The shadows and dark shaped haunted him, followed him throughout the paths of the elven dreamscape.
The tall grass around him, reaching for the sky.
A sly wind grazing through his fine hair.
A field outside his beloved forest.
"Legolas!"
The voice of his friend echoed in his mind, the moment when he thought the Hall of Mandos were opening. It was in that moment, when hope had fled that he had turned towards the creature with the arrow. In that moment Legolas had taken the arrow wound in his side, and not in his heart where it's original target had been. Then, he immediately pulled it from his soft flesh and used it to give the Orc a fatal stabbing from its own arrow through its eye.
All that came afterwards was darkness, confusion and doubt. Suddenly, everything he had known had been lost. Immortality was no longer something to be counted out, but a fickle friend easy for forsake him.
Trusted friends were speaking to them, but they seemed lost in a fog that was thick and would not relent. Time passed, but he thought it did only because it was supposed to. Aragorn had joined him, the man stood by him and gave him encouragement. That's when a horrible memory hit him.
Gandalf. The spell.
Arwen.
She was bound to him and he to her, she could only be suffering as well by his injury. If he faltered, if he succumbed then what would befall her? Would she then be doomed to join him in death, a mortal's death?
These thought would not allow his hazy mind to rest and he fought with all his spirit as he felt himself lifted onto a horse once more to resume the journey towards home, and whatever challenge awaited him there. Whatever fate would deal him.
Hours passed, and Aragorn was relieved to see the familiar sights that heralded the Palace's existence. Legolas mumbled quietly now and then, but otherwise remained silent and still on the horse. The Elf stayed strong, though, not failing under the pressure.
All of Aragorn's hopes rested in the well-being of his friend, and all of his nightmares lie ahead.
At long last, they had arrived in the stony fortress of Mirkwood, Legolas' new charge. No pleasantries were exchanged as their sole purpose was to get Legolas to healers and to rest from the trials he had endured, both mentally and physically. To suffer the mental blow of losing one's father, followed by the physical blow of his injuries, none could be sure of the Elvenking's intentions towards Middle Earth any longer. Would he decide to remain, or decide to fade into the mists of time?
Time passed and Aragorn did naught but remain at his friend's side. Hope faded into despair as his friend battled a fever and the strain of recovering from such terrible injuries with the speed of a mortal. If he had not agreed to Aragorn's request, he would have been long healed by this point and bugging Aragorn to return to his kingdom and attend to his wife.
The clever north wind came in the window, stirring the spirit.
Finally, during the breaking of the dawn after a night filled with a chill wind, Legolas opened his sight to the world, and to a deep sleeping King of Gondor.
"So, is this how you attend to all your duties?" Legolas weakly asked.
Aragorn jumped at the first noise from his friend, "Only those of extreme importance, usually I just nap from my bedroom."
A small smile crept onto their faces, "You have stayed by me, my friend. I promised myself I would not pass for you would be crushed with two losses in one moment."
"You needn't worry now, you are on the mend."
Legolas looked down to avoid Aragorn's gaze, "I don't know what to do. My father would wish to remain, however I feel we cannot hold back the encroaching evil any longer."
"What are you saying, Legolas?" Their eyes gazed into one another, seeing more than color, but seeing into the thoughts that lie behind them.
Whispering into the winds, Legolas spoke what he never thought he could say, "We may need to leave Mirkwood."
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