The Bitterness of Mortality

By Karri

Summary: While visiting Rivendell, Legolas stumbled across a misplaced gift.

All the usual disclaimers apply: Tolkien's stuff belongs to the Tolkien Estate. The plot, concept, and original characters belong to me.

A/N: This story was inspired by a challenge on that was posted to the Mellon Chronicles message board a decade or so ago. Accordingly, it assumes that Legolas visited Rivendell many times prior to the Council of Elrond and maintained a close friendship with Aragorn (Estel), that Estel referred to Elrond as ada, and that he was considered brother by the Twins. It is, however, not set in the actual Mellon Chronicles universe and does not include any of its original characters.

A/N: This story contains references to Silmarillion characters. Anyone who is unfamiliar with them and would like clarification, please let me know in a comment, and I will add an additional author's note at the end with the relevant information.

Special thanks to my original beta, Nilmandra, and my current beta, Padawan Aneiki R'hyvar, for their efforts.

Comments are welcome and appreciated!

Chapter One

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Watching Legolas stride energetically into the deepening forest shadows, Aragorn silently cursed. It wasn't the elf's fault they were out there; Aragorn was the one who had decided to go hunting and drag along his reluctant friend. Nor was it Legolas's fault that Aragorn felt horrible, but that didn't make the ranger any less grumpy with the elf, the forest, the fading daylight, the gathering chill, and everything else that wasn't feeling as miserable as he. Shivering, Aragorn shifted his gaze away from the elf prince and looked instead over the edge of the ravine beside him. He couldn't see the river that he knew was there. He could hear it, though, and focused on it in a vain attempt to ignore the irritating tickle plaguing his throat.

Legolas started at the sudden sound of coughing. Turning in search of Aragorn, he found his friend leaning against a tree at the edge of a steep ravine, rubbing at his forehead. Looking more closely, the elf noticed that Aragorn's cheeks were more flushed than warranted by the exertion of their hunt.

He is ill, came an abrupt realization.

Cursing himself for not noticing sooner, Legolas bit back a worried sigh. The cloudless evening was already draining the warmth of the day from the forest floor, making it a poor bed for a sick mortal. Moving silently toward Aragorn, Legolas studied the steep, winding path that they had just traversed and frowned. Shadows cast by the tall beeches and deeply-scented pines of the Trollshaws veiled the many jutting roots and crumbling rock that had so determinedly sought to trip them with every step. He wondered which would be more dangerous – leaving Aragorn at the mercy of a chill night and waiting until the morrow to return to Imladris, or attempting the treacherous terrain in the dark.

"You are not well, mellon-nin," Legolas announced, resting a gentle hand on the ranger's shoulder. More coughing rattled through the air, tightening the knot of worry in the elf's stomach.

"It is nothing. I just need a moment to catch my breath," Aragorn countered, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Legolas eyed him skeptically.

There will be no convincing him that I am well. The ranger sighed in resignation. Closing his eyes, he rested his aching head against the tree.

"We should return to your adar," the prince declared, in a tone that brooked no argument - that is, from anyone but Aragorn.

The ranger frowned at the anxious edge to his friend's tone. Legolas had little experience with sickness. Aragorn suspected the elf's concern was greater than his trifling illness warranted. His limbs felt made of lead, but beyond that – and the irritating tickle in his throat – he didn't feel too terrible.

"Let us make camp," Aragorn suggested offhandedly. Opening his eyes, he smiled reassuringly. "A good night's rest is all that I need."

To Aragorn's astonishment, the elf simply nodded and returned a tentative smile.

"Truly, I am certain that it is noth…," Aragorn began, but the sentence fell away forgotten as a sudden movement distracted him. He twisted around in the direction of it, and his eyes widened in horror at the sight of a pouncing wolf. Aragorn lurched away from the tree, reaching for his broadsword and cursing himself for allowing his silly cold to preoccupy both of them so completely.

Stepping out of Aragorn's way, Legolas reflexively reached for an arrow as he turned toward the threat, but even he was not fast enough to unsheathe it before the beast slammed solidly into him. The shaft fell to the earth, forgotten, as his hands flew up too slowly to prevent teeth from imbedding deeply into the flesh at the base of his neck. Pain seared, into his shoulder, thru his chest, and down his arm all the way to his fingertips.

Pitching forward to tackle the creature, Aragorn's heart constricted with the realization that he had moved too late to stop the scene playing out before him. Legolas's sidestep had placed him too near the edge of the ravine; Aragorn groaned in dismay as the jarring impact caused the ground beneath the elf's feet to crumble away, and wolf and elf toppled out of sight.

Barely aware of the dense foliage whipping at him as he tumbled, Legolas pried desperately at the jaws attempting to rip away his flesh. His mind raced with swelling panic, yet each thought seemed to pass in slow motion. Where did the wolf come from? Why did I not hear it coming? Was it alone? Estel is ill, and I have left him undefended! How long will it take to die after the wolf rips out my throat? Ada…

The remaining thought scattered as his head smacked into something unyielding, sending a brilliant flash of pain exploding through his skull. His eyes tightly scrunched, Legolas vaguely registered a slight loosening of the wolf's jaw. He took advantage of the opportunity to ram the base of his palm into beast's snout, stunning it enough to allow him to reach his blades. Legolas drove them into the sides of the large body with lightening speed. The beast fell slack, its enormous body collapsing upon the elf and forcing the air from his lungs. Gasping painfully, Legolas let his head drop limply into the gently lapping water at the river's edge and wondered dimly what was taking Aragorn so long.

Pray, Elbereth, do not let him be battling the rest of the pack on his own.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Aragorn stumbled back, away from the edge, as a flash of white light exploded from the ravine, temporarily blinding him. Forced to wait for his vision to readjust to the dim light of gloaming, he gripped his sword and listened intently for any new predator that might be lurking in the trees, waiting for just such a moment to pounce. All was silent, but Aragorn cursed all the same, wondering into what new sort of trouble Legolas had landed.

"You'll know soon enough," the ranger soothed, launching headlong down the steep slope.

His descent was more of a semi-controlled slide than anything. Still, Aragorn managed to emerge within sight of the wolf. Regaining his feet without pause, he rushed forward to rescue his friend from the jaws of the beast. It wasn't until he drove his sword into it that he noticed the wolf was already dead. Praying Legolas had fared better, Aragorn glanced around in search of his friend with a slightly embarrassed blush tingeing his cheeks.

"You are fortunate that you did not skewer me with that thrust," a breathless voice rebuked.

"Legolas?"

"Down here," came the reply. Following it, the ranger rounded the wolf and waded into the shallow water to crouch beside his friend's head.

"Enjoying the view?" Aragorn teased, before shifting his gaze up to scan the shadows filling the deep ravine. Glancing down again, he spied the hilt of an Elven blade sticking out from the wolf's side and shook his head in admiration. The expression changed into amusement, though, as Legolas shot him an irritated glare.

The ranger chuckled, shifted his weight, and heaved against the hefty corpse. As it rolled off the elf, Aragorn's amusement promptly faded. Blood stained Legolas's slashed and battered tunic.

"It appears that I am not the only one Adar will be tending," he quipped, attempting to veil his concern. Offering the prince his free hand, Aragorn gently guided Legolas to his feet.

The elf smiled weakly, but lacked sufficient breath for a witty reply. Setting his jaw against a groan, he forced his abused body to rise. Pain pulsed through his head, which swam sickeningly. He slumped forward and rested his hands on his thighs, as he slowly refilled his lungs.

Aragorn hovered protectively, his gaze flickering between the menacing shadows and his friend, while the elf steadied himself and then straightened fully. Shakily making his way to a fallen tree at the base of the slope, Legolas plopped down, with quite un-elflike awkwardness.

"Legolas?" Aragorn queried, crouching down beside him.

The prince propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. Battling an onslaught of nausea, he couldn't speak and settled for raising his hand in a gesture of patience. Aragorn frowned anxiously, but didn't press him further.

"Take this."

Legolas winced as Aragorn grasped one of his hands and folded his fingers around the hilt of a knife. His heart skipped a beat. Had the beasts followed them down the slope? He lifted his aching head just enough for his eyes to meet those of the crouching ranger.

"I do not see anything lurking in the shadows, but it is better to be on our guard," Aragorn replied to the unspoken question in the alarmed, pain-filled eyes that met his and gave the elf's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Legolas eyed him warily for a moment, but then weariness conquered him. Setting the knife upon his knees, he eased his head back into hands. Aragorn frowned anxiously, but said nothing. Rising, he instead set to work building a small blaze to keep the shadows at bay while he took a look around.

"Rest," he bade, crouching beside the elf. "There is too little wood at hand; I must gather more if I hope to have enough light to look at those wounds."

Legolas nodded faintly, swallowing hard against the nausea still rising up his throat. Aragorn patted his leg consolingly before rising. Wandering up the riverbank, he scanned the steep slope for any sign of danger, as well as for anything useful; he had not brought any healing herbs with him. Spotting a patch of tall stems crowned with clusters of small pink flowers, the ranger gathered a good supply. The plant wouldn't dull the pain, but it would at least allow Legolas to escape into sleep. Tucking the stems inside his tunic, Aragorn set to work collecting any bit of wood that seemed dry enough to burn. Aside from his desire for warmth and light, he knew wolves were wary of fire. He hadn't seen or heard any sign of others…

But you did not hear the one that attacked, either, until it was too late, he scolded. You let a trifling cold distract you and nearly got yourself killed…nearly got Legolas killed!

Aragorn's stomach fluttered as he thought of Legolas sitting alone and helpless. Abruptly turning, he hastily retraced his steps.

If they think to dine on elf and ranger this night, they shall pay dearly, he vowed to himself, setting his jaw firmly. Legolas shall not suffer further for my weakness.

Approaching the elf, Aragorn studied his injured friend. The normally resilient elf hadn't moved at all, increasing his concern. His frown deepened as he thought of facing his father on the morrow.

Ada is not going to be pleased to see us return in poor health, again. Aragorn shook his head. Sometimes it seemed impossible to avoid trouble, even when they truly tried.

"What are you thinking?" Legolas quizzed, having heard Aragorn softly sigh. Gingerly raising his head, he studied his friend's strange expression.

The ranger smiled, pleased to hear the elf's voice strong and steady, despite his obvious pain. "I was thinking about the look that will be on my Adar's face when we arrive home tomorrow."

Legolas smiled wanly, imagining Lord Elrond's expression, but then winced as a fresh wave of dizziness swept over him. He dropped his head back into his hands with a sigh; he'd sincerely hoped to come through a visit unscathed for once.

"How are you feeling?" Glancing over as he set down the wood, Aragorn focused on his friend, while his hands built up their small fire. With effort, Legolas forced his head to rise again and met the ranger's gaze.

"I believe I will live," he quipped, hoping to ease the tension a bit. Aragorn likely felt responsible for the misadventure, so there seemed little value in acknowledging how truly horrible he actually felt.

"Of that I do not doubt, but how are you feeling?" Aragorn pressed. Noting that his friend had eluded the question, he locked eyes with the elf. Legolas held his gaze for nearly a minute, before deciding he wouldn't get away with not answering. Fortunately for the elf, just as he opened his mouth to speak, a cough shifted the focus to Aragorn.

"I will heal. The question is how are you, mellon-nin?"

"I am fairly certain I will live," Aragorn replied, tossing the elf a lopsided grin. Unclasping his cloak, he spread it out beside the now blazing fire. "Come, lie down and rest. Do you need help with your tunic?"

Legolas tossed him a questioning glance.

"I must see to your wounds," Aragorn reminded.

Dropping his head back into one hand, Legolas spared the other just long enough to wave away his friend's intentions.

"It is nothing…just scratches. Do not trouble."

"Legolas…" Aragorn began to argue, crouching beside the elf.

"Please, Estel, just let me be."

The desperation of the plea alarmed Aragorn more than anything else thus far, making him even more determined to have a look at the damage.

"Legolas…" he persisted, reaching for his friend's shoulder. Groaning, the elf flinched away. Aragorn dropped his hand, but would not be deterred otherwise. "The sooner you stop arguing, the sooner I will be finished."

Legolas sighed. The aching of his skull so thoroughly overshadowed all other pains that he saw little reason for Aragorn to poke, prod and generally aggravate him.

Then again the dizziness might ease a bit if I lay down. Either way, the troublesome mortal will have his way in the end. Easing his head up with his hand, Legolas gazed a moment at the spread cloak, then let his head slip back down. His body felt too heavy and sluggish to move.

"Too far…" he finally admitted, in a whisper barely loud enough to hear over the soft sound of the river.

Aragorn's frown deepened, but he said nothing. Shifting to sit on the log beside Legolas, he unclasped the elf's damp cloak and soggy quiver, before gingerly grasping a forearm. He expected resistance. Receiving none, Aragorn pulled the elf's arm over his shoulders and slowly eased up to his feet. Legolas's legs promptly crumpled. Not expecting his friend to be so weak, the sudden shifting of weight threw the ranger off-balance. More dropping than carrying, he lurched forward and lay Legolas on the cloak.

Legolas pulled a forearm over his eyes, trying desperately to breathe through the motion-intensified agony in his head. It was somewhat effective. The pain lessened to a dull throb, and the world spun to a gradual halt.

"Here." Legolas uncovered his eyes long enough to see Aragorn offer him a waterskin. Sniffing at its contents, he frowned. Aragorn frowned back, pleadingly. "Please, my friend. I feel horrible enough without having to endure your misery, as well."

Legolas sighed and nodded very slightly. He had to bite back a hiss as Aragorn eased a hand beneath his head to raise it, but drank from the skin pressed to his lips and tried to relax. Replacing his arm over his eyes, he focused on the sound of the river and the soft caress of the breeze.

He wanted desperately to escape into the wondrous oblivion of sleep, but a strange feeling lying just beneath the pain kept him hovering on the edge of consciousness. His abused brain couldn't pin the problem down exactly. The world around him seemed…distant, detached, not a part of him as it usually was. It was hushed and dim, and he was cold…and hollow.

Unclasping his friend's suede tunic, Aragorn tugged it off as he pulled Legolas into a sitting position. The movement garnered no response from the prince, sending a tickle of fear fluttering through the ranger. Legolas was far more unresponsive than the sleeping herb justified; Aragorn prayed that using it hadn't been a mistake. Ending a sigh with a cough, he bit his lower lip in an attempt to control his mounting anxiety and stripped off the elf's silky under-tunic.

With the remainder of drug-laden water, Aragorn washed away the blood and examined the wounds. Legolas had been truthful. The bite looked deep, though the area was too swollen to be certain. Still, no flesh had been torn away, and the claw wounds, though oozing, were fairly shallow. Free from the risk of infection, the injuries posed no serious threat to the elf.

The ranger pondered whether or not to sacrifice Legolas's cloak for bandages. He decided it might be more useful as a blanket and spread it out to dry by the fire. Settling down beside his friend, Aragorn watched the shadows with heavy eyes. He rested a hand on the elf's shoulder and closed his eyes, just for a minute…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Thranduil paused in the doorway of his private study, unexpectedly finding it occupied.

"Your pardon, Daerada." His grandson grinned sheepishly, glancing up from a letter. "I seem to have run short of parchment and…"

"You are welcome to the parchment, quill and desk, as you are full aware," Thranduil interjected, smiling affectionately. "It is just as well, as I have not yet received news of your journey to Dale."

Belegorn groaned, eliciting a chuckle from his grandfather.

"I will not have Legolas hearing of it first." Thranduil dropped his gaze to the parchment and tossed his grandson a knowing smile. "In return, you may help me sample the new wine."

Belegorn grinned at this, earning another chuckle.

"Now come, join me by…."

Sudden, blinding pain slammed into Thranduil's skull, cutting short his words. His knees buckling, he dropped to the floor, clutching his head.

"Daerada!"

The pain gradually ebbed, leaving nausea in its place, and Thranduil moaned. Only vaguely aware that his grandson had reached his side, he started when Belegorn pulled him to his feet. A wave of dizziness forced him to lean heavily on the young elf, as they slowly made their way to one of the soft chairs by the fire. Hence, it was with great relief that he eased down into it. Belegorn promptly scrambled to fetch a healer, but Thranduil didn't notice. Settling back, he focused on slow, deep breaths. Gradually, the effort was rewarded, and the nausea ebbed away.

"My lord?"

He looked up, startled to find a healer kneeling in front of him and his family hovering a few feet away. Thranduil gripped the healer's shoulder, using it to steady himself as he rose.

"Ada! Sit back down before you fall down!" His daughter exclaimed, rushing forward as he swayed. Thranduil accepted her support, closing his eyes and breathing deeply until he felt the room grow steady.

"It has passed," he sighed. The look his daughter shot him in reply would have made the king laugh were it not for the emptiness that had replaced the nausea.

"Ada…" Thranduil held up a hand, cutting short her protest.

"I must depart for Imladris as soon as can be arranged. But I will agree to rest while provisions are gathered, if you will see to it," he bargained, meeting his daughter's apprehensive gaze. She prepared to argue, but the anguish in his eyes stopped the words in her throat.

"Ada, Legolas…?" she choked out, firmly griping his arm.

"I know not. I know not…," the king muttered, forcing himself not to drop his gaze. "Where he should be, I feel naught but emptiness."

"I will ride with you," his son-in-law, Baelorn, declared resolutely.

Thranduil placed a gently hand atop his daughter's, before turning to her husband. "Your company will be welcome."

Belegorn stepped forward, eager make the journey, as well. Before he could speak, Thranduil met his gaze. He said nothing aloud, but his grandson understood that he would be staying in Mirkwood. Thranduil would not risk loosing both Legolas and Belegorn.

Baelorn gripped his son's shoulder, reassuringly. "We will find him."

Gently squeezing his grandson's other shoulder, Thranduil nodded. "Indeed. We will find him and bring him home…whatever doom has befallen him."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Lord Elrond peered at the white ship before him, his brow furrowed with the effort of placing the memory of where he had seen it before. He'd seen many a ship set sail, and there was nothing outstanding about this vessel to hint as to which one it was. A flicker of movement from the deck answered the question. It was his brother's ship.

Elros stood alone, grinning and waving merrily. Elrond smiled back, but it faded as an odd feeling washed over him. It might have been foreboding or dread or anticipation. He couldn't be certain and glanced around, fearing it was a warning. Seeing no immediate threat, he turned his gaze back to the ship, but his eyes met only empty sky. Bewilderment darkened Elrond's fair features.

Leveling his gaze to search the horizon, he quickly discovered the vessel. It was no longer in the distance, though; it was under his feet. Elrond turned about, confirming that he was indeed aboard the white ship. The feeling of doom intensified, even as a flicker of movement caught his eyes. He gazed back toward the shore. Elros was there, no longer alone. On his left stood the twins, waving merrily; on his right, Estel and Arwen stood, hand in hand.

Foreboding grew to fear. The figures were receding; the ship was moving. He was leaving Middle Earth…leaving his children to suffer the bitterness of mortality.

'Nay! Nay! I will not depart without my children! I will not!'

He lurched forward, reaching out to them, and tumbled to the floor of his bedroom amidst tangled bedcovers. Elrond didn't notice. Before him, an image lingered. It was not his brother, or his children, but another…one who had long ago offered a gift that Elrond had refused. He offered it again, hand outstretched, a stone-carven water lily upon it. Elrond closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he opened them slowly and found the image gone, but a feeling of doom remained, sending a shiver down his spine.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO