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The elf crouched to avoid the scimitar swung at his head. He thrust a knife at his opponent, but the vile creature stepped back. Their gazes locked for a second, and he could see the orc's small eyes, shining with hatred and malice.

Another thrust with the knife and the foul creature fell dead. But what about the next one? He turned around and could not suppress a gasp. The forest was swarming with heavily armed men and orcs, fighting with a passion they had not expected to encounter.

The elves were fiercely defending their home, but many of them were starting to lose hope. More men and orcs fell, but new ones came. It was hard to tell if they were outnumbered or not, since the numerous trees blocked the view and no one could see the entire army, but such a large group had not attacked them in a long time.

A shout alerted him that something was happening. He quickly looked around and gasped in surprise. There, mounted on a white mare, was King Thranduil, tall and proud, his eyes shimmering in rage. True, shadows of grief still lingered in the blue orbs, but they were pushed away by anger and determination. These men had hurt his son. These men had dared attack his home. And they would pay for that. No, he would never leave his people to face this threat leaderless and desperate.

"The King! The King is here!" Shouts of joy and relief announced his arrival, and he smiled sadly. Yes, those men would soon see what it meant to hurt a son of Thranduil.

---

Merzak groaned and rubbed his temple. He looked around, slightly stunned, and frowned in confusion. The fall he had taken had been much shorter than he had expected, and the rock was covered with soft snow, so it was not so surprising that he still lived. What was surprising, however, was that he had no severe injuries.

The man gasped in horror and paled when he realized why he had come out of this unscratched. Something had broken his fall. He stared, terrified, at the object that had been between him and the rock.

There, amidst the crimson-colored snow, lay the young ranger's broken body. His face was half-buried in snow, and his leg was bent at an odd angle.

Merzak watched transfixed, feeling his breathing accelerate. "What have I done?" He whispered, terrified. This young man, this boy he had tried so hard to kill had now saved his life. And how had he thanked him? The last words he had spoken to the ranger had been of anger and distrust.

He had blamed the elves for killing his family. He had despised them for murdering innocent children. But was he any better than what he had imagined the elves to be? Had he not tried to kill this man, who was but a mere child to him?

He stretched his arm and very slowly and carefully, as if the ranger was made of glass, turned him aside so that he was lying on his back. The man stared terrified at the pale, youthful face, marred by a single cut across the temple. A single cut bleeding slowly.

Bleeding.

Merzak laughed hysterically, almost like a madman, and buried his hands in the snow to calm himself and relax his tense nerves. Bleeding. Dead men didn't bleed.

He leaned over the body and brought his dagger close to the ranger's lips. Then he examined it carefully and sighed in relief when he saw the tiny mist on the blade. The young man was still breathing.

Merzak shook him gently. "Ranger?" He called and blushed in embarrassment. The man had saved his life, and he didn't even know his name. The elf had called him something, but Merzak could not remember what it was. "My lad?" He tried again. "Please wake up."

He melted a handful on snow between his palms and sprinkled the water at the pale face. The he slapped non-too-gently several times the ranger's cheek and shook him once again.

The unconscious man moaned softly and slowly shook his head, as if to chase the intruder away and remain in the blissful darkness. But Merzak would have none of that and shook him, more forcefully this time.

Two pain-filled eyes opened widely and tried to focus. Suddenly they fixed on the man above him, still holding a dagger in his hand, and pain was swiftly replaced by fear.

Merzak sighed in relief. "You scared me," he whispered.

Aragorn blinked, still staring at the dagger. Strange, I could have said the same, he thought.

The older man seemed to read his thoughts and chuckled softly. "Fear me not, lad, I will not hurt you." He paused, looking guiltily at the snowy ground. "Why?" He asked. "Why did you catch me? Why didn't you leave me to fall?"

"I… I told you… already," Aragorn said, his voice soft and wheezing. Merzak winced. He knew very well what the wheezing meant. "I told you…" The ranger continued, his voice getting softer with every word. "I think that… you… don't deserve to die."

Merzak bowed his head. "I am not sure of that any more. My grief blinded me and I caused you much pain. I deeply regret everything I did to you."

"You must apologize to Legolas," the ranger said softly. "I might be able to forgive you, but I am not sure about him. You did to him something he will never forget."

"I know," Merzak whispered remorsefully. "I poisoned him."

Aragorn sighed. No, not that, he thought, but felt too weak to speak his thoughts aloud. You made him believe I was dead. I doubt he will ever forgive you.

Merzak raised his head determinedly. There would be time for regret and apologies later. There was something more urgent he had to do first. "You need a healer," he said. "I will bring you back to Gradek. Most of the healers left with the army to help the wounded, but still a few remained to care for those left behind. They can help you."

The young ranger slowly shook his head. "I can't… be moved," he wheezed, and once again the Captain was scared by how weak this voice sounded. "I have broken ribs."

"How many?" Merzak asked. He had guessed that much.

"Many," Aragorn replied simply. "They are badly broken and dislocated. If I am moved, even slightly, they will puncture my lungs, I can feel it. I need a skillful healer to set them properly. Are you able to do that?"

Merzak shook his head in horror. He doubted that even the healers left in Gradek would be able to do this. The better ones had left with the army. "I could look for help," he offered, at a loss at what to do.

"No!" Aragorn breathed. "You are… needed… for something more… important." Merzak was terrified at how fast the ranger was becoming weaker. Suddenly a coughing fit shook the young man's frame, and the Captain of Gradek tried to hold him still, hoping that the movement wouldn't dislocate the broken ribs even further. He watched as the man's face was growing paler, and his heart raced in fear.

---

The thin body shivered in the snow. Normally, he wouldn't have felt the cold, and it only showed how weakened his body was.

I must remember never to overdose again, Legolas thought bitterly. But, as it was, there was probably going to be no again. He was lying in the snow, his hands wrapped around his hurting stomach. The symptoms had intensified, and the exertion, worry, and cold did nothing to help his condition.

So many times he had thought that he needed to go on, that his father needed him. And so many times he had risen and fallen again. But now he had finally given up.

At least Aragorn is safe, he thought hopefully. But ada is not. This thought gave him no peace. His father needed him; his home needed him against the attack. That was what had pushed him forward for so long, but it was not enough.

He closed his eyes and tried to gather what little was left of his strength. Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder, and if he had been stronger, he would have jumped in shock.

"I see that going by yourself was a great idea, mellon nîn," Hirvegil said sadly.

"What are you doing here?" Legolas asked, eyes wide in incomprehension. "How could you leave him alone?"

"Estel will be safe in the cave, it is you that I worry about," the elf replied.

"He made you come after me, did he not?" Legolas asked, ignoring his friend's comment, and Hirvegil nodded. "I should have known. You have to go back."

The dark-haired elf crossed his arms across his chest and looked at the crumpled form in his feet. "And leave you to die here? Legolas, Estel will be alright, I am sure. It is you and your father who need help now."

Legolas raised his head and Hirvegil gasped when he saw that the blue eyes were shimmering with moisture. "You do not understand, do you?" The golden-haired being asked, his voice low and thick. "I thought he was dead!"

Hirvegil winced at the intensity of emotions he heard in that voice. He quickly crouched down and embraced his prince. "I understand, mellon nîn. I understand so well."

Legolas buried his face in the other elf's tunic and sobbed quietly. "Of course you do, my friend, I am so sorry! I know what Pelilas' death is doing to you. But you cope with the grief so well. How do you do it?"

Hirvegil smiled grimly. "It is my love for my home, for you and for your father that keeps me going. And it should help you too."

"It is helping," Legolas nodded. "But I am so worried. He is badly injured and if someone finds him, he has no means to defend himself."

"No one will find him there. He is safe," Hirvegil assured. "Come. We have a long road before us, and you are not in your best shape." He helped his friend rise and lean on him. The two figures limped forward, until their keen ears detected the sound of battle.

---

The ranger finally stopped coughing and Merzak sighed in relief. "Your ribs… did they…?" He trailed off, afraid that the young human had sustained further damage.

Aragorn swiftly shook his head and closed his eyes to overcome the dizziness that assaulted him. His ribs and leg weren't the only body parts he had injured, and the large bump at the back of his head wasn't helping matters. "Do not worry… about me," he said with some difficulty. "You need… to stop… the war. You need to… go back to Gradek… take your fastest horse and ride… after the army." He paused and closed his eyes, and his breathing was shallow and accelerated. When he opened them, he saw that Merzak was shaking his head in denial.

"I cannot leave you here. You are badly injured and freezing, and I have no means to build a fire. You… you will not last long."

"But you must!" Aragorn tried to shout, but it swiftly sent him into another coughing fit. Merzak took a step forward to help him, but the ranger raised his hand to stop him. "Even if you stay, you cannot help me. I will die. But if you linger, many of your men, and many Wood-elves will die in vain."

"I cannot let you die alone!" Merzak protested.

Aragorn smiled sadly. "Believe me, I prefer to die alone, than to know that I have caused the death of many men and elves. Please go!"

Merzak hesitated, but he could not deny the wisdom in the young ranger's words. "I do not even know your name," he whispered.

"Call me Strider," the ranger provided.

"Strider," Merzak repeated, knowing that he would remember the name forever. "I could send help to you when I reach Gradek." Dark eyes locked with silver. They both knew it. Most probably no one in Gradek would be able to help the ranger. Besides, it would take time to find him in the snowy mountains, and he probably would not last long enough.

Merzak sighed and his gaze lingered for a last time on the injured man before him. The man, who was almost two times younger than him, but who had taught him so much. He turned to leave, but Aragorn called him back.

"Wait!" He hesitated briefly. He was wondering if what he was about to do would help Legolas, would give him something to hold on to, or would harm him even further. But finally he decided to do it. "Give this to Legolas," he finally said. "He will need it."

Merzak looked at the offered object in surprise, but took it. The he crouched down and wrapped his own coat around the ranger. "No… it will not help me… you need it more," the young man protested, but Merzak only shook his head and rose to his feet.

"It was an honor knowing you, Strider," he said seriously. "I shall never forget you."

He turned back and ran down the mountain, shaken by what had just happened.

---

The orc fell to his knees, and Hirvegil pulled his blade out of the foul creature's chest. He had found a small sword on the battlefield, and was trying to clear his way through the fighting and reach the palace. True to his name, Hirvegil was a sword master, but it was hard for him to fight while supporting his prince with his left arm.

"Cullas!" He shouted when he spotted an auburn-haired warrior. The elf looked at them and gaped in surprise. "Find the King!" Hirvegil continued. "Tell him that his son is here and needs help!"

He gazed hopefully at Cullas' retreating back, and helped Legolas stay upright. "Hold on, mellon nîn, we are home," he whispered while blocking a blow with his sword. "We are home."

Only a few minutes passed before he noticed a tall, golden-haired figure on a white mare, followed by an escort of riders. The elves fought their way through the battlefield and towards the two friends.

"Legolas!" Thranduil dismounted, or rather jumped from his steed, and rushed forward, quickly gathering his son in his arms.

"I am sorry, ada," the younger elf whispered and leaned his head on his father's shoulder. "I never meant to worry you."

"We will talk later. You need to rest now, ion nîn," Thranduil said gently and mounted his white steed, carefully holding his son in front of him. He needed to take him to the palace, which was safe, at least for the time being. The King hoped that their assailants would not get so far.

"My liege, he had taken the antidote, but is now experiencing the effects of overdosing," Hirvegil reported.

Thranduil nodded. This was new to him. The elves, who had been imprisoned in Gradek and freed by Elrohir had arrived after the battle had started and had not been able to find their King and tell him the news they bore.

"Thank you for everything you have done for my son, Hirvegil," he said. "Mount behind one of my warriors, and we will return to the palace. You need to rest as well."

"Forgive me, my lord, but I prefer to stay," the dark-haired elf answered. "I am not that weary, and I prefer to fight and help with what I can."

The King nodded in gratitude once again, and rode towards safety. Legolas uttered no word of protest, and he never claimed that he was able to fight, and this worried him greatly. His son's condition had to be grave indeed.

But this would not last long. The healers knew what potion he had taken and how to treat him. Thranduil smiled his first true smile in many days. His child was safe, kept securely in his protective arms, and he would never let anyone harm him.

---

The orc and human army had temporary retreated, giving both sides much needed rest and time to take care of the wounded. Naturally, both sides were ready to go into battle immediately, should the other party attempt something.

The orcs seemed rather dissatisfied with the rest. It was nighttime, their preferred time for fighting, and they wished to continue the battle. But Galen knew that the men Captain Merzak had entrusted him needed the rest, and he was not about to let the orcs decide instead of him.

When Merzak arrived, he was relieved to see that the battle had temporarily stopped. He quickly dismounted his horse and strode into the camp, looking for Galen.

"My Lord!" His advisor noticed him immediately and ran towards him. "What happened? Did you kill them?"

"I killed no one," Merzak said, and winced at the lie. No matter what his intentions now were, young Strider was going to die as a result of his actions. But he tried to push this thought away. There would be enough time to grieve later, now he had to fulfill the ranger's last wish. "This needs to stop now. We have to retreat and go back to Gradek."

"Go back?" Galen looked confused.

"Do as I say!" Merzak said firmly, louder this time.

"Retreat?" One of the orcs nearby questioned. "What do you mean retreat?"

"It means that I am ordering you to stop the fighting and go back," the human said coldly. A large group of men and orcs had gathered around, and watched the exchange with curiosity.

"You have no power to order us," the orc hissed and their eyes locked.

"My men and I are going back. You can do as you please," Merzak replied calmly.

The orc's eyes glimmered maliciously. This was not supposed to happen. His master would be very displeased. "No, you are not going back," he said dangerously.

Man and orc locked their eyes in a silent battle of wills. The orc suddenly thrust his scimitar forward, but Merzak was faster and the foul creature collapsed to the ground with a cut throat.

Shouts of rage were heard from the orcs, and the men quickly stepped in to protect their Captain. Metal clanged on metal, and men and orcs fought for their lives.

But it was nighttime, and the orcs had a clear advantage.

---

"My King!" The elf bowed in front of Thranduil, a shocked look on his face. "The men and the orcs – they are fighting each other!"

The king frowned in confusion, but then his lips curled into a slight smile. "Let them kill each other," he said. But when he looked towards his enemies' camp, he knew that he could never just watch and wait. Thousands of years of history of hatred lay behind, and he knew that he had no choice.

If Men and Orcs fought, there was only one thing Elves could do.

Thranduil's eyes met the other elf's and the order was short and clear.

"Help the men."

---

The orcs stood no chance against the combined forces of elves and men. Foul bodies littered the ground, and the ones who survived scattered in horror.

King Thranduil rode among the crowd of men and looked down. "What is the meaning of this?" He asked. His escort joined him swiftly, still eyeing the men warily.

A dark-haired man stepped forward and knelt before the King's steed. "My name is Merzak, my Lord, and I am the one who poisoned your son."

Thranduil's eyes glittered in pure rage and hatred, and he raised his sword. Hirvegil, however, quickly grabbed his king's arm and shook his head. "My Lord, I believe he has something to say," he said.

Thranduil's breathing was still quick in anger, but he lowered his sword and nodded. "Speak," he commanded, his voice cold as ice.

Merzak was still kneeling in front of the horse, and his head was bowed. "What I did to your son was a grave mistake," he said, avoiding the King's gaze. "I have caused you and your realm a great pain, and I deeply regret it. I beg your forgiveness even though I do not think I deserve it. Hate me if you must, but I ask you this – let my men return home safely. We will never return or attempt to harm you, you have my word."

Thranduil hesitated for a moment, but the rage in his eyes didn't go away. "I think his words are sincere," Hirvegil murmured.

The King's piercing gaze never left Merzak. "Your deed cannot go unpunished," he finally said. "But I will let your men return home. You will stay here. I need to decide what to do with you."

"Thank you, my lord," Merzak said, never lifting his head. "But I have one final request."

Thranduil lifted an eyebrow in surprise and anger. What right did this man have to ask anything of him? "And that might be…?" He prompted, his voice sounding even colder than before.

"I wish to speak to your son," Merzak said, drawing loud gasps from everyone around.

The King's face reddened in anger. "You are not going anywhere near Legolas!" He shouted, glaring at the man.

"I will never hurt him, you have my word," Merzak vowed, trying not to show his fear.

"We can take away all of his weapons," Hirvegil suggested. "I will go with him. I will not let him even touch Legolas." Thranduil seemed reluctant, but the dark-haired elf placed his hand on his lord's shoulder and their eyes locked. "You son will be safe, my liege. I promise."

The King hesitantly agreed, and Hirvegil and three more elves led Merzak into the palace. They walked along a long, torch-lit corridor, and finally stopped before a large, wooden door. The raven-haired elf knocked softly, and after he heard a weak acknowledgement, opened the door.

"Legolas, you have a visitor," he announced, and made way for Merzak to enter.

The prince cried out in surprise, and immediately grabbed his knives that were laid close to his bed. Merzak stared at the golden-haired elf, lying in a huge bed, his face as pale as the sheets. The hand clutching the knife was trembling, and the man winced, realizing that he had done that.

"How dare you?" The fair creature shouted. "How dare you come here?"

"I am not here to harm you," Merzak said softly. "I came to apologize."

Blue eyes widened in shock and disbelief. "What?!"

"I did a great wrong," the man continued. "I know now that you never harmed my family. I am sorry that I let grief and rage blind me and hurt you. I know that I deserve no forgiveness. Think of any punishment I deserve, and I will accept it willingly.

"I will remember that," Legolas said coldly. And, indeed, he did, and later he devised a punishment he thought was appropriate. But then he looked at the miserable man and his gaze softened. "I am sorry that my enemies harmed your family," he said softly. "It pains me to know that innocent lives were lost. But, please tell me, what changed your mind? What made you see the truth?"

"I met the most amazing young man," Merzak said, smiling sadly. "He taught me a lot. He showed me what real goodness and real courage are, and he showed me the meaning of true forgiveness. He is so young, and yet I learned so much from him." Brown and blue eyes locked for a second, before Merzak looked away. "I am talking about your friend, Strider."

Legolas jumped from his bed, not caring that he swayed on his feet. "Strider?" His voice was loud and distressed, and Hirvegil stepped forward to help him lay back down, but the prince pushed him away. "When did you see him? Where is he? What happened?"

Merzak's eyes moistened and he looked away. Legolas took a step forward and grabbed the man's tunic. "Where is he?" He repeated. "What did you do to him?"

Merzak lifted his gaze, and Legolas was surprised at the pain he saw there. When the man spoke, his voice was thick and barely audible. "I am sorry," he said. "I am so sorry."

---

This was so much harder than he had thought. It was easy to say 'Leave me, the wood-elves and your men need you now', but to actually lie alone in the snow, to have no one to distract him from the piercing pain, no one to help him better wrap the cloak around his freezing body, no one to wipe away the sweat from his damp forehead, no one to turn him to his side as he vomited from pain, and clean the mess after that, no one to speak soothing words of comfort as the world grew dimmer, that was harder that he had ever imagined.

But nothing was worse than the waiting. Waiting for the inevitable, knowing that there was no way to escape it. He did not know how long he had been lying there. It could have been minutes or hours. All he knew was that it was cold and it hurt.

As time passed the cold increased, and the pain grew numb. He welcomed the numbness although he knew what it meant.

He was dying.

To say that he was not afraid of Death would be a lie. True, he was not scared of the act of dying itself, but he feared never seeing his loved ones again. And, most of all, he feared the grief his passing was going to cause. Alas, he had already seen this grief on Legolas' face, and it broke his heart to think about it. And this time his entire family would have to bear the burden of sorrow. He could only hope that they would be able to bear it, and it would not force them to sail or fade.

His eyes slid closed and his body slowly grew oblivious to the world around him. And then, the beloved images appeared in his mind for one last time. He smiled. Yes, it was true. Freezing was probably the easiest way to die. He would simply fall asleep, dream pleasant dreams, and never wake up.

And those dreams were his last opportunity to see them. And he did. He saw his mother, smiling lovingly. He saw his foster father bent over a cauldron, preparing this horrible tea of his. He saw the twins arguing over who was the better archer. He saw a starry sky, and below it a beautiful, dark-haired elleth, the flame in her silver eyes dimming even the brightest stars. And then he saw Legolas… smoking his pipe.

The last part of the dream made him laugh, but he quickly paid for his joy as the laughter sent him into a fierce coughing fit. The pain in his chest that had grown numb came back once again, but he had no strength to fight it anymore.

"Forgive me," he whispered and gave up.

---

"Filthy murderer!" Legolas' hands were clutching Merzak's tunic, and his eyes were glistening with rage.

"I am so sorry," the man muttered. "I never meant to harm him."

"Never?" The elf was furious. "Never! I believe you wanted to kill him when you dragged him out of the cave!"

"That is true," Merzak admitted softly. "I have harmed you and your friend beyond forgiveness."

"Yes, you have," Legolas said softly. "How could you do this?" He asked, his anger replaced by worry and grief. "How could you leave him injured and alone?"

"He asked me to do it," the man said. "And he asked me to give you this. He said you would need it."

Legolas' eyes widened in horror and he had to suppress a cry of anguish as his fingers curled around the wooden pipe.

TBC

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