Chapter nine

The gates of the Fortress of the Greenwood sat open, now silent witnesses to the scene taking place within.

The unit of warriors had arrived with various injured, amongst them, their own prince and Elrond's son, who although seemed conscious and completely aware, was somewhat whiter than was natural, and his eyes were a little glassy. Any Silvan would know the signs, and although the venom had almost completely passed through his system, it had left him weak and shaky, however much he was not admitting to that right now.

He was hovering, he knew, but he couldn't help it. Legolas was his friend but their bond had been special since first they had set eyes on each other. And then their fleeting captivity had brought them even closer together – he just could not walk away to his own bed now, not until he knew the healer's prognosis.

Elrond was beside him no sooner he turned around, coming face to face with his father who searched him with his eyes from head to boots.

"What is it?" he asked. "How are you hurt?" His voice was clipped but even, authoritative, impossible to ignore.

"Spider venom. I am alright!" he added quickly when his father's eyes widened.

"No one is alright after spider poisoning, my Lord," said a Silvan healer, who extended a small vial he indicated Elrohir should take.

"Swallow it all in one go, my Lord. In one…"

"Alright, alright. If you think it is necessary."

"Cramps, night sweats, fever, vomiting, diarrhea, migraine, tremors…"

"Yes, yes!" Elrohir held up his hand, visibly whiter than he had been before, uncorked the vial and threw it down his throat, under the careful scrutiny of his father.

"Now, my Lord. You must rest for a few hours, and then eat something light."

"Thank you, healer," said Elrond, nodding at the young Silvan who bowed deeply.

"It is my greatest pleasure, Lord Elrond."

They watched him move on to the next warrior, before Elrond turned back to his son.

"You heard him. Go and rest."

"I cannot. You must see Taú's hands, father. I will not rest until you tell me he will not lose them."

"Lose them? What…"

"I will tell you everything, father, just please – go to Arnuí – he will need you before the day is through."

With a scowl, Elrond left in search of the head healer, nodding his silent command at Glorfindel who stood nearby.

"Elrohir," saluted the blond warrior as he came to stand beside Elrond's son.

"Glorfindel."

"What happened out there?" he asked quietly.

"For the most part, what Doran has undoubtedly reported to you already, but there is a gap in my memory – something I have missed. It haunts me and will not come back to me."

Glorfindel's eyes narrowed a little, before he continued.

"There is something strange about the way things played out, I will give you that. Why did they not touch you?"

"I do not know," said Elrohir, his eyes now boring into Glorfindel. "I do not know, but it is surely related to that which will not come to me."

"You should rest," said the ancient lord. "There will be no news on Legolas' condition for a while yet."

Elrohir breathed deeply, for Glorfindel was right, and the heaviness of his eyelids told him the potion he had taken was already taking effect.

"Will you promise to keep me informed immediately? I must sleep but it will not be easy with my mind on Taú in there."

"I promise. Now go to your rooms. I will find you later."

With a smile, Elrohir left, and Glorfindel turned into the halls of healing, pulling off his gloves and wiggling his fingers, returning the reverent bows he received from the warriors he passed along the way.

Their gazes lingered upon him and he knew why that was. He had let slip a little of his own, self-control during the battle, had shown the Silvan and Avari, the full measure of his skill.

Yet ire had driven him to cruelty. Did they still revere him, or where they simply scared of him?

…..

Rope bit into his reddened skin, his shoulders throbbed and his head pained him. The sound of cloth dragging over the ground opened his eyes and he saw his friend, bloodied upon the forest floor.

"Taú… No! Stop!" He shouted, to no avail, for they jeered and laughed and kicked his friend in the side.

"Leave him!" Commanded Elrohir in the most authoritative tone he could muster, but again, it was met with another kick to an already curled up Taú.

"Listen! You don't know who I am – you can…·

"No!" came the hoarse cry from Taú, who was now half sitting up.

"I am Elrond's son – take me, stop…"

"No! He lies!" shouted Taú, watching as the orcs began to converge upon Elrohir.

"I am Thranduilion…" said Taú, slowly, almost a growl.

There were hisses and jeers and roars of delight as the beasts turned from Elrohir and back to Tau, and Elrohir could do nothing, for however much he shouted out his own, exalted family name, Taú was Thranduil's son – the Battle Prince – they would know him well, and hate him just as much.

He could not compete…

"No!"

"Elrohir!"

The noise was too close and he jerked, his eyes snapping open to find Glorfindel bending over him worriedly.

"You dream…"

Elrohir stared on dumbly for a moment, waiting for his mind to catch up with what he had just dreamed, indeed on the fact that he had been dreaming.

"Valar…" he breathed as he raked one shaking hand through his black locks.

"What is it?" asked Glorfindel, taking a seat beside the bed.

"Taú…"

"Well, that is what I came to…"

"No, I mean – I mean I remember. I remember what it is I missed. It has come to me in a dream…"

"Go on…" asked Glorfindel, leaning forward.

"Damn it! He barked as he threw the sheets off and swung his legs over the side of the bed, now face to face with his mentor.

"He blew his cover!"

"What?"

"He blew his cover to save me, to stop them from taking me, damn that Silvan savage! I will have his guts! I swear…" roared Elrohir.

Glorfindel straightened until his back was rigid. "That is why they were so cruel to him…"

"Yes!" he shouted as he stood and dressed himself.

"Now you had better tell me what has happened at the halls of healing and pray I do not kill him myself when I get there!"

"Calm down, Elrohir. You are angry because he sacrificed himself for you. Now ask yourself, would you not have done the same for him?"

"I do not know!" he shouted.

"Yes – you would have. This I know," said Glorfindel calmly, his eyes knowing. "I do not say his actions are frequent for they are not. Self-sacrifice is the ultimate act of love, but then again – your friendship with Legolas is no ordinary bond. I share that bond with Elrond, had the same bond with Ecthelion. It is a blessing Elrohir, one the Valar surely have fixed their sights upon."

Glorfindel's words had calmed him somewhat, but that did not mean he would not be having serious words with the wood elf…

"Yes, I know you are right," said Elrohir softly. "It is as you say – I cannot explain it at all…"

"You are kindred spirits, of like mind and wit. Brothers in all but blood," said Glorfindel with a soft smile on his face, lighting it up and making him look young once more.

Elrohir smiled back, for it was not every day that Glorfindel showed this side of himself. It was a privilege, a blessing to have one such as he at his side – this fierce, wise, strong warrior with a heart softer than a mother's kiss.

….

He had completely refused to lie down, and so he sat in a plush chair, naked save for the light gown he had been given.

Everything had been seen to – wounds had been cleaned and bandaged, his hair had been scrubbed clean, and his hands now sat upon a stone table where Elrond and the Silvan healers crowded round, discussing how best to extract the thick orc shaft that joined both hands in a macabre embrace .

Every now and then, one would reach out and touch the wound and Legolas would either grit his teeth and bear it, or hiss should they pull on it – he had also completely ran out of Avarin expletives.

Thranduil watched it all from afar, standing in a corner together with Doran and Benar, and Elrond was glad of it, for the two warriors had fussed over their friend to the point of annoyance, and the king had asked endless questions which curiously all required the same answer… 'will he lose the use of his hands?'

Arnuí had been circumspect to say the least, but his skepticism had easily been perceived by Thranduil. And then the other healers had shaken their heads in dismay and had all but voiced their doubts on the matter.

Elrond knew the effort the king made as he stood there, watching from afar. He just wished he had something comforting to say, but he did not…

"My Lord," he said, as he left the table and approached Thranduil.

"Elrond…" he said, stepping forward.

"I am concerned about the long-term effects of this injury, I cannot lie to you," he began, watching the slight flicker in the king's eyes.

"I can, however, operate to remove the shaft and there is a technique I can use to try to reconstruct the damage done. However, there is an apparatus I require in order to carry out this task – I will need the help of your engineers…"

"You have it, anything you need."

"Send them to me, my Lord, there is work to be done."

"Just, just tell me there is some hope … however distant…"

"There is hope, Thranduil," said Elrond softly. "I will do everything in my power so that Legolas may wage war upon the enemy once more."

Their eyes locked until Thranduil nodded. "Put your Noldorin wisdom to work, Elrond," and then he was away in a swirl of silk and velvet, Benar on his heels.

Turning back to the stone table, Elrond clapped his hands, gaining everyone's immediate attention.

"I will operate on Prince Legolas this evening, as soon as the optical equipment I require has been devised. Arnuí, will you assist?"

"Of course, my Lord. It would be my greatest privilege, we are all at your disposal, for whatever you need," said the Avarin healer, and Elrond watched as the others nodded, their faces clearly showing their turmoil and controlled despair, their hope in Elrond's abilities.

This child was well-loved indeed and, with every day he spent in the Mirkwood, nay the Greenwood, he saw just why that was.

Late afternoon saw Elrond with Thranduil's engineers as they mounted the strange apparatus the lord had explained to them, and not far away, Legolas sat in his chair, his hands bandaged before him, and Elrohir, Glorfindel and Doran at his side.

Elrohir had opted not to tell Legolas what he now knew until after the operation, and Glorfindel had thought it an excellent idea.

Legolas was as white as December snow, offering but a half-hearted smile here and there at something they said, but his pain was clear to see, and it did not help to hear the metallic clicks and scrapes coming from the nearby table, upon which the strange contraption sat ominously.

Elrohir knew what it was, of course, but Legolas did not.

"Legolas, it is a vision enhancer. It lends the eye a closer view of that which would otherwise be invisible…"

"How…" came the shaky, insecure voice, and Elrohir continued.

"The surgeon places his head inside the curved top area, and then secures de apparatus over the area to be operated on. He can then see, and repair – 'tis simple and yet saves so many lives."

"There is nothing simple about simplicity," said Doran, and suddenly, all eyes were upon him, even Elrond's who worked at the table.

"Well said, young one, well said," was all the healer said with respect. "Now come, it is time.." he announced, as he placed the strange object over his head, positioning the lenses before his eyes and causing him to squint.

It was a pivotal moment, and yet Benar had not the willpower to stifle the snort that escaped him, for he rather thought Elrond looked like a massive, Noldorin fly.