Oh WHOA not expecting the interest in the story! Thank you so much all the followers and reviewers, wow gob smacked!

So thank you to;

Rousdower; Yes I just love cute kiddie legolas, there will be plenty of him, but this chapter gets alot darker.

Vampiredarieslover123; Whoa thank you! I hope you like this chapter

Treklocked Asgardian; 'Babylas' I love this! :) Thank you!

Optymiska; Thank you here is the update

So guys this is a little darker and I am going to up the rating to be on the safe side, warning grotesque images. Please if you can review and let me know what you think because I think you will all recognize the injury I am describing. Oh im excited now I hope you guys like...

Chapter 2

"One week!"

I whisper aloud as I stare at the messy script on the thick parchment paper before me. Since the night I met Legolas I had tried to mentally recap how many times I had went to sleep and how many times I had awoken in this strange but incredibly familiar new world. From my estimations it has been about a week from the moment I opened my eyes in this strange bed chamber, which is apparently a sick bay in some sort of elvish hospital, but lord only knows how much time had passed from my actual landing in middle earth. My eyes widen at the thought, middle earth? How is this even possible? I cannot make it fit in my head and I have the most vivid imagination known to man or beast, so why it so hard to accept?

"Because this is insane! This doesn't happen!" I answer myself out loud again and then I frown, talking to myself does not help my case, what is it like the first sign of madness or something? Jaysus I am officially having a conversation with myself, this practically confirms it I am mad, mad as a hatter. However crazy it seems I cannot deny the fact that it is happening and over the past few days I have tried very hard to wrap my tiny, overwhelmed mind around it.

The first step was coming to terms with my reflection; I had screamed blue murder when presented with a mirror from a very kindly elf lady who I presume is a doctor, or healer, or whatever they call themselves. She had only meant to show me the fantastic improvements in my physical state and that I was in pristine condition, no lasting scars or ugly deformities. What she hadn't banked on was my reaction, I assume she was expecting praise and overwhelming thankfulness but instead she got pure terror.

The reflection was not me, not really, I was there in the features sort of. The general shape of my face was intact but it was perfected, scarily so, there were no acne scars, no familiar freckles or moles. My eyelashes were fuller, darker and I think even Bambi himself would struggle to outdo them. They rimmed wide storm grey eyes, the eyes were familiar those were my eyes, but they shimmered and stared dramatically out at me, and for all that they did not even give away a hint of the turmoil raging away inside me. My hair remained light blonde, ashy but not platinum, I bleached my hair before and I should have been able to see tell-tale roots poking through, but nope this was all natural. My thick hair felt soft and silky to touch, it hung long in subtle waves just shy of the small of my back. My hair was long and naturally wavy before, if I did not iron the life out of it, but it was definitely three or four inches longer than what I remembered.

My body was slightly different too, straighter and more stream-lined. I was never skinny or lithe; I was always curvy and feminine in shape so I was relieved to see I had not lost that. But I was toned and my muscles and bones felt stronger less fragile like they had been fortified, I did not feel or look human. In essence I was not human, for a human could not look like this; the body was built for endurance to stand the test of time, like a noble tree that has strong roots unyielding and unchanging against the hands of time. I was an elf, why I was one I could not tell, but it was terrifying, life changing and invigorating all at once.

When I had recovered from that and the healer lady had managed to calm me down, I had to get used to other subtle changes. Changes such as not feeling the need to sleep, instead I seemed to drift away from conscious and return seemingly hours later, though it had only seemed like a moment. These states were restful and I enjoyed them, I felt stronger each time I returned from them. I also did not feel the need to eat the same, I mean before I would happily clear a roast dinner with all trimmings, plus a vat of Ben and Jerry's and still feel famished. Now I could go a whole day and not feel the discomfort of hunger, I still enjoyed food but it was not so essential for my survival as it was before, I reckoned I could go a long time before hunger pangs set in. My voice is softer and huskier than I remember, not rough with a brogue like my old voice. Though I still have my accent and I am fairly sure I have all my memories, and I think and I speak and act pretty much like normal. But I'm not normal I am an elf in middle earth, oh holy sweet mother of god, I am a fangirl in middle earth this could probably be the best thing that ever happened to me!

Legolas was a frequent visitor, he usually arrived just after lunch and stayed until he was scolded and made to return to his chambers, wherever they may be. I lived to see his angelic little face, for I really had nothing else to do with my time outside of his visits. Apparently I had sustained a broken ankle, my right ankle to be exact, it was splinted and I was made to walk with wooden crutches If I was even allowed to walk at all. Elvish medicine meant I felt little to no pain and I was reassured by the kind healers that the bones should be fully mended very soon, to be honest I did not mind if they didn't because I had not the foggiest idea what I was going to do with myself when I was made to leave the elvish hospital.

His visits were filled with stories and songs, because of Legolas I was kept entertained and educated on the world I was going to have to accept as my home. He was a settled boy, dearly loved by his Grandfather and Father, it would even appear that the pair doted a little too indulgently with him, but I assumed it was because he spent a lot of time on his own, so whatever time he had with his Father or Grandfather was always memorable and fulfilled. He talked about his Father with such adoration and revered respect that even I was beginning to fall in love with this absent Thranduil character.

I had only met Oropher one other time since arriving in his Kingdom; he had come to fetch his Grandson and was ever as gracious and kindly as he was before. He inquired to my health and my state of mind, and I politely answered all his questions but I really had no concept on how to present myself to a monarch. He seemed to understand that and accept it, but it was the briefest of conversations and I had the strangest notion that something was worrying him. I could not be sure but he seemed preoccupied and kept glancing anxiously over Legolas like something grieved him deeply. I put it out of mind of course, I was still in shock over being alive and elf no less, and Legolas' visits never ceased so I assumed all was well.

I sigh loudly again and place the quill back in the ink pot beside me, I have tried to sketch just to distract myself from the looming boredom that would be this long night. It was already creeping into the wee hours of the morning, I could tell by the stillness of the corridors outside my room. I wouldn't be sleeping tonight, I did not feel the need too and thus I was left stranded without my chief entertainer, who was probably tucked up in his bed like a good little boy.

Determined to find something to do I reach for my crutches and decide to go for a late night stroll. I was testing myself to see how far I could walk without needing to rely heavily on my crutches, unfortunately I was not getting very far, maybe the length of corridor. Still it was something to pass the time with and I liked the quietness of this place so I hop to the doorway and begin my adventure.

As I thump along the wide hallway, admiring the overhanging archways laden with sweet smiling flowers and shimmering lanterns, I pick up an unusual sound. Instinctively I move towards it, curiosity getting the better of me, I never was very good at minding my own business. As I awkwardly amble along the corridors I realise that at the far end there is a commotion, someone is being admitted and by the sounds of it they aren't in the greatest of shape. I sneak closer making out the forms of several healers all familiar to me, the King himself and a strange elf clad in shining armor.

What has my full attention though is the animalistic wails coming from the body they are carrying into a specified room. The sounds are blood curdling and I cover my ears to try and muffle out the worst of it. This elf seems to be in intense pain, almost to the point of death, because those noises sound like death. I cannot even decipher if the victim is male or female, I just know the cries of pain are intolerable and excruciating to listen to and I presume they are only a shadow of the pain the poor soul must be suffering under. Another agonising howl has tears prick my eyes, surely someone can put the elf out of their misery, and surely it would be better to die than live through such a nightmare.

"Do not give me sweetened words Elrond, I want the truth as harsh as it may be, is there any hope?" I hear the voice of the King, it sounds broken and inconsolable, it sounds like he has been crying.

"There is hope, he has survived the journey here there is nothing to suggest he will not live through this," the strange elf I did not recognise answers, his voice is strangely soft and calming, this must be the fabled Elrond half elven.

"But the injuries they are the worst I have seen in my long life, he should not have survived! Dragon fire Elrond? There is nothing left of him, he does not even resemble my son!" Oropher hisses again his voice sounds empty and hopeless. His son, then the elf is Thranduil, oh god, oh god, oh god, but what of Legolas this will destroy the boy! Nothing left of him? What kind of injuries did he sustain that would leave an elf so disfigured?

"It will take time and much work but I am hopeful we can heal the wounds and return his sight, but he is going to suffer Oropher, you must prepare yourself for this difficult task, and the boy too. I can heal him physically but the trauma of a dragon attack will be much harder to erase, Thranduil will not be the Adar Legolas remembers."

"Legolas will not see his Adar like this; it will scar him for life the child has been through enough!"

"It may help Thranduil too hear his son's voice, he has done nothing but cry for him, I fear his mind is being tormented I fear he believes Legolas is not safe,"

That's it I am balling my lamps out now, this is terrible, this is the worst thing I have ever witnessed. My heart is breaking for the kid I met a week ago, my heart is breaking for the injured elf that is tormenting me with his anguished shrieks, this is unfair a family as loving as this should not suffer this. I do not stay to hear the rest of the conversation, Thranduil's cries of pain are too much to bear and I cannot block them out. Even when I get back to my room and close the door I can still hear the agonising moans, so that is what it is like to be burnt alive? I clamber into my bed and pull the covers over my head determined to erase the sound, but my heart is in my stomach. How will I look at Legolas tomorrow knowing what I know now? I resolve I am the adult here and whatever I am faced with I will be nothing but a distraction for the little one, god only knows he needs it now more than ever.

xXx

It is very early dawn when the shrill wails stop and I am abruptly worried, what If he died? He can't die he is the elven king, famed warrior and royal pain in the ass to thirteen dwarves, granted that hasn't happened yet. I suddenly feel sick, what if in this reality Thranduil dies and is committed to history as nothing more than an elf who fell at the hands of a dragon, and not the Father of Legolas and notoriously ferocious elf king. This is unreal to me, I loved the tales of the elves as a teenager, I loved Thranduil! In what kind of sick twisted universe do I wake up in middle earth only to witness the demise of one of my most beloved character's?

In my panic I leap out of bed and lift my crutches, I have to be sure he lives, if I don't I'll go mad with worry. So I start my trek along the long corridor again only with a lot more speed than the last time. I reach the chamber that I seen them carry him into and I pause, scouting out the area checking no one is around to stop me. I take a deep breath and hobble up to the oaken door, gently easing It open, it groans in protest and freeze hoping not to disturb anyone.

I step inside the darkened room when I am satisfied no one is watching, I ease along the stone wall, my hand tracing patterns that the dim light of the fire casts off unto the walls. I let my new much more acute eyesight settle on a form on the bed, in the centre of the room. I cannot help the tiny gasp that escapes me and I look away ashamed and repulsed, I should not have come here, I should not have been so stupid as to think I could handle this!

There on the bed resembles something that might have been a tall and broad elf man, except that his left side is…what way can I put this…disintegrated. The whole side of his face, his jaw, neck, shoulders, arms and torso are burnt clean off him. I cannot see his legs for they are covered with a light white sheet, but I presume the left leg resembles the left arm. The extent of the damage is hidden by copious amounts of gauze and bandage, but it is all stained scarlet and blood already marks the fresh bed linen. I reckon these bandages need to be changed regularly for they certainly were not suppressing the damage. The left side of his face and head were heavily covered, with moist gauze on his eye, I assume some sort of medicine to try and salvage his sight, but the likelihood of him having an eyeball left seemed impossible. It did not take much imagination to conjure up what was left under those bandages, very little but bare muscle and bone, it was something from a horror movie and I wanted to be violently sick. The smell of burnt or rotting flesh turned my very insides and I heaved involuntarily.

I fought hard and managed to take another peek at the elf who I presume was Thranduil, this time I focused on his right side. Under the caked blood and roaring red peeling flesh there was something resembling an elf. His one good eye was glazed over but it was a hypnotic and indiscernible silvery blue, I doubted I would have the ability to create such a shade if I were to paint it. His hair, what was left of it, was platinum just a shade warmer than his Father's silvery locks. His lips, though bruised and chapped were full and the palest pink, almost like Legolas'. Yes I could see the resemblance now between Father and son, both their complexions were pale as ivory but were Legolas' features were delicate and childlike. Thranduil's were masculine and taut. His chest was broad and strong looking, capable of wielding a great sword with ease, his right arm muscular and defined just like the remains of his right side. I was certain that before these crippling injuries he was an incredible specimen of elven power and beauty. Even now I was enraptured by what was left of his fair visage, I just wanted to sit and stare into that astonishingly mystical eye.

"I am so sorry," I hear my voice whisper to him; "You could not have possibly deserved this."

Suddenly his eye flicker and a guttural moan escapes his lips, I jerk back and clap my hand over my mouth. I had not meant to disturb him, now I was going to cause him more agony! I should not have come here, who the hell did I think I was? This was not a beloved character from a book, this was a flesh and blood being that was going through hell and here I was just checking to see if he was still alive to settle my own selfish needs!

His settles his one good eye on me and in it I see sheer terror and inexplicable pain, his good hand clamps into a fist around his sheets and I watch in horror as his whole body arches upward as he howls out in pain again.

"I am sorry!" I cry and wave my hands uselessly in front of me, "I will get help!"

He roars again but I get the distinct impression that sound was not just a sound of pain but of frustration, even anger. I meet his gaze again and it is filled with hatred, I yelp and stagger away from him nearly crashing to the ground as try to secure my crutches beneath me. His breathing becomes ragged and he thumps and claws the bed with his hand. He wants me gone and I know that he is trying to articulate it but he can't find the power in his lips to order me out, all he can do is grunt and snarl at me. His restless movements cause him more agony and he shrieks out violently thrashing out, he has no control over himself and he hates it and I am witnessing it. I cannot even begin to understand his torment, to have lost all dignity and power to be nothing more than shell and having some stranger gaze upon you with pity filled eyes, yes I think I would hate me too!

The door to his room crashes open and the dark haired elf from before enters with another healer, he stops instantly and regards me with surprise and then looks to Thranduil and shakes his fair head;

"You need to leave," the elf I assume as Elrond responds curtly and brushes past me.

"I am sorry…I…I didn't mean…I…" I what? Thought it would be okay to just crash in on this poor soul because he is a fictional character in a book in another world and just wanted to make sure he was alive? Yea that sounds really plausible! "I am lost I wandered into the wrong room!"

"It is an easy mistake but that being said you must leave, he cannot tolerate too much stimulus," Elrond responds and pushes Thranduil back on the bed as gently as he can.

"Thranduil, stop it! Stop it you are going to hemorrhage again!" Elrond warns as the other healer tries to assist me out of the room, but I can't take my eyes off him.

"Thranduil think of Legolas, think of your little son he needs his Adar and you will be no use to him like this," Elrond continues to command the other elf and his violent movements cease for a moment. Thranduil clamps down hard on the bed, determined to not let another roll of pain send him into another uncontrollable spasm, I can see the flash of determination in that one good eye.

"Legolas," he murmurs through gritted teeth and reaches his hand to grip Elrond's tunic, "My..s-s-son!"

"Is here and is well and wanting to see his Ada, so please stop fussing and keep still!" Elrond's voice is light and almost jesting, but it does the trick and Thranduil loosens his grip, slouching back on his pillows with painfully loud moans.

That is the last I see as I am whisked out from his chamber and returned to my own. The kindly healer does not scold me, instead he speaks soothingly to me and helps me into bed before rushing off to fetch me a sleep tonic. I lie in silence and in darkness unable to shake the images from my mind, I fear this will haunt me forever. How can Thranduil recover from this? How could you ever recover from something that that? I have no words, nothing to fight away the doubt, why am I even here?