Here we go

Okay, sorry it's been so long since I updated. I've been busy, and we went on vacation and stuff. Sorry to leave you guys hangin' for so long…

Um, I don't know if I explained before; Legolas is supposed to be the equivalent of a like, maybe six-year-old and Naegion's like a thirteen-year-old.

I don't own Tolkien's stuff, yadda yadda, and even my original characters in this story I do not own their names because Tolkien made the language.

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The only review I got was from MDarKspIrIt and all I can say is: um, keep reading!

Tears of Blood

Chapter Three: Brothers

"There's nothing left to do." Legolas complained as he and Suithór sat on a stone bench in one of the gardens in the palace.

"Well, we could play with your wooden people." Suithór suggested.

"We already did that yesterday and the day before!" Legolas shook his head. The action-figures were getting old.

"Um, we could… have an archery competition!" Suithór was trying to think of everything they usually did.

"No, my Ada told me not to." Legolas shook his dark head. He didn't always like his father's rules, but he was raised well and stayed obedient to them—most of the time. "And anyway, we can't without Hweston. He always beats us, but it's no fun without him."

"I know! We could go to the dog-pen!" Suithór came up with a last idea.

"Okay! I'm pretty sure my Ada wouldn't mind that as long as we don't wrestle with them." Legolas said as they jumped up, trotting down to where the animals were kept. The king's hunting dogs were kept in a stable-like structure near the gates. The boys liked to play with the dogs sometimes. Even though they were for hunting, they were quite friendly, since they were under elvish influence.

The two elves stayed at the pen for almost two hours before getting bored again. Legolas lay down in the middle of the hay which covered the floor of the dog-pen. Suithór lay next to him, while a few of the dog curled up next to them.

It had been three day since the wargs. Hweston was doing better, but he still couldn't talk, and certainly couldn't come play with his friends. Legolas' father had told him about Naegion, though he hadn't met his cousin officially yet. His father said that he was very sick and didn't need any visitors right now. Legolas' thoughts wandered to his uncle now. He had been horrified when the elf had died in the forest, but now he felt very saddened thinking about him. He wished very much that he could have met his uncle. The last time his father had seen his uncle, Legolas hadn't even been born yet. In fact, the reason Thranduil had seen Eruant that time was for the wedding of Thranduil and Meril. Legolas had found this out the night before at dinner. His father had explained the whole thing to him. Legolas didn't have any other aunts, uncles, cousins, or even grandparents still alive. Legolas had never even had any siblings. He sometimes wondered what it would be like to have siblings. Now, he would have one; Naegion.

"What's it like to have a brother?" He asked Suithór, who had three older brothers. One was only about twenty years older than him, while the other two were already old enough to be in the army.

"Sometimes it's fun, but sometimes they're a pain in the butt!" Suithór said with a slight giggle. "Sirith is mean sometimes." Suithór said about the youngest of his older brothers. "He bullies me sometimes, but he still plays with me other times. Why?"

"Well, do you remember that boy who was with the warrior who saved us from the wargs?" Legolas asked. Suithór nodded, shivering as he remembered the day. "Well, he's my cousin. The one who saved us was his father, my uncle. But now he doesn't have an ada, so my ada is going to take care of him until he can take care of himself." Legolas explained.

"Hmm. So you're going to have a big brother like me?" Legolas nodded. "You won't forget about us will you? And only play with him?" Suithór asked after a pause.

"Of course not!" Legolas sat up, giving his friend a playful slap on his chest. "I couldn't do that!"

"Good!" Suithór sat up too, giving Legolas a gentle push. "You're it!" He yelled playfully as he jumped up, heading for the door.

"Hey, no fair!" Legolas jumped up, chasing after the elfling. He trailed his friend through the garden until he bumped into a much taller somebody. He sprawled on the ground, giving a cry as his shoulder flared in pain. He looked up, finding his father looking down at him.

"Are you okay?" His father leaned down, trying to check if his son was hurt. Legolas scrambled to his feet.

"I'm fine…" He knew he was probably in trouble now.

"What did I say about running?"

"Sorry, Ada." Legolas bowed his head. He waited for the lecture, but it never came. Instead, his chin was lifted gently by a soft hand.

"Just try to be more careful next time. You're not better yet; you're still hurt." Thranduil patted Legolas' still-bandaged shoulder gently.

"So, you're not mad?" Legolas asked in surprise.

"Of course not. Why would I be mad?" Thranduil lifted his son gently in his arms. Suithór peered around the corner, trying to figure out why he was no longer getting chased.

"There you are! Is something wrong?" He noticed his friend's father there. He was unaware that it was the king; Legolas' identity was hidden for his safety.

"No, nothing's wrong." Thranduil set Legolas down gently. "Just don't run so much. Legolas still isn't all better yet. I don't want him to get hurt again." Thranduil let the elflings go. They trotted, rather than ran off into the garden to figure out something else to do. Thranduil watched the two disappear around the corner. "I don't want you to get hurt again…"

Thranduil slipped into the quiet room where his nephew was again. It was dark so that Naegion could rest better. The strong smell of herbs filled his nostrils as the king stepped in the door, closing it gently behind him. They had decided that if he wasn't improving by today (three days after they had been attacked), they would amputate his arm. Thranduil had decided that it would be best not to tell Naegion about this though.

"Naegion, how are you feeling?" The elf was awake, though he looked very uncomfortable. He groaned in response, shifting as the pain pulsed through his arm again. Thranduil laid a comforting hand on the boy's forehead. It was very hot and wet with sweat. He took his hand off, pulling back the bandages to look at the wounds. It was even worse than before.

The wounds, which went up to his elbow, looked like they were scabbing, but the scabs were black, which was obviously a bad sign. The yellowy puss hadn't stopped coming out, and was all over the place now. The hand, which had hardly been touched, amazingly enough, was covered in blackened blood and dried puss. Besides that it was white as death.

"Hir nin." Lathron tapped his shoulder, pulling him out of Naegion's ear-shot. "We'll need to drug him so we can get it done. Give him some of this." He handed the king a small bowl with a greenish liquid in it. "You can say it's for the pain. It is, but it will also knock him out."

Thranduil took the bowl, returning to the bed-side. "Here, drink some of this, Naeg." Thranduil lifted the bowl to the other's lips. "It's for the pain." The youth was already sipping it obediently before he said it. It was only a few short minutes before he was out cold. Lathron, along with another healer, picked him up off the bed, carrying him to another room. Thranduil followed them, but didn't enter the room. He knew he couldn't bear to watch what was about to happen. The healers went into the room, shutting the door behind them. Thranduil waited there until they had finished. He then helped them move the elf's limp body back to his bed.

They had already wrapped the stumpy limb in fresh bandages. He already looked to be sleeping more peacefully, Thranduil thought. He felt Naegion's forehead, finding that it was already not quite so hot. Hopefully, once they got him past the initial shock, he could get used it and learn to use his left hand for—well, everything. True, he would probably never shoot a bow again, but at least he wasn't dead.

Thranduil waited with the unconscious elf until he woke up. An hour later, he finally opened his eyes. Thranduil leaned in, setting a hand on his nephew's shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, feeling Naegion's forehead again. The fever was almost completely gone.

"That wasn't just normal old pain-killer, was it?" He asked slowly with a soft smile.

"No, it wasn't." Thranduil admitted. He was trying to work out just how to break it to the youth that he wasn't going to be picking up a bow any time soon. In fact, he wouldn't be picking up anything with his right arm anytime soon…

But it seemed that he wasn't going to have to bring the topic up. Naegion stretched, but his brow furrowed in confusion. He started to sit up, but his eyes got wide as he realized he couldn't stretch his fingers on his right hand. He started to rip his arm out from under the covers, but Thranduil grabbed his arm.

"Before you look, just know that we had to do this for your safety." Thranduil said quickly. He waited to see if Naegion would nod his head to let him know he understood. When he didn't, Thranduil just let go of it. Naegion pulled his arm out from under the covers quickly.

Naegion's eyes went even wider in horror as he saw the remains of his arm. There was only about two inches left below his elbow. He gaped in dismay at it, feeling the bandages with his other hand as if he thought it was an optical illusion.

"What have you done to me…?"

So that's a bit of a cliffhanger… But you'll have to get used to them; I love them…