PART II

The darkness of the corridor need not have been lit, for Legolas' keen eyes afforded him such clarity of vision, his path would have been easily visible. The Men, however, required the light simply to move about without knocking each other over. Legolas secretly envied and pitied them. So simple were the minds of men, so easily dissuaded from purpose or plan, yet so free from the burdens of immortality, which, at times, Legolas believed to be more of a curse than a blessing.

This time, Haldir would not hear him. Of that, he was certain. His footfalls made no sound as he approached the entrance to the bedchamber. The heavy oak door was silent as well as he carefully pushed it open and stepped inside, the clothing still hung over one arm.

Haldir neither stirred nor acknowledge his presence as he had before and Legolas could only assume he was wound in trance of a deep, healing slumber.

Quietly, he approached Haldir's bedside where he laid the clothing over the back of a nearby chair so that the archer would see it upon awakening. He glanced around the room quickly, his eyes searching for Haldir's footwear and finding it discarded near the end of the bed in a stinking lump of muddy leather. Wrinkling his nose with disdain, Legolas nudged the battle-worn shoes aside with the toe of one boot. This simply would not do given the elegance of the garments bestowed upon the chair. Balancing himself carefully on one leg, he grasped the heel of his own black boot and pulled. The soft leather slid from his foot with ease, for he had not worn it long. The second boot followed the first and these too, he placed in front of the chair.

Once through with the task of delivering the clothing, he paused for a moment to gaze the sleeping Elf, who was so still that he could have passed for dead once more. A sudden panic overtook Legolas and he leaned closer, searching for the sound of Haldir's breath. A lock of his golden hair brushed against the archer's cheek, eliciting a soft grumble from Haldir, who then swiped at his face with one hand, but did not awaken.

Feeling overly relieved and quite a bit foolish, Legolas almost laughed out loud at his sudden distress, but remembered himself before the sound escaped him. Much of Haldir's color had returned, restoring his complexion to its former marble-smoothness, rather than the ashen, bluish tint that had originally clouded the flawlessly white skin when he had been found, barely clinging to life. Elves were pale by nature, but not nearly as alarmingly pallid as Haldir had once been.

The archer's breathing was also far steadier and unmarred by hitch or rattle, a sign that the fevered illness that also ravaged his body was improving as well. Legolas found himself captivated by the rise and fall of Haldir's chest, by the quiet rhythm of his breath.

A single strand of Haldir's silvery hair rested against his cheek, the end curled into the corner of his mouth, flittering tauntingly at every inhalation, yet obstinately clinging in place. Even the Locks of Lorien were laden with stubbornness. Legolas smiled and lifted his hand, intending to pluck the determined hair from the lips of the archer and return at last to his bedchamber.

An iron clad grip seized his wrist with crushing ferocity before Legolas' fingers came within an inch of the March Warden's face, blue eyes ablaze with the fury of a warriors brutal instinct for self-defense. Legolas gasped and jerked back reflexively, unable to wrench free of Haldirs vice-like grasp.

"Nadorhrim! I shall have your head!" Haldir growled, further squeezing Legolas' wrist to the point of pain.

Haldir's gaze followed Legolas' every move as he spoke with Galadriel, delivering the news of Rivendell that Lord Elrond had entrusted him with. The archer's hand floated near the curved hilt of his dagger as if he expected Legolas to commit an act of violence at any moment. This intense scrutiny left Legolas nervous and somewhat annoyed for feeling as such. He should have no fear of this place nor its inhabitants for they were his kin, yet Haldirs demeanor left him feeling as if he were an intruder, a stranger in a scared land who could not be trusted.

Legolas jumped away from the bed, nearly knocking over the chair as he did so as Haldirs hand fell to his side and the archer slipped into the embrace of sleep as quickly as he had seemed to awaken from it.

Lord Celeborn suggested that Legolas stay at least for one night before returning to Rivendell and enjoy the hospitality of Lothlorien. Haldir's sneer of disdain conveyed his unspoken contempt for such an idea, although he accepted Lord Celeborn's command to show Legolas to where he may take rest from his journey.

The imprint of Haldir's crushing grip left angry red marks against the pale skin of Legolas' wrist. He rubbed it absently, stealthily making his way further away from the bedside on quietly bare feet, lest the other Elf feel suddenly compelled to throttle his neck instead of his arm while caught in the trance of sleep. Apparently, the issue of trust was still very much a reality for Haldir even in dreams.

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Someone had laid out the rather rich garments that greeted Haldir's gaze as he awakened. Although he had not the desire for the formality of a feast after such a war, his presence would be anticipated, possibly even expected. Having lain stricken with pain and illness for what had to be at least several days now, his mind had tired of lying still, even if his body would have favored rest over activity of any kind.

He took great care when leaving the comfort of his bed, however, making certain that his legs would not betray him as they had many hours ago. Although still weakened, his stance felt stronger than he had expected, which pleased him greatly. The accelerated healing of his kind was hard at work, mending his broken body faster than any mortal could ever conceive.

The night shirt and soft cotton pants were shed and folded neatly near the bedside despite their rumpled countenance, the bandage binding his head unwound and cast aside. Catching a glimpse of himself in the full length, gilded mirror beside the armoire, Haldir paused to examine his milky white skin for signs of scarring, long fingers running down the smoothly muscled planes of his stomach and over the curve of his naked hips. Although the reflection behind him revealed a thick, jagged line of pink near the center of his back, he was unconcerned, for the scar would fade within a matter of days, leaving the pale flesh as flawlessly beautiful as it had always been.

Haldir's hands traveled further down his body, massaging the dull ache that still lingered in his thighs from lying stiffly amongst the corpses of his kin for such an agonizing length of time. Gently probing fingers flinched from his warm flesh at the still-hazy memory of those slain in battle, yet the imagery was lost to him as quickly as it had came. Disconcertment settled uneasily where recollection strove to resurface, but to no avail. For now, he would leave it as such, contending only with the task of healing his body. His mind could wait.

Turning his gaze back to the naked Elf in the mirror, he turned his head to one side and then the other, noting with a degree of smug satisfaction that his facial features were untouched by the scars of battle.

A silver comb lay on table near the mirror and he plucked it from it's resting place, running it through the silken straightness of his sleep tousled locks until they shone with moonlit splendor, falling far beyond his shoulders, covering his back like a cloak of the palest flaxen hue.

Although aware and appreciative of his strikingly imposing resplendency, Haldir rarely used it for personal gain any longer as he once had. His heart had matured along with his mind and both lay loyally in the hands of Lothlorien's fate. Such things were unimportant now, but at times, a twinge of longing did yet enter his being, but it was more for that of affection rather than lust. Haldir could not recall feeling such an emotion for another being, save his brothers and even this was love of a different nature. Yet still. . .

What foolishness! He would not allow his mind to dwell on such inane concepts, lingering in the halls of memory where nothing lived except bitterness and strife. Raising his chin defiantly, he stared at the noble image in the mirror, the hinting of a proudly arrogant smile lifting the edges of his lips as he loftily tossed his mane of lustrous hair. Haldir of Lorien stood before the fading light of the evening sun, naked and unadorned, but whole once more, even if only for a mere moment.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Legolas leaned against the wall, rubbing his sore wrist with one hand absently, thoughts drifting back to the scene within Haldir's chambers. The Warden had been dreaming, yet still, the idea of Haldir wishing to harm him was most unsettling no matter what the cause, although he knew within his heart that despite the hard arrogance of his manner, there lurked a great compassion beneath the hardened exterior.

Yes, he remembered. . .

PART III

Legolas' breath caught in his throat as Haldir appeared in the doorway of the dining hall clad in the thick, velvety tunic that hung seductively across his hips, the leather belt that secured the twin daggers across his waist slung low and tight. Generous slits on both sides afforded a view of his snug black breeches and the contours of the muscles beneath the soft leather. Although as tall as Legolas and equally graceful, the Elven archer was visibly larger in stature, his shoulders and chest broader, causing the curvature of his body to accentuate the slim waist and muscular legs that were not as typical of Legolas' Mirkwood kin. The icy blue of the material appeared to almost blend with Haldir's flowing silvery locks in the low lit candle light of dining area, sharpening the planes and angels of his face more so than Legolas had ever noticed them to be. The familiar dark red cape of the March Warden's elite status billowed behind him as he approached the table, head high, gaze unflinchingly calm. Until this moment, Haldir's full beauty had escaped his notice, but now, it was glowingly apparent with every footfall of his graceful stride. Unconsciously, Legolas wet his lips with a single stroke of his tongue, silently praying that the other Elf was paying his gaping stare no mind.

Haldir shifted his belt so that the scimitars it housed would not knock and rattle against the ornately carved chair and took a seat beside Legolas. The archer winced slightly as his still bruised shoulders brushed against the back of the chair, forcing him to sit up a bit straighter to avoid contact with the wood, but none paid his posture any heed, save Legolas, who watching Haldir's every move with concerned reservation.

"Your appetite has returned then?" Legolas asked.

"Only vaguely," Haldir admitted, "but I know that I must eat in order to speed my healing."

Although Haldir's outward appearance and composure boasted of elegant tranquility, Legolas knew the archer carried himself in such a manner partially to conceal his many cuts and bruises as well as to present an air of control and well-being. None of this served to delude Legolas into believing that Haldir felt as he looked. A few delicate sniffles as well as the occasional quiet cough was proof of his facade, but Legolas would never deny him the chance to present himself otherwise. Haldir was quite possibly prouder and vainer than Legolas himself, so for this reason, he kept his silence and spoke not of Haldir's ill health.

Both Elves and Men feasted in the great hall this evening, and the atmosphere was one of both gaiety and sadness over the Battle of Helms Deep. Stories were exchanged and condolences offered while Man and Elf ate and drank away the lingering emotions of post war tensions amongst the tantalizing aromas of roast boar and honeyed mead .

Haldir engaged in very little conversation, mostly listening to the tales of others rather than telling his own. Legolas sensed that he still had yet to embrace the reality of almost losing his life in battle as well as witnessing the loss of the lives of so many of his brethren. In fact, the archer showed very little emotion at all other than a calm pleasantry that Legolas felt certain he feigned as well as he covered his pain and sickness. But Legolas knew it festered in his heart. . . and that was troubling. Release of such feelings could quite possibly speed his healing dramatically, but he dared not suggest such a soul bearing act to the other elf just yet. If ever.

Perhaps Haldir had his own method of dealing with such matters, but Legolas feared the sadness would cause the archer needless suffering for a prolonged period of time. Possibly he might speak with Elrond about the best way to approach such a thing without appearing to pry or force a healing Haldir may simply not be ready for.

After eating comparatively little to most others at the table, Haldir rose to his feet, announcing that he was retiring for the evening. None questioned his decision, but instead bid him a fond farewell to which he responded with a polite nod before stepping away from the feasting warriors. There was now a stiff quality to his usually gliding gait that only one such as Legolas would notice.

Glorfindel, who had been monitoring Legolas as closely as Legolas had been watching Haldir, leaned across the table to his friend and spoke softly in Elvish, "Follow him, Legolas. He does not look well."

"I intended to do so anyway," Legolas said.

A smile parted Glorfindel's lips. "There was never a doubt that you would not, my friend. Hurry before he reaches the stairs, but do not let him see you. Just keep watch."

"He will not see me if I do not wish to be seen," Legolas assured Glorfindel before departing from the table as well.

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Legolas shadowed Haldir's footsteps through the corridors and into the courtyard where the archer had paused to gaze at the clear brilliance of the night sky. For a moment, he looked as thought he may take a moment to commune with the natural beauty that surrounded him, but the consideration of this thought passed and he lingered no longer, making his way towards the main hall that lead to the winding staircase.

Legolas followed soundlessly, intending to make certain that the archer actually made it up the stairs without incident, but not offering any assistance outright. This might infringe upon Haldir's already fragile pride. It would certainly have that effect on Legolas, were he in the other Elf's position!

Haldir reached the staircase and placed his hand upon the marble banister, pausing as if in sudden thought. As if the suggestion in his mind pained him, he squeezed his eyes shut and winced.

Legolas cocked his head to one side, puzzled by the strange course of actions, but made no move to help nor hinder Haldir. He merely observed, quietly lurking in the shadows.

Suddenly, Haldir flinched again, this time with a sharp, hitching breath of air, grasping the ornate railing of the banister once again as if bracing himself. The simple act of breathing became a labored and intense struggle as he fought to maintain a secure footing, but his still ravaged body would not allow it to be as such. He groaned in pain, seeking the support of the staircase with one hand while pressing the back of his head with the other, his sense of balance faltering.

Legolas was at his side instantly, catching the other Elf in his arms before he could hit the hard marbled floor.

"Legolas!" Haldir cried in a voice strained with proud indignation and surprised relief.

"Be at peace, my friend," Legolas said gently. "I only wish to help you."

"Let me be," Haldir grumbled, stumbling away from the Prince weakly, still holding a hand to the back of his head. "I am fine."

He staggered a short distance away, swaying dangerously with the effects of vertigo. Legolas leaped to grab his wrist, pulling him from another crumpling fall so swiftly that he almost toppled them both.

"Mordor Fires, Haldir, you cannot even walk properly!" Legolas said, still holding fast to his wrist although the other Elf shot blue daggers of anger through him with his dark eyes.

"Unhand me, Legolas!" Haldir snarled menacingly.

Legolas boldly returned his stare. "I will not."

"Then you shall have to steal my consciousness with an axe handle once more before I. . ." Haldir's voice faded as the dizzying pull of blackness seemed to envelope the depths of his now unfocused gaze. "B-before. . ."

He never finished the sentence but fell forward and collapsed into a limp heap of silvery blue into Legolas' arms, the sudden and swift pull of darkness overcoming him. Legolas held tightly to the beautiful elf until his full weight rested against him, then gently, with the utmost of care, he lifted Haldir's prone body into his arms, cradling the archer's injured head against his chest as one would a sick child. Haldir moaned softly, still pinned beneath the cloak of unconsciousness as the Elven Prince slowly ascending the stairs, carrying him without strain until he reached the room where he had watched Haldir lay for so many days, fighting to come forth from the edge of death and back into the light.

Legolas laid him gently on the bed, Haldir's silken locks spreading across the pillow like ripples of moonlit water, and covered him with the warmest of the thick blankets, leaving the archer fully clothed, save his boots which he slipped from the archers feet carefully so as not to rouse him. For a moment, he paused, taking in the elegant beauty he had so recently come to recognize, even more lovely in the peace of what now was merely sleep, his features softened by the depth of his slumber. Legolas traced the fair outline of the archer's jaw with the back of one hand, noting the fevered warmth that still lingered there. Haldir's skin was much like the silk of his hair, smooth and unmarred by scars or time. Such a stunning creature.

Haldir's breath was steady now, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his sleep. This natural act simply mesmerized Legolas, who's hand had mysteriously found its way into Haldir's long hair, twining the soft strands between his fingers. As if drawn by some outside force, Legolas bent and pressed his lips against the warmth of Haldir's mouth in a gentle, lingering kiss before moving away from the bedside, leaving the other Elf to dwell in what he hoped were pleasant dreams.

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Showers of arrows skimmed the smoky air, raining down. Too many injured. So many dead. So many. Eyes staring into the black void of night, eyes that would never close. Death staring up from every angle. Red rivers of blood soaking blonde locks. Dark stains of ebbing life force pooling, gathering. Shouts of orders. . .shrieks of agony. So many dead. . .so many. Stone walls crumbling into shards of rock. Blazing. . .throbbing. . .closer. . .LOUDER. . .!

"Nooooo!" Haldir's raw cry of despair pierced the stillness of the night as he flung the sheets aside, trembling with fear and fevered sweat.

Bloody imagery stained his memory as freshly now as it had not yet a week before, calling forth the turmoil of emotions he sought so desperately to swallow and suppress. Rumil and Orophin, his brothers, slain in battle along with so many others he had led to their death. So much death. It was if the very swords that pierced the fragile Elven flesh were wielded by his own hands instead of those of his enemies. Unable to control his violent shaking, he raised his quivering hands expecting to find them mottled with the blood of his kin.

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Through the thick wooden doors, Legolas heard it. The strangled outcry of such pain that it rent his heart with the depth of its grief. Instantly, he was on his feet and out of his bedchamber, the swiftness of his departure leaving neither sound nor shadow in his wake.

The door was locked.

Legolas paused only a moment before giving it a sound kick, breaking the latch inside with ease and flinging the wooden structure aside. Keen Elven eyesight navigated the moonlit darkness within the chamber to where Haldir sat upright in bed, staring in shuddering revulsion at the palms of his hands, his silvery hair pasted in wild disarray to the sides of his ashen face where he gaped at a horror seen by his eyes only.

"Nooo. . ." Haldir's quivering voice sounded far away, hollow and devoid of reality as Legolas reached his side, grasping him by the shoulders, seeking desperately to bring the other elf out of his trance-like state of panic.

"Haldir! Do you not hear me? It is I, Legolas of Mirkwood, your friend and ally!" Legolas practically shook him, grappling for a response, any response but the one he received.

The blue of Haldir's dark eyes was a stormy sea of fear, glistening with dread as waves of terror broke over him, causing him to cry out in anguish one more.

"No, my friend, no! You will not linger there!" Legolas gathered the archer into his arms and crushed the furiously trembling elf against him in a fierce embrace. "Lasto beth nin, Haldir. tolo dan na ngalad. Tolo-dan an enni. "

The melodically spoken language of his people seemed to set Legolas aglow with soft, golden light as he whispered the words gently, soothingly, until at last, the flame of fear was stamped out and Haldir's eyes fluttered closed and then open once more, as if seeing Legolas for the first time.

"Legolas. . ." Haldir murmured, his voice scarcely more than rasping whisper. "It is so dark. . .I. . .am afraid. . ."

"I know," Legolas said gently.

Haldir shivered in his arms. "Legolas. Dartha."

Legolas hesitated a moment before answering, but the still lingering fear in Haldir's deep blue eyes reflected his plea as a single, glistening tear fell from his dark lashes, trailing a moonlit path down his pale cheek.

"I will stay," Legolas said. "But you must lie back down beneath the warmth of blankets. Come, now."

He laid the other Elf against the softness of the down-filled bedding, drawing the blankets around his still-shaking body. Placing his hand upon Haldir's head, he whispered an enchantment in Elvish and the archer's eyes slowly closed as he sank once more into what would now be a dreamless, peaceful slumber.

Legolas withdrew his hand, fingering Haldir's sweat-dampened locks as he did so, wanting nothing more than to stay, wanting only to be close, but knowing regretfully that the Haldir he had just seen and the elf he knew were two different beings. Legolas would not linger. What saddened him most of all was that Haldir's memory of this night would slip away into shadow, just as evening slipped into nightfall.

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PART IV

The stony walls of his bedchamber greeted Haldir as he awoke from what felt to be an odd dream before an inkling of recollection seeped into his mind. Somewhere between leaving the table and making his way up the stairs, his memory faltered, unable to recall how he had come to recline upon the bed once again although certainly he had meant to lie there if he had awakened in that position. Why he was still clothed, however, was a mystery best suited for later investigation.

A thin shaft of moonlight filtered through the tightly drawn draperies, illuminating a silvery path against the dull gray of the floor, the only glimpse of the outside world provided for his viewing. Suddenly, his accommodations were much to stifling, the confines of the room much too close for an elf accustomed to the open air of natures magnificent glow. He needed to get out.

Pulling on the oddly familiar boots, he slipped from the room as quietly as a shadow passes through paling darkness, leaving neither sound nor suggestion in his wake.

The air of the courtyard was crisp and cool, the grasses fragrant with the hint of forthcoming lily blossoms. Haldir breathed deeply, welcoming the fresh tingle of twilight into his senses.

The sky's clear brilliance was unblemished by even the faintest wisp of a cloud, bathing the lush greenery of the courtyard in silvery light as the creatures of the night whispered quiet songs of contentment amongst the leaves and meadow plants. Haldir knelt before the glowing face of the moon reverently, his head bowed momentarily in a silent prayer of gratitude for the beauty that surrounded him. A smile of almost childlike delight then spread over his lips as he collapsed languidly into the embrace of the verdant mattress beneath him, cushioned by its hearty yet pliable stems. Stray lengths of grass caressed his cheek with their feathered fronds, tickled the pointed tips of his ears playfully as the moist scent of damp earth mingled with the light sweetness of new foliage.

He resisted the urge to roll about like a dog with senses beguiled by the wondrous splendor of nature but chose instead to remain on his back, absorbing the radiant clarity of the night sky. For the first time in many weeks, he felt at peace, lying in the serene darkness lit only by the glow of the moon.

His tranquility, however, was to be short-lived. The unwelcome shift of vertigo coupled with a rolling surge of nausea swept suddenly over him, tearing him from his blissful stretch amongst the grasses. His stomach lurched as he rose into a sitting position, moving as carefully as possible in attempts to rid himself the urge to become violently ill. Drawing in a slow, deep breath of cooling air, he closed his eyes and concentrated his energy on calming his turbulent insides, feeling as if the very ground he rested upon were spinning into a black oblivion. No matter how valiant the effort, he soon knew that all attempts to stall the inevitable were in vain, for his body rebelled violently against the will of his mind and he staggered to his feet, refusing to be sick in the open where just anyone could happen upon him.

Despite the constant, dizzying shift in his vision, he managed to stumble away from the field of grass and into the density of the small thicket which bordered the walls of the courtyard, where he braced himself against the trunk of an ancient oak tree with one arm, awaiting his unpleasant fate. His stomach clenched in painful spasms as he retched with considerable force, bringing up the meager contents of his evening meal along with what felt to be several of his toenails.

Apparently eating anything at all was suddenly proving to be a most fatal mistake, for the heaving sickness seemed to neither subside nor abate, until he fell to his hands and knees, his body wracked with a convulsive gag.

Gasping for breath, praying for reprieve, he sought desperately to quell the oily nausea which slithered through his stomach, to regain control of his body just long enough to drag himself away from the thicket and breathe the open air rather than the foulness which seemed to engulf his senses, making him impossibly sick once more. He reached a groping hand to his side, seeking something solid with which to grasp and pull himself from the indecently prone posture the sickness had forced upon him.

A firm yet gentle hand suddenly grasped his flailing wrist, hauling him unexpectedly to his feet.

"You, my friend, are the most stubborn creature I have ever had the pleasure of knowing."

Haldir's cheeks, previous devoid of any color save a sallow and sickly white, flamed with scarlet heat for the it was the voice of Lord Elrond that greeted his ears. Completely and utterly mortified at the thought of the noble Elven Lord seeing him in such a shameful position, he sought to pull away, yet Elrond's grip was surprisingly strong and Haldir lacked the strength to fight him.

"There is no shame in sickness, Haldir. Do not seek to resist me. Let me help you, you arrogant Elf!"

The commanding displeasure of Elrond's tone was enough to stay Haldir's futile resistance.

"Come now, Haldir. I shall bring you an herb to calm your stomach, but you must walk with me to a place better suited for sitting."

Elrond's arm slid around his waist, steadying him as Haldir weakly draped his own arm across the other elfs shoulders, allowing himself to be lead slowly across the still-whispering grasses. The pair had not journeyed far before Haldir was overtaken with dizzying sickness yet again, forcing him onto all fours as he clutched at the grass, gagging in revulsion. Elrond's gentle hand slipped beneath Haldir's long locks, holding them away from his face until the March Warden was released from the clutch of illness. He lent his hand to Haldir and the archer accepted it without complaint, allowing the Elven Lord to help him stand upright. Against his will, he leaned heavily against Elrond, feeling both grateful and humiliated.

At last, they reached the edge of the clearing where Elrond helped him onto a stone bench. Haldir's shoulders slumped defeatedly as he sat in abashed resignation, unable to contest as Elrond slipped his ornate robe from his body and draped it around him. It wasnt until then that Haldir realized he was shivering violently. The heavy robe was warm from the heat of Elrond's skin and smelled faintly of lavender, the scent soothingly pleasant.

Elrond laid a kind hand on Haldir's leg, his somber gaze filled with compassionate sympathy for the archers condition. "Rest here for a moment. I shall return shortly."

Drawing the velvety softness of Elrond's thick robe closer to his fevered flesh, Haldir sighed heavily. Never had he shown such weakness in front of another, at least not that he could recall. His pride was encumbered with the burden of illness, so he dwelt on thoughts of self-humiliation no longer, praying that his stomach would at least remain calm long enough for Elrond to bring him the herbal concoction he had promised.

The Elven Lord returned shortly, a wooden mug filled with a steaming liquid could not identify.

"The taste is bitter, but try to keep it down. It shall ease your suffering," Elrond said as he handed the mug to Haldir, who sipped it gingerly.

The archer grimaced and spat. The potion tasted of sour, green berries and licorice root, a most unpalatable combination.

"This is positively revolting," Haldir coughed, choking down a vile mouthful at last.

Elrond sighed. "Yes, I know. But nothing that seeks to make one better would taste of honey, now would it, March Warden?"

Haldir managed a hoarse laugh as he forced another swallow of the foul liquid down his throat. Almost instantly, his rebellious stomach sought to disgorge the herbal remedy, but the medicine began to take effect before he could further shame himself before Lord Elrond. The rolling nausea began to subside at last and he sighed gratefully.

"Thank you, mellon-nin," Haldir breathed, sipping the warm liquid a bit more easily now, the simple feel of its heat lending his shivering body a shield of strength against the chill of sickness.

Elrond smiled kindly and draped one arm around Haldir's shoulders almost protectively. Haldir unconsciously leaned into the comforting embrace, his thoughts feeling a bit fuzzy.

"Tired," he mumbled into the stiff silk of Elrond's regal tunic.

"As you should be," Elrond said. "Come, let us get you to your chambers before you are forced to spend the night in the courtyard with my royal robes!"

* * *

Legolas sat within the courtyard, the company of Lord Elrond eluding his focus. All he could think of was Haldir. Haldir's hand upon his chest as he had sought the comfort of touch, his shallow breathing shaking with the fear of memories relived only through dreams. Even his scent still clung to the clothing Legolas had to change which part of him thought foolishly had been on purpose. It reminded him of the Warden, painful though the thought was.

"What troubles you, Legolas?" Elrond's rumbling baritone seeped through the layers of memory that buried the present.

The Prince stiffened. "There is naught that troubles me," he lied, fiddling with one of the ornate clasps upon his tunic as if it had gone awry.

"He will not heal on his own accord, you realize," Elrond said cryptically in the disturbing and casual manner that he so often displayed.

"Who will not?" Legolas asked, feigning ignorance so poorly, that the Elven Lord quirked a brow in a gesture of rebuking disbelief.

"You are not so wise as to befuddle me, Legolas Thranduillion," Elrond said matter-of-factly.

How very much like a father Elrond could be, seeing easily through the façade of indifference that Legolas had so carefully erected.

"And what am I to do, Lord Elrond?" Legolas said, his voice edging upon exasperation. "Drag him henceforth into the light of day by one ankle?"

A chuckle rose from the Imladris ruler. "My, now that is certainly an amusing thought. . ."

Even Legolas had to laugh at the image of the stubborn Warden being pulled about by one foot.

"Go to him, Legolas. I think you shall find that your company, although possibly refused at first, will be appreciated," Elrond suggested, laying a hand upon the Princes arm with a smile. "Our dear friend did endure quite a rough evening."

Legolas cocked his head to one side, but did not question the statement further.

"Very well. I shall attempt to bring him out of his chambers," the Prince agreed, hoping that his pleasure over the idea did not show as much as he felt.

"Ah, good," Elrond said with a smile before rising to his feet. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have matters of importance to discuss with the King. We do not wish to remain in Rohan for the rest of existence, I am certain. . ."

With a swish of his robes, the Elven Lord departed, leaving Legolas to contemplate just how he would set about the task of actually convincing Haldir to leave his bed. Upon the dawning of day, he had heard the servants talking of just how difficult the Warden had been thus far, refusing both food and aid.

Perhaps Legolas could sway his decision to remain abed.

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PART V

The light of day was the last thing Haldir wished to see. Squinting, he pulled the sheets over his head with a groan. Today was not a good day for illness. The day before had been even less forgiving and his progress was slow, much to his displeasure. Why could he not simply heal himself as he had done countless times before? His miserable body refused the act and gleefully rebelled whenever he even attempted to reach within his mind to summon what little healing skill he had. It had always served him well in the past, but this time, it was not enough.

A soft knock upon the door roused him from his petulant wallowing of self pity.

"Enter," he called, wincing at the raspiness of his voice, for it had been strained with the plight of his violent illness the night before.

The blond head of Legolas poked around the edge of the door, his gaze hopeful yet unsure. The Prince stepped almost reluctantly into the room, twisting his fingers about each other rather nervously.

"Did I wake you, Haldir?" he asked, venturing closer to the bed.

But not too close. . .

"No," the Warden grunted from beneath the mound of pillows. The wretched light of day had done a fine job of that.

"Ah, good," Legolas said, obviously relieved to some degree, although Haldir knew not why the Elf acted in such a manner to being with.

"What is it that you want, Legolas?" the Lorien archer asked a bit more callously than he had intended and was instantly sorry for it.

Legolas flinched visibly, his demeanor suddenly stiffening into a false air of indifference, although Haldir knew that the comment had stung.

"I wish for you to get out of that bed and come with me for a walk in the fresh air of the early afternoon. You cannot languish about in your chambers and expect to heal," the Prince said pointedly.

"Mmmph," came Haldir's muffled snort of indignation.

He did not want to get out of bed. In fact, the very last thing he wished to do was go bounding about in the sunlight with Legolas or anyone else given the state of his appearance and the mood that threatened to effuse any hope of pleasure from him.

"Get up," Legolas said a bit more firmly, although he knew his tone did not hold the authority that he wished.

Sheets flew away to reveal blurry cobalt eyes reddened with repeated rubbing that glared at him with unconcealed annoyance.

"Look at me, Legolas," the Warden snarled. "Do you believe I wish to be seen looking as such? I am an utter mess and the taste of sickness lingers bitterly upon my tongue. What would you have me do? Prance gaily through the halls of Rohan like some sort of mentally incompetent fool?"

The roll of the Prince's eyes need not have been seen, for it was very much present in his rebuking tone. "We can bathe you, Haldir. Humans are not so uncivilized as to lack the proper facilities to do such. Come now, get dressed and I shall show you to the bathing springs. You will find them much more suited to your tastes than the copper tubs the mortals so often use."

Haldir growled. He grumbled. He mumbled obscenities beneath his breath. But he did throw the remaining sheets from his body.

Instantly, Legolas averted his gaze. The Warden was nearly naked, save the rather sheer pair of cotton pants that clung tenaciously to his powerfully sculpted thighs. The clothing was obviously too small for him, as most things Legolas had found were. Haldir was not built for the flowing, draping garments that Legolas favored. They molded themselves to his body almost obscenely, leaving positively nothing to the imagination.

Legolas glanced quickly over his shoulder and then looked away just as fast. The Warden had squirmed out of the night clothes and was now wrestling with a tunic of muted gray, grunting with the effort the simple act took.

Although it had been several days since his brush with the kiss of death, Haldir's muscles had not yet relented from the grip of soreness. Struggling with his attire was proving to be more tiresome than it was worth.

"Would you like some help?" Legolas asked at last.

"No," came the expectedly sharp reply followed by an accompanying growl of frustration. "Yes."

The word was exhausted, defeated. He didnt really want the Prince's help. He just did not have a choice.

Legolas slipped from his perch upon the bedside, moving to stand beside the irritable Warden, who, he noted, had not yet bothered to don his breeches.

"Be still," Legolas said, grasping the collar of the tunic and lifting it back over Haldir's disheveled head. "You are only making it worse."

For the moment, Haldir ceased his struggles and allowed Legolas to aid him. The Prince tugged the garment free of his arms and held it aloft before spinning it around. In his haste to clothe himself, Haldir had not noticed that he was attempting to put the tunic on backwards.

Once properly fitted over the March Warden's head, Legolas set about getting the rest of him into the clothing with as little movement as possible.

"Easy, mellon. One arm at a time," he said.

His hand lingered upon the smooth chest, the flesh still warmed with slumber, imprints of crumpled sheets in a random pattern of curves and lines marring the pale skin. He could not recall being so close to Haldir and the thought of it set his heart to a pounding rhythm that would have registered in his breath, had anyone bothered to listen.

"Now the other. . ."

The muscles of Haldirs torso shifted and flexed beneath his fingers. The Elf was solidly built, every plane of his powerful body practically rippling with honed perfection where Legolas was lithe and lean. Even Thranduil could not match the toned hardness of the March Warden's physique and Legolas thought it to be beautiful indeed. . .worthy of attentions he had absolutely no business pondering.

Shamed by his overtly lustful thoughts, he yanked the end of the tunic to cover Haldir's most intimate parts before his eye could sneak a view where it also had no business lingering.

"There," Legolas said almost triumphantly.

Haldir murmured his thanks gruffly, succeeding in pulling on his breeches without the aid of the Princes hand.

"I see that you are getting more than just your strength back," Legolas noted with a smile as the disgruntled Warden set about the task of putting on his boots.

"I am sorry for my ill mannered mood, Legolas," Haldir apologized, although his tone was devoid of actual sincerity. "I am tired of being fussed over like an injured Elfing, that is all."

Legolas shrugged. There was nothing that he could say to Haldir that would not result in either a grunt or a growl.

"Walk with me, then," Legolas offered. "Leave your sour feelings to fester beneath the sheets."

"Very well," Haldir agreed tersely, although he did not know why he had just done such a thing.

What he really wanted was to be alone. Too many thoughts plagued him as of late and he needed time to sift through the muck of his mind. But Legolas would have none of it and Haldir knew this. The Prince would not allow him to spend another afternoon with only his thoughts for company, so he relented as easily as possible, joining the other Elf on his journey to the doorway.

Legolas said nothing but merely smiled, the simple action bringing a light to his features that Haldir could not resist returning. Maybe he would leave the displeasure of a foul temper abed after all.

Much the surprise of Legolas, Haldir even took his arm, linking it through his own and allowed himself to be lead through the hallways and into the courtyard. Although the Warden's steps were deceptively sure, his expression betrayed the pain that each footfall exacted from his body.

"Let us sit amongst the grasses," Legolas suggested once they had passed the common area.

A fine sheen of sweat beaded Haldir's brow and although he would rather die than admit it, he was most grateful for the invitation. Walking had become quite the task as of late, his joints protesting at even the slightest movement. Letting go of Legolas' arm, he slid wearily to his knees with an audible sigh, planting his backside firmly upon the verdant carpet.

"I feel as old as a Balrog's arse," Haldir complained, running his fingers through his unbound hair, for he had not the energy or freedom of movement to braid it properly.

Legolas chuckled softly, seating himself beside Haldir as he plucked a blade of grass from the earth.

"Would it make you feel better if I said that you smelled of one as well?" he teased, tickling the pointed tip of Haldir's ear with the green stem that he held between his fingers.

The March Warden would have laughed, had it not hurt his ribs so much do so. A lock of his silvery hair fell forward into his eyes and he grumbled audibly, blowing it away from his lips with an irritable puff of air.

"Haldir," Legolas began, "I could braid your hair for you, if you would like, mellon."

Haldir considered this for a moment. Although he did not want to seem to seem so weak as to not be able to properly plait his own locks, the annoyance of having it unbound was beginning to outweigh his need for dignity.

"That would be much appreciated," the March Warden relented at last, although his voice still held the edge of displeasure over the fact that he was unable to perform the act himself.

Gentle fingers threaded through his pale tresses, separating and combing them into the appropriate sections. The Prince's hands were blissfully soothing. A small sigh of pleasure escaped Haldirs lips as he leaned unconsciously into the touch.

Legolas smiled to himself but said nothing as he twisted the silken strands of hair between his fingers.

"Elrond will not tell me who my savior was," Haldir murmured as Legolas worked. "Have you an idea?"

The busy hands halted abruptly. "I. . am certain that I do not know, Haldir," he said, focusing with sudden intent upon the braids.

"Ah," Haldir mused. "I would assume that would not. Mmmmm. . ." he rumbled pleasurably. "Feels good. . ."

Although the Prince had actually finished the intricate plaits, he continued to stroke the silvery hair, simply because of the blissful smile upon Haldir's lips. The Warden's body suddenly leaned into his own, melding comfortably against his chest.

Strength had fled Haldir's limbs the instant they had reached the glade and it was all that the March Warden could do not to collapse into a heap of dreams upon the grasses. His lack of endurance was disconcerting, yet healing took time and his body had been greatly traumatized in the past week.

A mad rhythm tripped the Princes heart into a flutter of desire. Slowly, his arms wound around the sculpted form and he dared to draw it closer. By the Valar, how he wanted this Elf. . .needed him. Haldir did not seem to object to being held as such. Breathing in the soft silk of the Warden's hair, he marveled at its smoothness. . .its softness, the way it caressed his cheek as he nuzzled it.

"Haldir. . ." he murmured, suddenly wanting to spill forth that which he felt, longing to speak it all.

A soft snore interrupted his declaration. Apparently, his touch had been a bit too soothing for the Warden to endure!

"Oh, by the sea and stars," Legolas muttered, chuckling in spite of himself.

"Hmmmm?" the Lorien Elf grunted, startled out of his slumber momentarily. "What say you?"

"Nothing," Legolas sighed, stroking the fine locks once more. "Nothing at all."

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"Rumil. . ." the Warden mumbled in his sleep, his face pressed against the soft leather of Legolas jerkin.

Legolas stroked the pale tresses absently, his mind adrift. There was naught that he could do to spare the others grief, although he longed to help in some way. Haldirs body slid further down his chest as the March Warden relaxed into slumber once more, the slumped posture of his position lending his face a rather comically smashed appearance, nose scrunched ungracefully against Legolas' abdomen.

And then there was the problem of his weight. . .slipping constantly towards the most uncomfortable of places.

"Haldir. . ." Legolas said, giving the archers shoulder a gentle shake.

"Leave me," Haldir grunted, waving his hand with a limp wristed flip. "My watch is but a few hours from now, yet. . ."

"Haldir. . ." Legolas tried again, this time more urgently.

He sucked in a sharp breath as the Warden slid face first into his crotch with a muffled snore.

"Oh, by the Valar!" Haldir barked suddenly, jerking away from the startled Prince, his head landing upon the ground with a most ungraceful thunk.

Legolas stifled a laugh into the palm of his hand as the flustered Elf collected himself, brushing bits of grass from his previously pristine braids.

"I need a good bathing," Haldir muttered, smoothing the folds of his rumpled tunic irritably.

"This can be arranged," Legolas added teasingly. "There is water in this mortal land, as I recall."

The look Haldir cast him was meant to be one of annoyance, but the ghosting of a smile beneath it suggested otherwise.

"Very well, then. Show me this alleged water," the Warden said.

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