"No! Legolas! No!"

Aragorn dropped the sharp-edged rock as the Rulli lit the cave with a pale light. Blood, oh so much blood, too much, had he been too late? The Rulli rolled up behind him, twittering in concern as it illuminated the body of an elf, lying face down. Collapsing beside the elf, Aragorn lifted him out of the puddle of dark red blood. Blond hair was matted and stained, the pale face sporting two long gashes, the body limp. Aragorn hastily pushed aside the bloody mess of hair to check for a pulse. Please, oh Eru, grant him mercy. Let there be a pulse, he prayed fervently. Images flashed through his head; his father being brought home a bloody bandage tied around his head, no pulse. He had been only two, and his father had died 18 years ago, but the memory of the Dunedain was strong.

There it was! Weak, dwindling, but a faint beating! Aragorn quickly lifted him out of the pool of blood and water onto a ledge. The Rulli's chittering was soft and low and its light helped Aragorn see the many wounds on the elf. A gashed side, broken leg, dislocated shoulder, and worse yet, a severe head wound.

"Don't do this to me, Legolas," Aragorn whispered.

He opened his eyes, squeezing them shut at the blast of light. Finally daring to open them again, Legolas blinked. It took him a minute to remember. Yes, the labyrinth, the spider, Rulli... Ugh, the cave...He was still in the caves. Looking around, he saw Aragorn kneeling on the ground. He walked up behind his friend, touching him to make sure he was alright.


He started to say more but noticed that Aragorn wasn't responding to his touch. Oh no. Looking down at his hand, Legolas' eyes widened. His hand was glowing white and was going through Aragorn's shoulder. As if this was not startling enough, the elf looked over the man's shoulder and gasped. Lying on the ground, deathly white, was an elf covered in blood. That elf was him!