Author's note: sorry for the long delay my friends, but here is the penultimate chapter of the Wise Ones. As always, I look forward to your comments!
Chapter 10
Hours later, Legolas lay in his bed, still under the effects of the sleeping herbs Elrond had instructed he be fed.
On one side of the bed, sat an introspective Elrohir and on the other, a healer mixed powders and dried herbs rhythmically as his eyes watched his patient.
It had taken his father hours to first separate the archer's hands, and then repair the damage done to them. The Silvan healers had aided him and their apprentices had stood in the background, quietly conversing and taking notes on the strange procedure, in awe of the intricacy of it, the sheer wisdom the Noldorin healer was, unwittingly, transmitting; all thoughts of arrogant, condescending Noldo far, far away in their minds, replaced now with simple gratefulness and respect.
Elrond had mechanically dictated the steps he had taken and the reasoning behind them as he worked, almost as if he spoke to himself, and as for Thranduil, he had sat in the waiting area beyond the door, aware that his presence would serve no purpose, and yet unable to completely remove himself.
That had been hours ago and Elrond had left to rest, leaving behind him a team of awe-struck Silvan healers and a proud son.
Elrohir smiled softly, timidly, for there was still no guarantee that Legolas' hands would be fully functional. It was a sobering thought and his smile slipped once more.
"You are more handsome when you smile, Noldo," came the soft voice from the bed. A stifled snort escaped the healer, who promptly schooled his features and checked his patient before moving away.
"And you – with your Silvan mouth shut!" answered a smiling Elrohir, happy to hear the giggle from his friend.
"Water?" croaked a still groggy Legolas. However, a healer had already anticipated the request and fed the cool liquid to his patient.
With a long, satisfied sigh, Legolas lay back, allowing his eyes to drift shut for a moment, before they slipped open again, a question on his parched lips.
"Did it – did it work?" he asked, a hint of vulnerability slipping into his normally confident, authoritative voice.
"That I cannot say yet, my friend. The procedure went well, but only time will tell if you will regain the full use of your skilled hands, Legolas. We must wait, and stay positive."
"Easier said than done, do you not think?" murmured Legolas as he licked his dry lips.
"Yes, much easier – no doubt. Yet I am right, this you know."
"Yes, yes I do know – for the Noldor are wise indeed, and I say this for the first time without reserve, without irony – I am most grateful to your Lord father for his service…"
"Well, you can tell him that yourself, Legolas…" smirked Elrohir as his eyes latched on to this father, who approached the bed with a complacent smile on his still sleepy face.
"You are most welcome, young prince.." said Elrond with a slow nod of his head.
Legolas smiled placidly at the imposing Noldo, yet now, the mighty healer did not seem imperious, arrogant and lofty at all – he looked more… like a father.
"How are you feeling this morning?" he asked as one, perfectly manicured hand reached out to lay over Legolas' forehead.
"Better, much better, indeed I believe I may be able to leave my bed…"
"Oh – leave that to me, young warrior. Not just yet. Tomorrow, if you are lucky AND your father does not see you," replied Elrond with a playful smirk on his face.
Elrohir, however, simply watched, for he knew this tone his father had adopted with his friend. Read literally, it meant, 'calm down, let me look, and prepare for anything…'
"Let me see your hands," said the healer matter of factly as he sat beside the bed and began to unravel the generous lengths of white linen they had been wrapped in.
As he did so, and silence had fallen in the room, Glorfindel entered, walking straight over to the bed, his blue eyes trained upon Legolas, who had skillfully diverted his eyes from Elrond's probing eyes.
"Can you move your fingers?" asked the elf lord lightly.
Legolas' brow furrowed, and his fingers did move. "Aye, though it smarts, my lord."
Elrond smiled.
"That is good – that is very good. You feel them, and they respond to your commands – there is much hope – for a full recovery."
Legolas' eyes opened wide, and his mouth dropped slightly open.
"You speak the truth? 'Tis not a ploy to content me – you needn't…."
"Legolas," began Elrond, leaning forward to catch his patient's round, shaking eyes with his own, showing him the truth of his words.
"I am far too experienced to fall on such tactics. I speak the truth, I always speak the truth."
Elrohir watched his friend as his father's words sunk in and his eyes returned to their normal size, and then the smile that slowly bloomed and widened until it revealed the pearly teeth behind his lips.
"I do not know what to say, I thought…"
"I know what you thought – it was a defense mechanism to cope with your anxiety."
"Yes, yes, I see that now," said Legolas softly, holding his unbandaged hands before his own eyes and inspecting them in fascination.
Elrond, Glorfindel and Elrohir smiled at the prince, reduced now to a child full of awe and wonder.
"How can I ever thank you?" whispered the archer.
"Well," began Elrond. "You already have…."
"What do you mean?" asked Legolas, his brow furrowing in confusion now.
"You saved my son," answered the healer simply.
Legolas stared back, obviously not having expected that, for indeed, how would Elrond know, how would anyone know of what he had done to spare his friend from torture?
"Legolas," continued the elf lord. "I am old, experienced, I am Noldo. I have a gift, young one. I see more than you are willing to reveal."
Legolas dipped his head and for a moment, and Elrohir felt sorry for him. It was only a moment though, for he had a long-overdue conversation to conduct with his friend, and this was the perfect time to do it.
Elrohir caught his father's eyes and silently asked to be left alone with his friend. A subtle nod was all he needed to know he had been understood and as his father left, Glorfindel cast him one, last, warning glance, to which Elrohir simply cocked his chin a little higher than it had been.
Once they were alone, Elrohir slowly turned back to the bed, fully intent on giving the crazy silvan an earful for his rash, impulsiveness, but when his eyes fell upon those of his friend's, his choice words left him.
"Elrohir – "
"Legolas – "
The two friends watched the play of emotions on their faces, before a soft smile broke the spell and Elrohir finally spoke.
"Just, just tell me why…"
"I am no healer, my friend. I would not have been able to help you – but you could help me – it was simple arithmetic."
Elrohir stared at his friend for a moment, before the words that had escaped him before, flew now, from his disbelieving mouth.
"Bat shit!"
"What?!" said Legolas with a surprised smile on his face.
"Orc crap, bear piss, spider spit, spider snot…"
Legolas collapsed into hysterical laughter, falling sideways onto the bed, before finally finding the wind to speak.
"Where did you get that vocabulary from?!" he exclaimed with another chuckle.
"From your crazy warriors, Legolas!" said Elrohir with a jab out the window. "Every third word is a swear word!"
"Alright! Alright!," laughed Legolas again, for it was true, the Silvan warriors of Mirkwood were brash and bold, and so very, very naughty.
…..
Lindir the bard, sat upon a small, wooden stool, in the middle of a deserted passageway. A large parchment sat upon his lap, and a quill hovered above it.
Lindir's long hair brushed over the crisp, yellow paper as his head tilted upwards once more to contemplate the beauty before him, a beauty that had trapped him into some kind of waking trance, for he had not been able to move away.
For hours, he had sat here, scribbling and admiring, thinking and fantasizing, wondering and musing on the figure that looked back at him.
She was so very lovely and the portrait had surely been rendered by a master, but that was not what had ensnared him into this strange state. It was her expression.
Do you understand? Can you see? She seemed to be saying, and although Lindir did not understand it, the words came to him and he scribbled. He wrote all the things he knew not how he knew but did, and the fine hairs on the back of his neck rose like a hedgehogs spines.
"Would that I could have known you, Queen of the Greenwood…"
…..
Some days had passed, and although Legolas was still convalescing, news of his full recovery had spread throughout the kingdom.
The Silvan and Avari had rejoiced with songs of victory and spontaneous celebration, while the Sindarin had had eloquent words for their king and prince, and a fair share of respectful bows to the Noldorin lords.
Elrohir and Glorfindel observed it all, and Elrond continued his talks with Thranduil, their relationship deepening into a semblance of friendship.
As for Legolas and Elrohir, their friendship blossomed and they were inseparable.
Thranduil had then declared a feast would be held, in honour of the visiting Noldor, who had restored to the Greenwood its prodigal child, and now, as they sat for the afternoon meal, the final touches were being given to the decoration in the halls and gardens.
"I wager feasts in the Greenwood are far different from our Noldorin affairs," said Glorfindel with a smirk as he watched the fire pits being prepared in the gardens outside.
"If your 'Noldorin affairs' are full of protocol and uncomfortable clothing, subdued and lordly, with flighty dancing and subtle flirting - then yes, you are right," said Legolas brashly as he ate.
Thranduil rolled his eyes before turning to Glorfindel, avidly awaiting his retort.
"Well, that is a rather accurate rendering of a Noldorin feast but – " he added with dramatic effect, "add a Gondolin lord to the mix, a mad Peredhel such as Elrohir here, for example, and the humble genius of Lindir the Bard, and the results can be surprisingly … unexpected," he said, watching Legolas for his comeback.
The prince cocked an eyebrow and then smiled.
"That sounds more interesting, I admit. Father, you must send me on some such mission to Imladris, preferably when there is an impending feast, I must document what Lord Glorfindel says."
"Oh, rest assured I would think long on it – I do not wish for any diplomatic incidents, my son," said Thranduil lightly, to which the rest of the table chuckled.
"Now then," declared the king as he stood. "Tonight, we will feast and celebrate. I suggest you rest, for you Noldo will need your strength! he said, drawn himself now into the good-natured Silvan vs. Noldo banter.
With a smirk, the Sindarin monarch left the table, leaving a thoroughly surprised group of elves behind him.
….
Later that day, Legolas lay sprawled out on the lawns behind the main courtyard, sheltered from the hustle and bustle of the Greenwood's main pathways.
With him, sat Elrohir and a pensive Lindir, who stared off into the distance, far, far away from the conversation the two friends maintained.
"Lindir," began Legolas.
"Lindir!" he called again.
Lindir's head snapped back to the prince and his high cheeks colored slightly.
"Forgive me, I was – musing," he said quite unnecessarily.
"Aye, we know. Tell me, Lindir. Do my warriors still trouble you?" asked Legolas with concern.
"Nay, they mostly leave me be – 'tis my own folk that have taken it upon themselves to flummox me…"
"Galanor! He is a fool, Legolas, I warned him," said Elrohir angrily.
"I feel sorry for him, my Lord," said Lindir. "He has no other past time, it seems, no other way of impressing his friends, no other skills with which to earn their respect."
Legolas listening and was duly impressed with the bard's intelligence and powers of observation.
"You are a bag of surprises, master Bard," said Legolas.
"That he is, Legolas" said Elrohir knowingly, "that he is… but come! He said with a flourish as he stood. "Tonight we feast, and young lords must deck themselves out to the utmost of their abilities – there are ladies to seduce, and countless bottles of fine wine to be tasted."
And so Legolas and Elrohir left with a friendly nod at the bard, and as for Lindir, he simply smiled. He did not need Galanor, or the crude Silvan warriors' approval. All he needed were those simple words of encouragement, recognition of his art.
He was motivated and inspired, and tonight, he would tell the Greenwood his new tale…