Disclaimer: They aren't mine
Author's Notes: I really don't know where this came from. Ah well. Enjoy.
**Scar Tissue**
I hear the door open and I glance up to see Aragorn step into the room. He obviously didn't mean to be here judging from the look on his face. Shock first then sadness. He bows his head and begins to back out of the door when he catches sight of me. He stops for a moment just staring at me then he moves back into the room, closing the door behind him. He carefully makes his way over to where I am sitting. "I do not want company, Aragorn."
He kneels next to me. "You shall have it whether you want it or not. Legolas, you shouldn't be here." He glances around at all the small bodies arranged on the floor and shudders.
I do not answer, I just return my focus to the little girl lying before me. She cannot be more than ten years old with soft brown hair. Her eyes are brown though they are closed now. Beautiful brown eyes that will never open again. My hand runs through the soft hair and I fight back tears.
"She's beautiful." Aragorn's voice is soft and sad. Still I find myself angry with him.
"They are all beautiful Aragorn. Do you know how many children died last night? I know you have the totals on men and Elves but do you know how many children?" He shakes his head silently. "Thirty-three. Twenty-six boys and seven girls. There are many more wounded so I expect that number to rise over the next two days." My voice is shaky and I know he hears it.
His eyes roam over me, taking in the quiver still strapped to my back and the light armor I still wear. "You've been here since last night, haven't you? You haven't eaten or rested." His voice is disapproving and I hate him for it.
"I have to be here Aragorn. No one else understands. You are the first person to set foot in this room since I came in last night. No one understands and no one cares. These are their children! Their children lay dead in a cold dark room and not one person comes to remember them. How can these people send their children out to fight then not thank them when they make the ultimate sacrifice?" I cannot control the frustration, anger and grief that is so evident in my quavering voice.
"Legolas, they are remembered and they are loved. The race of Men does things differently than Elves. Men are frightened by their mortality so they tend to avoid seeing their dead. They simply remember the good times and let love help them through the grief. These children will be buried and they *will* be remembered." He glances at me, his eyes questioning. "Why are you so affected by this?" He is not implying that my concern is wrong, he is simply curious but I am wound so emotionally tight that I take offense anyway.
"Because they are children! Children who should never have had to fight! Children who really had no concept of who or why they were fighting! They were terrified, knowing that death was just beyond the gates. They wanted to hide but they were too proud to do it. They didn't want to let their king down when he had called on them. Their sense of duty was too great. But then the masses came and they were scared again, swinging their sword with no real idea of what to do, just hoping that they can fend the creatures off without feeling the iciness of steel themself. But it comes. A cold heat that sears and freezes at the same time. The pain is too much but you cannot let go. Not until the blackness comes. I was too young to die!"
Aragorn stares at me and it is a moment before I realize that I slipped up. I open my mouth to try to correct myself but he beats me to it. "What do you mean you were too young to die?"
I have been caught and there is no way out of it now. I sigh and begin to unbuckle my baldric. I set my quiver down beside my bow and they are soon joined by the light armor I was wearing. I peel off my jerkin and begin on the latches to my silve tunic. Finally they are all unfastened and I slip the tunic off, watching Aragorn's expression as he takes in what he is seeing.
He reaches out with one hand and traces the scar with his finger. It starts on my left collar bone and runs over my left shoulder, then under my left arm. His finger continues diagonally across my chest and stomach and stops at the waist of my breeches, though the scar does not. *It* ends on my right hip. He stares for a moment longer then raises his eyes to meet mine. "What happened to you?" I do believe there are tears in his voice.
"When I was a child, really barely more than a baby, the Orcs launched their largest assault ever on Mirkwood. Everyone was expected to fight including the maidens and children. There were no babies in Mirkwood at that time. I was given a small sword, which I was barely big enough to lift, and sent out into battle. It was not cruelty, it was necessary. That doesn't change the terror, though. Try explaining to a child who barely knows his letters that he has to go out and kill these monsters before they kill him. Try explaining *why* these monsters want to kill him. Children think that everyone is their friend. They are so blissfully naive. I did fairly well at first but then I got tired. My older brother was trying to watch out for me but he was having his own difficulties and was unable to reach me in time." My eyes are closed and I can hear and smell and feel everything exactly as it was that day all those many many years ago. "An Orc with an arrow sticking through his shoulder took advantage of my weariness. He plunged his dagger into my collarbone, probably hoping to hit something vital, but he was losing strength. His hand slipped and the dagger went over my shoulder and under my arm before he was able to drag it across my chest and stomach. Fortunately for me he was dying and unable to put much strength behind the knife. It went deep enough though. I thought I was dead as I dropped to the ground.
"When I woke up I was in agony; it felt like my chest was on fire. I found myself under the corpse of the Orc who had wounded me and it was a long time before I could wiggle my way out. I was there for many hours before one of my father's guards found me and took me back to the palace. It was discovered that the blade had been coated in poison. That coupled with the hours that went by before the wound was treated resulted in the scar you see. I very nearly died twice while they were treating me. I had a high fever and they said that I quit breathing. Finally my body started to heal though my mind never has." I open my eyes but my vision is blurry. I raise a hand to wipe my eyes and discover that I have been crying. I blink to clear my vision and stare at the wetness on my fingers. I haven't cried in... how long?
"Legolas..." He doesn't know what to say and I don't know what I *want* him to say. We sit in silence for many long minutes before he hands me my tunic. "It's cold in here."
"I don't feel it." I slip my arms into the sleeves anyway. I put everything but the armor back on and return my gaze to the girl with the brown hair. Aragorn takes my chin in his hand and draws my eyes to his.
"You're beautiful." What? "*You* understand. *You* care. You alone, of all of us here, understand what these children went through. You sat here with them all night, letting them know that they were remembered and loved and that makes you a beautiful creature inside *and* outside. But Legolas, you can't do anything more for these children. Go get some food and rest then go to the infirmary and sit with *those* children. Let *them* know that they are loved and that you understand. That will help them because right now they think no one knows what they have been through. Tell them. Tell them your story and maybe some wounds will begin to heal. Both theirs and yours." I allow Aragorn to draw me to my feet and he hands me my bow, carrying the armor himself. I follow him to the door and take one last look at the thirty-three small bodies on the floor. He is right. I cannot do anything more for these children but if I can help even one injured child feel better then I have made a real difference. I step into the corridor and close the door behind me.
Author's Notes: I really don't know where this came from. Ah well. Enjoy.
**Scar Tissue**
I hear the door open and I glance up to see Aragorn step into the room. He obviously didn't mean to be here judging from the look on his face. Shock first then sadness. He bows his head and begins to back out of the door when he catches sight of me. He stops for a moment just staring at me then he moves back into the room, closing the door behind him. He carefully makes his way over to where I am sitting. "I do not want company, Aragorn."
He kneels next to me. "You shall have it whether you want it or not. Legolas, you shouldn't be here." He glances around at all the small bodies arranged on the floor and shudders.
I do not answer, I just return my focus to the little girl lying before me. She cannot be more than ten years old with soft brown hair. Her eyes are brown though they are closed now. Beautiful brown eyes that will never open again. My hand runs through the soft hair and I fight back tears.
"She's beautiful." Aragorn's voice is soft and sad. Still I find myself angry with him.
"They are all beautiful Aragorn. Do you know how many children died last night? I know you have the totals on men and Elves but do you know how many children?" He shakes his head silently. "Thirty-three. Twenty-six boys and seven girls. There are many more wounded so I expect that number to rise over the next two days." My voice is shaky and I know he hears it.
His eyes roam over me, taking in the quiver still strapped to my back and the light armor I still wear. "You've been here since last night, haven't you? You haven't eaten or rested." His voice is disapproving and I hate him for it.
"I have to be here Aragorn. No one else understands. You are the first person to set foot in this room since I came in last night. No one understands and no one cares. These are their children! Their children lay dead in a cold dark room and not one person comes to remember them. How can these people send their children out to fight then not thank them when they make the ultimate sacrifice?" I cannot control the frustration, anger and grief that is so evident in my quavering voice.
"Legolas, they are remembered and they are loved. The race of Men does things differently than Elves. Men are frightened by their mortality so they tend to avoid seeing their dead. They simply remember the good times and let love help them through the grief. These children will be buried and they *will* be remembered." He glances at me, his eyes questioning. "Why are you so affected by this?" He is not implying that my concern is wrong, he is simply curious but I am wound so emotionally tight that I take offense anyway.
"Because they are children! Children who should never have had to fight! Children who really had no concept of who or why they were fighting! They were terrified, knowing that death was just beyond the gates. They wanted to hide but they were too proud to do it. They didn't want to let their king down when he had called on them. Their sense of duty was too great. But then the masses came and they were scared again, swinging their sword with no real idea of what to do, just hoping that they can fend the creatures off without feeling the iciness of steel themself. But it comes. A cold heat that sears and freezes at the same time. The pain is too much but you cannot let go. Not until the blackness comes. I was too young to die!"
Aragorn stares at me and it is a moment before I realize that I slipped up. I open my mouth to try to correct myself but he beats me to it. "What do you mean you were too young to die?"
I have been caught and there is no way out of it now. I sigh and begin to unbuckle my baldric. I set my quiver down beside my bow and they are soon joined by the light armor I was wearing. I peel off my jerkin and begin on the latches to my silve tunic. Finally they are all unfastened and I slip the tunic off, watching Aragorn's expression as he takes in what he is seeing.
He reaches out with one hand and traces the scar with his finger. It starts on my left collar bone and runs over my left shoulder, then under my left arm. His finger continues diagonally across my chest and stomach and stops at the waist of my breeches, though the scar does not. *It* ends on my right hip. He stares for a moment longer then raises his eyes to meet mine. "What happened to you?" I do believe there are tears in his voice.
"When I was a child, really barely more than a baby, the Orcs launched their largest assault ever on Mirkwood. Everyone was expected to fight including the maidens and children. There were no babies in Mirkwood at that time. I was given a small sword, which I was barely big enough to lift, and sent out into battle. It was not cruelty, it was necessary. That doesn't change the terror, though. Try explaining to a child who barely knows his letters that he has to go out and kill these monsters before they kill him. Try explaining *why* these monsters want to kill him. Children think that everyone is their friend. They are so blissfully naive. I did fairly well at first but then I got tired. My older brother was trying to watch out for me but he was having his own difficulties and was unable to reach me in time." My eyes are closed and I can hear and smell and feel everything exactly as it was that day all those many many years ago. "An Orc with an arrow sticking through his shoulder took advantage of my weariness. He plunged his dagger into my collarbone, probably hoping to hit something vital, but he was losing strength. His hand slipped and the dagger went over my shoulder and under my arm before he was able to drag it across my chest and stomach. Fortunately for me he was dying and unable to put much strength behind the knife. It went deep enough though. I thought I was dead as I dropped to the ground.
"When I woke up I was in agony; it felt like my chest was on fire. I found myself under the corpse of the Orc who had wounded me and it was a long time before I could wiggle my way out. I was there for many hours before one of my father's guards found me and took me back to the palace. It was discovered that the blade had been coated in poison. That coupled with the hours that went by before the wound was treated resulted in the scar you see. I very nearly died twice while they were treating me. I had a high fever and they said that I quit breathing. Finally my body started to heal though my mind never has." I open my eyes but my vision is blurry. I raise a hand to wipe my eyes and discover that I have been crying. I blink to clear my vision and stare at the wetness on my fingers. I haven't cried in... how long?
"Legolas..." He doesn't know what to say and I don't know what I *want* him to say. We sit in silence for many long minutes before he hands me my tunic. "It's cold in here."
"I don't feel it." I slip my arms into the sleeves anyway. I put everything but the armor back on and return my gaze to the girl with the brown hair. Aragorn takes my chin in his hand and draws my eyes to his.
"You're beautiful." What? "*You* understand. *You* care. You alone, of all of us here, understand what these children went through. You sat here with them all night, letting them know that they were remembered and loved and that makes you a beautiful creature inside *and* outside. But Legolas, you can't do anything more for these children. Go get some food and rest then go to the infirmary and sit with *those* children. Let *them* know that they are loved and that you understand. That will help them because right now they think no one knows what they have been through. Tell them. Tell them your story and maybe some wounds will begin to heal. Both theirs and yours." I allow Aragorn to draw me to my feet and he hands me my bow, carrying the armor himself. I follow him to the door and take one last look at the thirty-three small bodies on the floor. He is right. I cannot do anything more for these children but if I can help even one injured child feel better then I have made a real difference. I step into the corridor and close the door behind me.