Summary: Before Thranduil will even consider sending Legolas on patrols he wants the young prince to learn at least the basics of the healing arts from the best, Lord Elrond. But while on a simple excursion in Rivendell Legolas soon finds himself in a situation that will test both his healing and fighting abilities.
Disclaimer: None of Tolkien's characters nor the world of Middle Earth are mine and I do not aim to make any money from this story. I merely borrow the toys and play in the sandbox.
Rating: PG-13 (T)
A/N: I was in the middle of writing another story when I was attacked by a particularly vicious plot bunny, which made me write this. (I, therefore, deny all responsibility) The story is a work in progress and I'm having a bit of problems with the later chapters at the moment, so I thought I'd go ahead and post the beginning. Maybe feedback will give me the necessary boost to write the next chapters. So pretty (pretty) please tell me what you think? :)
I will try to update weekly though.
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Gravity
Prologue
Legolas ran towards the cliff side, fearing the worst. The relief that flooded through him when he saw the younger twin, leaning heavily against the cliff but on his own two feet, was almost enough to send him to his knees.
He caught his breath, mustering Elrohir. The black haired elf was covered in bruises, a large gash on his forehead was bleeding freely and he was obviously relying on the wall at his side for the mere task of staying upright. "You look horrible", he commented with a levity he didn't really feel.
"The ellyths' songs about your beauty are also… vastly … exaggerated." The twin shot back, his comeback ruined by the difficulty he had with drawing breath and the lopsided grin he was aiming for turned into a grimace of pain. His breathing came in ragged gasps now, growing worse by the second.
Then, without warning, the twin doubled over as a heavy coughing fit overtook him and brought him to his knees. Legolas was at his side in an instant.
Carefully the younger elf took Elrohir by his shoulders, gently coaxing the strained body to relax and lean back against him to open up his airways and allow for easier breathing.
"Easy", he whispered with a calmness that he didn't feel. Eventually Elrohir leaned back, relaxing into the arms that now held him. Legolas was petrified to see the small trickle of blood running down from the other elf's lips to his chin. He watched, mesmerized but with growing dread, as one drop of the precious liquid fell to the dusty stone ground beneath them.
This was not good.
He had barely started his healer's training with Lord Elrond, but he had seen enough of his realm's warriors return from patrols turned bad, to recognize a grievous injury.
Trying for levity again, knowing that the twins, too, defaulted to joking in times of turmoil he mumbled. "Elladan is going to kill me."
But Elrohir didn't seem to hear him any longer. "Elladan", the younger twin said, as if repeating the familiar name, holding on to it as to a lifeline.
"No", Legolas responded, feeling despair claw at his heart, "Elladan is not here. It is just I, Legolas."
"Elladan", the younger twin repeated again, regardless. The name was but a soft whisper on his deathly pale lips, tinged red with his own blood. Then the younger twin's eyes slid shut and his body went limp in Legolas' arms.
The young elf cradled the body of his friend tighter, "No", he gasped, "Elrohir!" He buried his face in the twin's hair and wept.
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tbc