Healing: Part III
Ten days had passed since Legolas had been shot with the arrow.
The poison was turning his body black. His warm blue eyes, the
color of the sky on a perfect summer day, were black now, with
black streaking the whites as well. He was barely breathing.
Fever burned his body. He no longer moved at all. Thranduil
wouldnít leave his side. He had little hope that help would
arrive in time. He wanted to be there when Legolas died.
Thranduil held Legolasí hand, tears streaming down his face. He
was almost surprised he had any left to shed. He stared out the
window, unable to bear looking at Legolasí face, his half-open
eyes like black pools.
When word came that Elrond had arrived, he ordered all care
given to their guests, but he didnít leave Legolas. In turn,
Elrond asked to be taken directly to Legolas.
Thranduil stood as Elrond entered the room. "Elrond, I thank
you for coming."
"I couldnít not come, Thranduil." Elrond walked over to the bed
and leaned over Legolas. He frowned, pushed the covers back and
opened Legolasí shirt, exposing the bandages over the wound, as
well as showing the ravages of the poison. He pulled the
bandages away. Elrondís eyes roved over Legolasí body, taking in
the black that marked the path of the poison. "This is unlike
anything I have ever seen. It appears to be similar to the
poison of the Morghul swords, carried by the Nazghul." He gave a
list of herbs to be brought to him to Nirme, as well as honey,
then placed his hands over the wound and began to chant softly in
the High Elven speech.
At first, there was no sign of improvement. Elrond made a
poultice with the herbs and honey brought to him that would draw
the remaining poison from the wound. He continued to chant,
searching for Legolasí spirit.
Elrond sat down on the edge of the bed. He had worked to heal
Legolas all night, and now the morning sun was creeping in the
windows. He placed his hands on either side of Legolasí face and
extended his will, reaching for the bright spirit that was still
clinging to the damaged body. He found the thin cord that
connected spirit and body, and followed it. He found Legolas,
his essence, on a dark, barren, wind-swept plain, struggling
against a dark spirit that held him, waiting for his body to
succumb, and for Legolas to be trapped for all time, a servant of
Elrond could hear the spirit laughing. "Struggle all you want,
Poikaer. You will fall, and after you, the others, yet to be
born. You will all belong to my master, and you will make him
Ruler of the World in truth!"
"Never!" Legolas spat, even as cruel claws dug into his flesh.
Blood ran from a score of wounds and he was bruised and tired,
yet he continued to fight.
Elrondís lips twisted into a snarl, and he unleashed his full
power. He glowed, as bright as any star. He was wearing silver
armor and holding a glowing white sword. He charged forward. He
ran the sword through the dark spiritís back, which howled and
released Legolas, who scrambled away. It turned to face Elrond.
"The boy is mine!" it hissed.
Elrond snarled. "You cannot have him!" He stepped between
Legolas and the spirit. "He is not willing! Go back to the pit,
Witch King! Your time is not yet come!"
"Fool! I will have him!" He drew his own blade, black and
fiery, and lunged forward.
Elrond met the spiritís attack. The young elf watched as they
fought. He didnít know heíd come to this place, or what that
thing was, or why it wanted him. He was afraid. But he knew he
had to fight.
Elrond fought fiercely. If he lost, both the boy and he would
be lost in darkness forever. But Elrond was confident. He would
defeat this dark spirit and lead Legolas safely home, back to the
loving arms of his family.
| Part IV |
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