A Distant Star
Hello all! Thank you for reading my story!
I wasn't initially intending to put this on Fanfiction, but my friend read it and said it was good, so I thought, why the hell not?
This is just a little headcanon of mine, although as I've realized, it is actually a ridiculous thing. There are an outrageous amount of fics with this headcanon, and I love it! However, I do wish to say that I've had this headcanon for a long time, and I didn't steal it from any of the wonderful people here who have also written stories about it!
Okay, enough of my dumb babbling... please enjoy the story! ^.^
[Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any of its characters.]
Rivendell: four weeks after the death of the Queen of Mirkwood
Legolas stood alone in the center of his room; bag in hand, filthy travelling clothes still on. He knew exactly where he was, and he'd been there dozens of times before, yet he had never felt so lost in his entire life. He wished nothing more than to be at home in Mirkwood, at his desk studying history or literature or Westron, in a lecture hall listening to some Elf drone on and on about something no one particularly cared about, in a tree in the gardens drawing the flowers and the birds and the Elves milling about. He would have loved to have been in Mirkwood, doing anything but what he was currently doing.
Legolas was to stay in Imladris for a year – more, if all went well. His father had arranged it just days ago, whilst Lord Elrond was visiting Mirkwood on a peace-keeping mission. However, Legolas had had his suspicions from the beginning that this trip to Mirkwood had nothing to do with peace; it didn't seem like something that would take place - not so soon after… after what had happened. He'd had a feeling it had something to do with him, and for a time he was terrified that he had done something wrong. He'd mulled over it, but had decided that, aside from his bed-wetting and nightmares and keeping his Ada awake at night – which Thranduil had insisted again and again was no trouble at all and couldn't be helped – and aside from his occasional disobedience, doing things like running off from school and ignoring summons to meals – he had been very good in the past few weeks. It was nothing more than normal Elfling mischief, and everyone had excused it thanks to his quiet charm, his status, and the current circumstance. That didn't stop the teasing about it all from his fellow Elflings; in fact, it only increased it. But it kept him out of trouble, for which he was grateful.
So what had he done to cause his Ada to send him away? He wasn't sure, but he was awfully sorry for it.
Perhaps it had to do with Nana's death? Elrond and Ada had said something along those lines: they claimed it would be good for him; he had been so solemn since his mother had died, since what had happened to him, and the nightmares didn't help. They said that this change of scenery may help him to feel better, and that Elrond may be able to help him. Not only that, but his wounds were not healing as they should…
No. He did not wish to think about his wounds, or about the pain or the humiliation they brought.
Legolas struggled to bring himself back to reality. He'd found this happening more and more of late; he would drift into a daze, disappearing into the world of his young mind, distracted by his thoughts and memories, not wishing to be bothered with the happenings of the real, much more cruel world.
But then, his mind could be just as cruel.
Elrond had left just moments ago, giving him the sort of smile Legolas hated. It was a pitying smile, and Legolas was tired of getting them day after day since Nana had died. He was tired of the sympathy and the nightmares and the pain and the strange, cold numbness he felt in his heart. He was tired of the innocent questions and snide remarks from his classmates, the just-within-his-earshot stories being passed around of Orcs defiling maidens and Elflings who abandoned their mothers to die and pampered princes who wet their beds every night. He couldn't blame some of them, for they didn't know any better than to believe the stores, than to ask him questions that he did not wish to answer. He only could hate the ones who started the rumors; he was tired of them.
He was desperately, hopelessly tired.
"Get changed and rest awhile; make yourself at home," Elrond had said. "Supper will be served in the dining halls later on – I will send Elladen and Elrohir to get you when the time comes."
Get changed, rest awhile. These were easy things. Legolas could handle these things.
"Making himself at home" and sitting with Elrond and the twins through supper would present themselves as challenges. But Legolas was not one to disobey, or to step away from a challenge.
Legolas put his bag on the floor before the wardrobe. After staring at the closed wooden door for a few minutes, Legolas decided that it would remain closed, and the wardrobe, empty. He didn't want to feel as though this was a permanent situation.
Because it wasn't, he told himself. He would be home with his Ada someday, even if it was a year away. A year wasn't so long. He'd already experienced two hundred of them.
Picking out a tunic of blue silk, the first thing his fingers touched, and a pair of brown leggings, the second thing his fingers touched, he laid out his clean formal clothes on the bed and slipped off his travelling shirt.
It was then that he felt a prickling at the back of his neck. Someone – or something - was there, in the room with him. His first thought was to lunge for his little sword; his second was that it was too far away. He stood frozen, tense, weighing his options. After just a split second, he came to a conclusion: all that he could do was turn around, very quickly, ready to fight. He tensed further, preparing himself, and was about to turn when a voice spoke from directly behind him.
"What's up with you, 'Las? You look petrified."
Legolas whirled around, the voice already registering in his mind, and was confronted with two identical faces wearing identical expressions: amusement and a bit of confusion. But mostly amusement.
"Seriously, 'Las, what is the matter?" the other of Elrond's two sons asked.
Legolas, trying not to appear as though he'd nearly suffered a heart attack, took a step back and glared at the twins. "The matter is that you two snuck into my room while I was changing, is what the matter is." Legolas felt the tips of his ears heating up, and knew that they were flushing pink with embarrassment.
Elladen laughed. "But you did not hear us coming; that is a point for us."
While Legolas launched into an argument with Elladen, Elrohir was examining from afar a most intriguing discovery.
"What's that?" he piped up suddenly, and Elladen and Legolas broke off in their squabble. Elladen followed his brother's gaze, and his eyes widened a bit when he saw what had piqued his twin's curiosity. He also immediately wished Elrohir had kept his foolish mouth closed.
Legolas jerked away as Elrohir's hand subconsciously lifted and reached out to touch the livid, mottled patch of flesh on the younger Elf's hip, some of the only areas of his torso not covered in bandages.
"Don't," Legolas said, his tone a clear warning. His voice did not rise to a shout, but it contained barely masked panic and anger.
Elladen grabbed his twin's arm, pulling away his hand, and both looked at the Prince with slightly wide eyes.
"S-sorry…" Elrohir apologized uncertainly.
Legolas didn't reply straight away; he was busy not looking at them, his cheeks having joined his ears in his angry, embarrassed blush. "I'll be to supper in a moment."
The twins, knowing when they had been dismissed, slipped out of the room.
That Night…
Elrond sat at his desk, staring down at the piles of papers he was supposed to review and contracts and forms he was supposed to read and to sign. The words all blurred before his eyes; his trip to Mirkwood had worn him out and left him behind in paperwork. He was getting old.
These things, however, were not what was prohibiting him from finishing the paperwork. Rather, it was a certain young Elf that was distracting him. He simply could not keep his mind off of the troubled Prince; Legolas was a tough case, not to mention extremely important. He was the Crown Prince of the great Elven Kingdom of Mirkwood, the King's only child and the only possible heir. Not only that, but Elrond knew that Legolas was what was pulling King Thranduil through the loss of his wife; without his precious son, he would have no doubt have died of grief. Neither father nor son could take another loss, nor did they deserve to suffer more, after what they had been through; that was why it was so important to help Legolas, and why Elrond was bound and determined to do just that.
Elrond stacked the papers on the side of his big desk. Imladris would not fall to ruin because of some unfinished paperwork; Elrond had been doing as little of it as he could manage for centuries, and yet it was still thriving. Instead, he got out his journal, which was more of a log of some of his most challenging patients: their injuries or illnesses, their emotional trauma, their symptoms, their medications, and how they progressed over time. He opened to a fresh page and wrote in his steady handwriting:
Legolas Greenleaf
Age: two hundred and fifty-nine
Injuries: broken arm: spiral fracture in forearm, dislocation at shoulder; three broken ribs; two broken fingers; bruising and abdominal bleeding; some lacerations on chest and back; many smaller abrasions and burns, mostly two-degree; brand on left hip; severe internal injuries.
Cause: Orc attack, torture. Mother tortured and killed.
Medication: herbs to prevent infection; some pain-killers.
Trauma/Emotional Concerns: night terrors, personality change, major signs of depression and grief, seclusion, self-blame, embarrassment, resistance to help, fear/suspicion of others. Some is natural, what with his mother's death and his torment, but it is worrying. Be on guard for signs of self-mutilation and fading.
Elrond sighed, looking down at the paper, where all of his concerns for the young Elf were now displayed before his eyes. He'd treated worse cases in his millennia as a healer, but rarely did this sort of thing happen to one so young. He hated to see an Elfling like this: lost and afraid and hurting, and keeping it all to himself.
Elrond's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was actually two knocks, at the same time and perfectly in sync. The sound was followed by a soft call of "Ada…"
"Come in," Elrond called to his sons, sounding rather distracted, still staring down at his journal.
The two identical boys entered the room quietly and took seats in front of their father's desk. Elrond knew this was a sign that they intended to ask something that they were serious about and figured would need quite a bit up explanation, so he closed his journal and looked up at them, meeting their sharp gazes with his warm but intense brown eyes.
"What is it?" he prompted gently, hoping to get something out of them sometime soon despite the obvious discomfort in the air around them.
The twins looked at each other as though silently deciding which of them would be the one to speak. After moment, Elrohir spoke up. "Ada, we have… we have a question."
Elrond looked at them a moment, a knowing glint in his eyes, before saying, "It is about Legolas."
The twins looked only slightly surprised; they were used to their father's strange and extensive knowledge of seemingly everything, even the goings-on within other people's minds. They both nodded, still obviously a bit uncomfortable talking about their friend.
Elrond looked at them both a moment, wondering how much they knew and how much he should reveal to them. They were so innocent, despite their knowledge of what had happened to their mother, and he did not want to tarnish their impression of Legolas. He knew that the young Prince would prefer as few people knowing what had happened as possible; he simply wished for things to return to normal for him, and did not want others to pity him because of what had happened to him.
This time, it was the elder twin who spoke. "What happened, Ada? What happened to him?"
Before their father could reply, Elrohir quickly added, "you told us that his naneth was killed, like ours, and that he was badly hurt, and that he has nightmares and is very sad, but you didn't tell us anything more."
"We want to know," said Elladen softly. "Please, Ada."
Elrond again paused, considering his sons' request and how much it was his place to reveal. After a minute, he said, "I do not wish for what I am about to tell you to affect how you view Legolas. Do not ask him about any of this, or mention it in front of him; it is painful for him."
The twins nodded sincerely. "We won't, Ada. We promise."
Elrond spoke cautiously, giving them the truth, but taking care not to tell them any unnecessary details that might be too much for the two young Elflings, or too much of an invasion to Legolas' privacy. "Mirkwood is a very dangerous place to live, as you know. King Thranduil and his army do all they can to protect the people of Mirkwood, but sometimes there are attacks by the Orcs and other bad things that live in their forest that they simply cannot defend against. They always win in the end, but sometimes, tragic things happen."
"Like Queen Raina dying?"
"And Legolas getting hurt?"
"Yes. Like those things."
"But Ada, we knew that. We want to know what happened to him," said Elrohir, starting to get a bit impatient.
Elrond sighed slightly. "He and his mother were captured by Orcs, and they were very cruel to them."
Elrohir and Elladen looked fascinated. "What did they do?"
"Very bad things. They tortured them."
Finally, Elrohir saw the opening for him to ask the question that had been on his mind all evening. "What's that mark on his hip?"
Elrond turned his sharp gaze on his younger son. "When did you see it?"
Elrohir swallowed hard, not meeting his father's gaze, cheeks flushing light pink. "H-he was changing, and… but, only his shirt…"
Elladen glared at his brother, knowing that they would certainly get a lecture now.
However, Elrond simply said, "It is a wound."
Elrohir frowned. "But, it was shaped funny. Like… like a star."
Elrond looked at both his sons for a long moment, while they fidgeted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. Finally, he said, "Do you know how some Men keep track of their livestock?"
The twins both blinked at him, neither seeing the relevance of cows and horses to this conversation. But both shook their heads, having little knowledge of the ways of Men.
Elrond sighed again. He did not wish to tell his sons about this, but he knew that if he did not, they would ask Legolas about it, even if Elrond told them not to. They were clever and curious to a fault; they would figure out a way to find out about that wound, and he wanted to be the one to explain the cruelty of the world to them, so that they may learn about it as gently as possible.
"They first make a tool that looks like a long piece of metal, with some sort of design at the end. Sometimes, it has a family crest, or the initials of the owner. Then, they heat up the end with the design in a fire, and press it to the hide of the animal, so that it burns the skin and leaves a scar in the shape of the design. The scar, which they call a brand, is used to identify the animal and claim it as belonging to the owner."
The twins looked at their father with wide eyes, piecing together what Elrond was saying. Elrohir spoke first. "Is that what they did to Legolas?"
Elrond nodded. "That is among the things they did."
Elladen looked horrified. "That's awful…"
Elrond gave his sons a stern look. "Remember what I told you," he said. "I do not wish you to see Legolas any differently because of this. He is just like any other Elfling, and I expect you to treat him as such."
The twins gave another solemn nod, and Elrond dismissed them, telling them that they could talk to him about this if they wished to. With that, Elladen and Elrohir went out the door and into the falling night, while their father looked on and wished with all his heart that he could only protect them in his halls forever.
I apologize if it was a slight bit boring... I do tend to babble (as earlier mentioned -.-'')
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With love,
Onee