A/N: Chapter two! Up much faster than I thought it would be but these guys just won't leave me alone. Can't say that I'm complaining. Thank you so much to everyone who has already read, reviewed, and subscribed. You guys are the best and I appreciate you so much.

Warnings for mild medical-related gore in this chapter.

Some elvish (Sindarin) translations that aren't immediately clear by context or commonly used across fanfic:
Tithen thalionen nin - my little champion
Goheno nin - forgive me
Naethen - I'm sorry
Mae Carnen - well done!
Maer - good!

Enjoy! Leave a review if you feel like it. They make me grin until my face hurts. Will have the continuation up soon!

02

The Breaking

Beetle was so overrun with fear that she couldn't think. Only pure, raw terror ruled every sense, every step, every breath that she took as she hauled Little Worm with her down the path Prince Fram was taking them. More than once an elf stepped in to ask after them. Each time Prince Fram paid them no heed and brushed by, saying only that Lord Elrond had asked for them.

There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. She couldn't even hope to hide.

Little Worm clung to her. She whispered to him over and over, begging him to stand, to use his legs- and oh he tried, but the sickness and that traitorous ankle conspired to overtake him completely.

"Please," Beetle ventured. "Please, can we not leave him behind?"

The Prince, of course, didn't answer her. He barely even glanced back.

Her mind was split in so many directions that Beetle felt sick. Why had Lord Elrond sent for her? For them both? What had he changed his mind about? Was he angry with her for trespassing in the garden? He had denied it, of course, but he could have been lying as Beetle had suspected. Still, she hadn't thought him to be so terrible as to punish Little Worm for her disobedience too.

All lords are the same.

Her mouth filled with saliva.

Maybe it was even more terrible than that. Maybe by straying that close to him Beetle had made a mistake. Maybe that long look, that lingering touch had led him to decide she was a fine enough gift after all- or at least fine enough for whatever use had occurred to him.

All lords are the same.

They passed a fountain and came up to that great hall again, the one they'd eaten in that boasted lace-like archways and a giant central fire. The steward, Master Lindir, strode out to meet them. He passed her and Little Worm a glance that might have been pity and told Prince Fram that Lord Elrond would accept them in his solar.

Just then, Little Worm crumpled.

Beetle's heart stopped.

She cried out and fell with him. Beetle couldn't catch him entirely, but had the strength to cradle his head before it struck the ground. Without meaning to she turned to Prince Fram for help. For something. For anything. He's dying. He's dying. Help him. It's all my fault. Please- don't let him die.

Vaguely, Beetle was aware of running footsteps. Of shouts. The whole terrace seemed to erupt. She didn't care. She only crushed Little Worm to her chest as if by some chance she could hold him so tightly she could bind his spirit between her arms.

And what a selfish thing that would be: to deny him rest.

Let go. Let go. You must let go.

She couldn't. She wouldn't. She wouldn't surrender him. She and Little Worm had nothing in the world, but the two of them had always belonged to each other. I won't let go of him. I won't. Please. Let him stay. He's all I have.

"-Let go, tithen pen. Please. I will take him. Let me take him."

The voice cut through her panic. A pair of hands wrapped around her arms and pried her loose just as another set lifted Little Worm out of her reach. Beetle sobbed, far too frightened to even attempt to be obedient, struggling in the grip that held her. Some part of her screamed at her to be still. Fighting meant death. That didn't matter. Nothing else mattered. The only thing that mattered was Little Worm, only Little Worm, and Lord Elrond was taking him away.

Her vision blurred and she pleaded with whoever was holding her to let her go. Mercifully, they did. She ran after Lord Elrond into that great hall and through twisting corridors, one after the other, as he commanded Master Lindir to make sure the Prince did not come after them. To bar his way. To make excuses, any excuses, until this matter was resolved.

Then he turned into a wide, light-filled room and laid Little Worm down on a table. Elves in white tunics and leggings poured in at his call, bringing a tray of tools and a bowl of water. An elf maid brought a white jacket for Lord Elrond himself. He shed his red-gold cloak like a snake and slid into it, then bent over Little Worm's limp body, pressed a hand to his forehead, and closed his eyes.

Beetle hung back. A second dragged by. Another. Then, agonizingly, a third. A fourth. Lord Elrond's hand sought Little Worm's and took it, speaking to him so softly that Beetle couldn't hear.

Little Worm wasn't moving.

He wasn't sleeping. He wasn't unconscious. He wasn't Little Worm at all. Not anymore. He'd transformed into Something Else. A shell on the table. And Beetle, stupidly, was frozen to the spot. He's gone. It happened so fast. How did it happen that fast? Her ears rang and her stomach buckled. One of the elvish healers took a wet cloth and pressed it, pointlessly, to Little Worm's sweat-slicked forehead.

Lord Elrond's mouth still moved. His voice gained a new urgency.

"Come, now. Have courage. You must want to try. You must want it." He pressed a hand to Little Worm's chest and Beetle saw a flash of gold. The ring he wore caught the light and turned luminescent.

Then, in one terrible, awful moment Lord Elrond seemed to fill the whole room until he felt fifteen feet tall.

Little Worm's chest somehow filled, then fell.

"Yes!" Lord Elrond bent over him, smiling, his other hand brushing Little Worm's wet blond hair back from his face. "Yes. Good. Breathe. Yes. And again. Mae carnen. Maer. Very good, ion nin. Well done!" He looked up at an elf, the maid who'd pressed the cloth to Little Worm's head. "Close the curtains. The light seems to pain him. He will live." Then, to Beetle's surprise, Lord Elrond was looking back at her, speaking to her. "All is well, penneth. Come. Take his hand. He will yet have need of you."

But he died. He did die. I have seen others die just like that.

Lord Elrond held out a hand to her, beckoning. He seemed to diminish all at once to something manageable, something almost mortal. That didn't make Beetle any less frightened of him. Despite it, she came forward for Little Worm and took his hand as the other elf drew the velvet curtains to block the sun and Lord Elrond turned back to his work.

Healing, more often than not, was about putting things in order: a blend of efficiency, precision, and -when a bone had gone astray- ruthless command.

Every once in a great while Elrond came across a patient he couldn't distance himself from, where not only the hröa but the fëa also needed mending. It was even more difficult to think of the body on the table as tissue to be fixed when the patient -this child- was so young.

It was hard to be sure of his exact age, but his face was made of soft lines, bearing not even the first shadow of a man's beard. He had lived only a few years in Arda and already he strayed near the edge of death.

The most pressing danger was the sickness spreading through his body stemming from the leather collar around his neck. Elrond wouldn't even think of putting a dog in something like that. The skin around it was raw and swollen and an angry red, and that color streaked down his neck toward his heart. A day more, perhaps less than that, and he would have been beyond even Vilya's reach.

"Bring me athelas paste, clove oil, strong spirits, and plenty of towels and hot water," he said, looking up at one of the healers, Lia, who nodded and then ran off to do as she was told. He then rolled up his sleeves and bent over that evil piece of leather, searching for some sort of clasp.

"It's stitched together."

The hoarse little voice was barely louder than a whisper. He glanced down at the girl, Beetle. Her hazel eyes shone with tears but she seemed loath to let them fall. She held the boy's hand so tightly that hers blazed white.

He touched her shoulder. "Then I shall cut it off."

Elrond crossed to the tray of tools and selected a large scalpel. When he came back, Beetle stared at it, eyes wide as saucers. She swallowed.

"I will not harm him," he promised. "The knife is sharp and my hand is sure."

The leather was thick, but he resisted the urge to press, gliding the scalpel in smooth, repeated slices until at last it came free. The stench it released struck him in the face. Beetle coughed.

The collar had been stitched far too tightly, the edges biting the skin raw, the rest of it chafing and squeezing until the skin beneath it had torn open. As Elrond began to peel it off of him, the boy's eyes flew open, blindly, and he let out a strangled sob.

"Ae! Goheno nin," Elrond apologized. "Naethen. Goheno nin. It must come off. I know it hurts, tithen thalionen nin. You are very brave."

Lia was back with the items he'd asked for. He knew it because he heard her choke as she came in. He bid her to pull up the nearby table and lay everything out. By the time she was back to his side, he said: "Lift his head for him. Gently, gently." The collar was free. He slipped it out and threw it on the same tray he'd left the scalpel on. "Get rid of that. Burn it."

Now that the neck was free, the extent of the damage became clear. Elrond's stomach clenched. The skin was mottled and raw, some places bloodied, other places oozing from infection. He glanced at Beetle. She was wiping away the tears leaking from the boy's eyes with the edge of her sleeve.

"How long has he had this on him?"

"Since-" she swallowed. "Since before we left, my lord. Forgive me. I can't remember."

Oh, Valar. Too long. Far too long.

He took a moment to breathe and steady the hot wrath rising from his navel to heat the crown of his head. Anger would be of no use now. He must stay calm. There would be time for that later.

The wound would need to be scraped and cleaned. This was worse than he had feared, and the boy was far too weak to withstand that kind of pain. Already his breath was coming faster than Elrond would like, face pinched, tears streaming down his cheeks. Elrond bent forward and pulled down his jaw. The mouth was dry, throat swollen. Elrond had hoped between the clove oil and the spirits it might be enough to keep him calm and avoid the risk of putting him to sleep. He was wrong. The boy might not even be capable of swallowing anything Elrond could give him for the pain.

A deep breath. He closed the boy's eyes and pressed a hand to his forehead.

"Hodo." Sleep. He felt Vilya hum, and the boy went slack, the rise and fall of his chest slowing until it deepened and steadied. He looked up at Lia. Her face had turned almost green. "We must work quickly now." When he glanced at Beetle, she still held the boy's hand in both of hers, staring at him unblinkingly, as if she was afraid that if she looked away he might disappear. "This will be painful to watch, penneth. I can send for Lindir to take you somewhere safe to rest."

She didn't look at him. She just whispered: "Please." And that was it for a long while. Elrond held his tongue, no matter how badly he wanted to press her. There was so little time. "-Please," she went on at last. "Please let me stay with him, my lord."

"You must be brave."

Numbly, she nodded, blinking until her eyes were dry. Elrond felt his chest twist.

Later.

He asked Lia for a scalpel and got to work.

It took longer than he would have liked for the two of them to scrape away the decay, wash the wounds, and apply the clove oil and athelas paste. Beetle was true to her word, staying very still and very quiet, training her eyes on the boy. As Lia wrapped the bandages and Elrond washed and dried his hands, he murmured to Beetle:

"You did very well, penneth." She didn't seem to hear him. He came back over to ask: "What is he called?"

The question seemed to break through to her. She blinked and whispered: "He is called Little Worm, my lord."

Elrond's face tightened. Beetle. Now Little Worm. Hardly names at all. The marks on Beetle's wrists and that purple bruise on the side of her face still troubled him- and there was the matter of that collar that bound her too. Later, he repeated to himself. Soon. He ought to focus on Little Worm while he still slept. Beetle, at least, could stand and had enough presence of mind to speak.

He found it difficult to focus as he pressed along each arm and worked his way down the boy's chest (he could count every rib without having to search for them), examining the jutting hip bones, the spindly legs. Elrond felt the adrenaline draining, and with it his ability to rein in his anger and the overwhelming sense of pain he felt listening to Little Worm's strangled cries of pain, seeing how thin and abused his little body was, experiencing Beetle's anxiety which seemed to have her always on the verge of implosion. He had to fight to stay on his task. There was still more to be done.

At last he came to Little Worm's feet. The left one had been poorly wrapped, and was swollen up to twice its size. Elrond removed the cloth. Careful prodding proved it to be a break, not a dislocation, which was a small relief. There was no telling how long ago this injury had occurred, and dislocations were harder to fix the longer they were left uncorrected.

"Did you set this?" he asked, looking up at Beetle.

She shook her head. "Prince Fram did. Or- he tried to."

Prince Fram hadn't had any idea of what he was doing. Elrond wasn't sure whether his attempt to set it boded well or ill for his character. It could have been out of mercy. It could have also just as easily been to attempt to preserve their own reputation when the boy was presented at Imladris. Why had he not noticed the collar? Hadn't anyone thought to remove it?

He made quick work of setting the bone, then wrapped and splinted it properly. The rest of the boy's injuries were surface wounds: bruises, marks, a few cuts and scrapes which Lia cleaned and bandaged as necessary.

At last, all was done. Elrond let out a breath and bent to lift Little Worm from the table, trying not to think about how easy a thing it was to do.

Beetle followed him as he took Little Worm down the hall to one of the bedrooms. Another healer ducked in to ask him if he needed anything, and Elrond told him to wash the boy's face and hair and to find him something clean to wear.

"Send for me when he wakes, and have Lia prepare some warm water with a little athelas and honey. He will need it. Let the fever run its course so long as it burns no hotter than this."

Beetle still hadn't let go of Little Worm's hand.

Elrond finally let his attention switch to her.

"He is well looked after," he said. "Now let me tend to you."

"I'm not hurt," she answered back.

Elrond wished he could allow her to stay. She had already come so close to losing him, and she trembled by Little Worm's bedside as the healer came back with more hot water and a set of clothes. Beetle was injured, and if the wounds on her wrists were left to fester she would end up in the next room over.

"You are," he replied back, voice firm. "Come with me."

She trembled again, and with great effort she released Little Worm at last. Elrond put a hand on her shoulder and guided her back to his surgery. By then, the old things had been cleaned away, the curtains were open once more to allow the sun in, and the smell of rot had cleared.

Elrond went to the bowl at the far wall to wash his hands and nodded toward a nearby chair.

"Sit."

Beetle faltered. "I cannot."

He turned to frown at her. It was fear, not obstinacy, that held her rooted. His expression softened.

"You can. I allow it. Sit there."

As she sank into the chair, he gathered up some things: more athelas paste, a fresh roll of bandages, hot water, towels, and set them down on the work table and took her hands to roll up her sleeves. The sight of the sliced, raw skin pained him no less than the first time he'd noticed it, but he was relieved to find that infection had not yet had a chance to set in.

Beetle kept her eyes lowered to the floor, expression blank as he cleaned the wounds and treated them. It must have hurt, but she made no sound and neither did she flinch. It would've been admirable if it had been bravery.

"If it is painful, I want you to tell me."

"It isn't, my lord," she insisted immediately, but her voice wobbled.

Elrond shot her a look and then finished fastening the bandage. On her right wrist, he felt something shift. Beetle's breath hitched. He loosened his grip and pushed her sleeve up further. Black finger-shaped marks wrapped around her forearm and that alone made him flash hot. He probed methodically with the pad of his thumb until Beetle actually yelped.

She followed it with an immediate, embarrassed: "I'm sorry, my lord."

"No need," he replied, adding: "I would expect no less from a sprain like this."

He kept the arm aloft while he reached for another, thicker roll of bandage and began to wrap the joint to stabilize it. Beetle sat in silence, her face flushed red from her light hair down to the collar of her tunic. After a moment longer, he ventured:

"How old are you, Beetle?"

"I-" she flushed an even darker shade, "I don't know, my lord. Truly. I'm sorry. I don't know when I was born. Maybe...sixteen. Or seventeen."

That was surprising. She was so small he had thought her to be far younger than that. Still she had only just reached womanhood in human terms, and less than two decades was such an infinitesimal stretch of time.

"And Little Worm?"

She hissed as he wound the bandage once more around her arm and he murmured another apology which only made her turn even redder.

"Thirteen, I think."

Yes. Elrond's heart sank. A child.

With her wrist wrapped, he got up to fetch both a sling and a scalpel. Beetle shrank back from him the second she saw it.

"Be still. I won't cut you. I just want to remove that wretched thing."

"It's not too tight. It doesn't hurt."

"It matters not," he replied crisply, and secured the sling around her neck and placed the bandaged arm in it. "Do not use this. It needs time to heal."

He set to work on the collar, slicing through it with the same precision he'd used with Little Worm's. Beetle gripped the edge of the chair and chewed on her lip. He could see, from just under her lashes, her eyes shifting back and forth, the way her brow knitted in concentration. The corners of Elrond's mouth twitched.

"Tell me what you are thinking, penneth."

"I am staying." She said it half as a question, and half with an air of finality.

The collar finally came free. Elrond got up and tossed it into the nearest waste bin to be cleared away. "Yes. You are staying." A pause, and he ducked to try and catch her eye and add: "You and Little Worm both. I plan to speak to the Prince when I am finished here."

Her spine relaxed. It was nearly imperceptible, but it warmed him through to see it. That, at least, was a start.