing could have prepared any of them for this. His mind struggled to accept even the possibility that Legolas could have been careless with Lînivren's life, that he had failed to prevent her death, capable warrior though she was. Yet he refused to believe it. He was certain of one thing, however it appeared, there was more to this tale than they yet knew, and there was only one who knew the truth of it.

If he still lived.

They sat in silence for long minutes before Aragorn came abruptly to his feet. The others looked up at him, startled.

"I am going to look for him."

Elladan and Elrohir stirred, their intention to accompany their brother obvious, as Elrond looked at his youngest with sympathy, "Estel, there is nothing we can do tonight. Wait till the morning. Legolas has been missing for nigh on three months. One more night will make little difference. And we are all too filled with sorrow tonight. If we find him, I fear Legolas will need all our strength."

None of his sons had missed Elrond's use of "we" and Elrohir now came silently to the fire, standing by his father's chair.

"Do you mean to come with us, ada?"

Elrond looked up at the younger twin and nodded his dark head, "I do. Legolas is dear to me also, as is his father. Elrond's gaze was focused on a scene from the past the twins and Aragorn could not see, "Thranduil will not lose a son through his own foolishness," he added softly.

Then Elrond's gaze found Aragorn's and the young ranger heard his father's calm voice in his head……

We will find him Estel my son, by the Valar I pledge you, we will find him.

***

After he had retired, Elrond walked slowly out onto his balcony. It was very dark, the stars obscured by scudding clouds. He walked to the balcony railing and leaned against it.

Thranduil, what have you done, gwador?

Legolas's father had always been impulsive. Ungovernable, Thranduil's own father, Oropher, had often called him. Elrond frowned, remembering how the founder of the Woodland Realm had always been so hard on his son, constantly judging Thranduil and finding him wanting.

Small wonder then that when Gil-galad, citing reasons of Alliance, had persuaded a reluctant Oropher to foster his son to Gil-galad's court at Lindon, that the young Sindarin Elf had become so devoted to his Noldor foster-father.

It had been doubtful at first, that Oropher would agree to such an arrangement. Distrustful of the Noldor, it had taken all of Gil-galad's powers of persuasion to convince him that the bond between the two Kingdoms could ultimately benefit both in the likely event of war.

Yet it had not been for reasons of state alone that the High-King of the Noldor had taken the Sindarin Prince into his household. The King had no wife or family, his existence focused on the protection of his people and Elrond was the only one, save perhaps Círdan, who knew the loneliness, the longing which Gil-galad often felt.

When the High-King had met Thranduil, each had recognised in the other a kindred spirit. Despite the differences between their peoples, Gil-galad had seen in Thranduil a lonely young Elf who could not meet the unrealistic expectations of an uncompromising father; and Thranduil had found in

Gil-galad understanding and the father's love he had always sought.

So Thranduil had moved to Lindon and Elrond had watched as Gil-galad had guided and taught him, so that Thranduil had come to recognise his own worth and had discovered his abilities, in both statecraft and war. Yet he remained impulsive, his passionate nature leading him to utter devotion and loyalty, but also leaving him capable of allowing his emotions to influence his actions more than was sometimes wise. With Thranduil there were no half-measures.

When he had met Lînivren, introduced to her by Elrond, their love had been powerful and immediate. Within a short time, Thranduil had asked for her hand, but she had asked him to wait. Lînivren, as wise as she was beautiful, saw the restless flame that was Thranduil and recognised its potential to scorch as well as to nurture. So he had reluctantly waited and he had learned the value of patience.

But Lîniven was too much in love herself to delay long and she had left Lindon to wed Thranduil, the joy of both almost painful in its intensity. All had rejoiced for them and Gil-galad, delighted for his foster-son, had often teased Thranduil that Lînivren was both his match and a calming influence, with which Thranduil had ruefully agreed.

And thus it had gone on…until Gil-galad had been killed. Elrond shook his head, unwilling to relive the memory. None whom Thranduil ever loved were left in any doubt as to the fact and that only made the risk should tragedy befall, all the more unthinkable. As he knew to his own cost……..

He sighed. It did no good to think on this now. Elrond could well imagine, even without Tathar's news, how Thranduil would react if he thought Legolas had been responsible for Lînivren's death. And until they found Legolas, whom Thranduil loved fully as much as any, he could only speculate on what had transpired between the two. Heart heavy, Elrond turned towards his bedchamber. He could only hope that they found Legolas quickly and that when they did, Thranduil's son would understand why his father had acted as he had.

***

In the grey light of dawn, the three Elves and the ranger mounted their horses. They did not speak, each wrapped in his own thoughts as they made their way out of the valley, letting their horses thread their own way up the steep path onto the lower slopes of the mountains. The sun yet held little warmth and they huddled in cloaks, the hoods up, but not for protection from the chill dawn air, seeking instead comfort against the heartache of the past days in the warm folds.

As they reached a bend in the path, Aragorn, coming last, reined in his horse, some impulse making him turn to look back.

As he stared down at the house nestled in the valley, lights glowing softly in its windows, his attention was caught by something moving along the steep path on the other side of the valley. It was a rider, and it was almost on the level ground near the Ford. He watched, eyes straining in the dawn light, and suddenly, he felt a sudden fierce hope kindle in his heart. Hardly daring to breathe, he was peripherally aware that his father and brothers had returned and were sitting their horses silently, staring into the morning mist.

For several tense moments, all four strained their eyes, then Elvish eyesight penetrated the mists shadowing the paths of the valley. Even as Elrohir shifted and gasped, and Elrond's head came up in shock, Elladan shouted, rising in his saddle, "It is Legolas!"

Aragorn urged his horse to as fast a pace as the Elven stallion could go down the narrow path. The nimble animal sensed its rider's urgency and leapt gracefully down the steep slope, iron-shod hooves striking sparks from rocks as it ran. In only a handful of minutes Aragorn pounding up to the outer courtyard, followed a heartbeat later by the three Elves.

The courtyard was empty, but Aragorn knew where his friend would be. Whatever state Legolas was in, even if he were dying, Aragorn thought with a wry smile, he would see to the care of his horse first. It was so deeply ingrained it was instinct, and unhesitatingly, the ranger headed for Imladris's stables, coming to a dead stop just inside the great arched double doors. Only Elven quickness prevented the three behind from running into him.

Inside the stable was warm and dim, filled with the comfortable, reassuring scents and sounds of horses. Shafts of sunlight streaming from high windows turned dancing dust motes to flickers of gold.

Quickly, with the same sixth sense which had led him to turn on the path, Aragorn headed for the stall where his own horse was normally housed.

In the large stall, he found Legolas's grey stallion, and, leaning his forehead against the beautiful creature's shoulder, wrapped in several cloaks despite the growing warmth of the morning, stood the Prince himself, his back to the stall opening.

The slender fingers of one hand were tangled in the horse's mane and his forehead rested on the animal's neck. The grey turned at their entrance, but Legolas did not move, even when Aragorn softly called his name. The thought crossed the ranger's mind that it was no coincidence that Legolas had chosen the stall which normally housed Aragorn's mount. He somehow knew that Legolas had instinctively sought the comfort of the place which was connected with Aragorn and his heart went out to his friend.

Coming quietly up beside Legolas, Aragorn could see that his friend's eyes were closed. Only when he carefully touched Legolas's shoulder did the Elf slowly look up, as if raising his head was a great effort Aragorn almost recoiled at the expression in the eyes, Lînivren's eyes, which stared back at him, huge dark blue wells of agony and loss.

"Legolas," Aragorn murmured, as the others hung back a little.

Legolas stared blankly at his friend, frowning a little, as though focusing was difficult. For a moment, a thrill of fear shot through Aragorn and he felt a warning shiver along his nerves, but then recognition returned to Legolas's eyes.

"Estel?" the normally musical voice was rough, as though it had not been used in a long time. Legolas's arm slipped down from the stallion's neck.

"Yes, Legolas, I am here." Aragorn spoke softly, carefully. There was a fragility and a detachment about Legolas that surprised and alarmed the ranger. He had thought he had been prepared for anything, loss, pain, anger, even fear, and these were all present in Legolas's expression. But there was something else, a transparency which frightened Aragorn.

As Legolas continued to stare at him, he tightened his hand on his friend's shoulder, "Come, mellon nín," he encouraged, "Sit here." He tried to lead Legolas to a large pile of hay in one corner of the stall.

But Legolas resisted, hands hidden in the folds of the several cloaks which made his slender form seem unusually bulky. "They are all dead," he murmured. The gaze holding Aragorn's was almost eager, the eyes feverishly bright for a moment before they went dark with lethal coldness, and he said in a flat tone, "All of them."

Aragorn's fears for Legolas's sanity returned, and he turned to look at his father. Elrond nodded slightly, indicating that Aragorn should go on, but otherwise the Elf-Lord did not move, none of them dared. They too could sense something odd about Legolas and of all of them, Aragorn was the one most likely to be able to get through to him, to persuade him to accept their help. Silently, they willed the ranger to persevere, to penetrate the strange haze which surrounded Legolas.

Aragorn was at a loss. Legolas freed a hand from the folds of the cloaks and gripped his arm, whispering, " I could not save her Estel...she…I tried…no time… " Legolas's eyes were bright with tears now, and the blue depths were pleading, desperate, begging the ranger to understand.

Aragorn's heart swelled with sympathy . Questions filled his mind, but he put them aside, the fear that there was something else besides grief and self-imposed exile wrong with his friend. He tried again, "Legolas…"

"Estel……." Elladan's voice was soft, warning. Aragorn turned to look over his shoulder and saw that his brother was looking at Legolas's pack. He followed the older twin's gaze; Legolas's pack lay near to the Elf, another cloak partially covering it, but Aragorn now saw that there were blood smears across the decorated leather. He looked to the grey stallion, moving aside the blanket Legolas had evidently covered the tired animal with. The grey coat was soaked in blood.

At the same time, they all became aware of a soft noise, a slight liquid spattering as though rain was gently hitting the window panes, though the sun was now bright outside. As that thought crossed Aragorn's mind, he looked down. Onto the tip of his boot, drops of bright blood were falling. It soaked into the straw and the ranger now saw that a thin stream ran from Legolas's fingertips, concealed by the long cloaks until he had moved, absorbed by the straw piled thickly on the floor. Legolas's other hand, which still gripped Aragorn's arm was also bloody.

At that moment, Legolas swayed against Aragorn and the ranger moved swiftly, catching Legolas as he stumbled against him. Where Legolas's upper chest caught him, the cloak fell partially open leaving bloody smears down Aragorn's tunic. He reached beneath the cloaks, trying to catch the fainting Elf and

a momentary burning cut across his reaching hand. There was a heavy thud as something dropped from the folds of the cloaks and hit the straw-covered floor. Then Elrond was at his side, helping to support Legolas. They carried him to the pile of hay and laid him down on it. Aragorn knelt by his father as the Lord of Imladris quickly pushed back the cloaks covering the younger Elf.

Ugly gashes, some of them deep, criss-crossed Legolas's body, but the injury which appeared the most serious was a gash in Legolas's left thigh. It had narrowly missed the artery and blood was oozing from it sluggishly.

Aragorn, trying to work out what could possibly have done this, heard someone shouting his name and felt someone shaking him. He looked down, Elrond's hand, covered in blood, Legolas's blood, held his arm in a vice-like grip.

"Estel! Listen to me! Estel!" Aragorn heard a note of command in his father's voice and he instinctively responded to it, looking up into the grey eyes.

Elladan and Elrohir had gone for help. Elrond held his youngest eyes urgently and Aragorn saw desperate fear in their grey depths.

"Estel, you must help me. These wounds are poisoned and they are not closing. Here," Elrond took Aragorn's hand, where a dull pain still lingered and placed it on the injury on Legolas's thigh. Even through deep unconsciousness, Legolas twisted and groaned in pain at the touch.

As his injured hand, guided by Elrond's, closed on the wound, his fingers burned momentarily and his head swam, then gradually the burning faded to a faint tingling.

"Estel?"

Aragorn's dizziness faded and he saw that Elrond had glanced up briefly from the desperate struggle to cast his son a look of concern. He dismissed the tingling and slight disorientation and shook his head, staring at his father urgently. But the look on Elrond's face held no comfort, spoke instead of an awful inevitability .

Legolas was dying.

Gwador - Brother (The Sindarin Dictionary states that this is 'especially used of those not brothers by blood, but sworn brothers or associates'.)