You were all so nice to review chapter eight! I was so relieved to find that everyone thought it was up to par. Nevertheless I hope that this chapter will be even better. It features everyone's favorite twins and a new dose of brotherly love (no twincest of course! Sorry, but /yuck/!). Anyway, on with the fic!
Landslide
Chapter IX
By NekoMegami_chan
Nekomegami_chan@hotmail.com
The halls of the Last Homely House were quiet. Those elves who chose not to walk the paths of their dreams seldom wandered about. Yet the peace of the snow-touched night was interrupted by the noises which overflowed the estate's infirmary. Light burst from the doorways and seeped past the curtains to pool in the winter muted garden.
Elrohir stumbled despite his twin's strong arm and he steadied himself by placing one hand on a frosted window. He paused to peer though it and saw the gentle yellow glow emanating from the Healing House.
He had given up on Legolas back in the woods. He had expected to never see his beloved's face again. He had resigned himself to his own death at the hands of grief. So much had changed in the last few hours. Legolas was found, and still his fate was uncertain. And Elrohir, though he resented needing Elladan's constant support to keep from collapsing, knew that he was severely weakened by his wounded heart.
"Come now, brother. It is not much farther to the kitchens," Elladan said encouragingly.
Elrohir only nodded and pushed away from the window. The cold from the glass was making him ache and he rubbed his chilled hand against his thigh. He was unaccustomed to feeling the cold, yet another testament to his sadly impaired state.
Correctly reading his brother's expression, Elladan sighed as he nudged kitchen door open with the toe of his boot. "There is no shame in your condition. It is only natural after what you have endured. Even Father, as strong as he is, was not immune."
"I am aware of that," Elrohir replied tiredly, dropping into an old chair. He ran his fingers lightly over the mismatched table. He absently traced the plethora of scrapes and gouges that had been made in the polished wood by the cook's knives over the past century or so.
Unsure of what to say, Elladan simply rapped thrice on the door that led to the servant's quarters. A moment later a dainty scullery maid with long brown hair appeared. Her expression was cross ere she was able to make out the features of her nighttime caller by the light of the taper she carried.
"My lord!" She gasped. "I am sorry! What brings you thus?"
"Ill tidings, I'm afraid," Elladan smiled disarmingly. "My brother is in need of a meal and tea. Alas he fears I will attempt to drug him if I were to prepare him a plate of something." He winked and pressed the pouch Elrond had given him into the maid's hand, which he then took and used to lead her nonchalantly into the kitchen. "I was hoping you would do us the honor."
She met his gaze knowingly and closed the door behind her. "At once my lord!" She quickly lit the lamps that ringed the large room from her taper before stirring the hearth to life. "Ah does this mean that Prince Legolas has been recovered? Master Elrohir has not been eating much these past weeks," she added with a blush.
Elrohir groaned inwardly, embarrassed that the servants knew so much about his personal affairs. He supposed it was to be expected. Even among the most highly bred elves, gossip traveled swiftly.
"Yes. But please, food and drink are needed at once," Elladan said with firm kindness.
The maid blushed again and put a kettle of water on to boil.
* * *
Thranduil watched in fascination as Elrond closed his eyes and began to glow with an inner brilliance like that of a star. The healer's dark hair was suddenly swept up by a gentle wind and the pleasant smell of spring rain filled the room.
It did not take Elrond long to find and draw from the wellspring of power at the center of his being. Opening his eyes he let the healing energy flow through him and into his every movement. He was vaguely aware of Erestor waiting at his right hand as he reached for the curved needle and spool of cat-gut thread that lay on the table.
Singing under his breath he soothed away Legolas' last tenuous hold on consciousness. When he was certain that the prince was safe and beyond the reach of pain, Elrond began his work in earnest. Laying the torn flesh of his patient's shin back in its proper place he began to stitch.
Thranduil felt his stomach clench. The small silver needle wove in and out of his son's pale and bloody skin. Elrond was singing and acting as if he were no more than a woman practicing her needlework at the evening hearth. He found the little scene more sickening than the carnage of a battlefield.
Erestor noticed Thranduil's strained expression and gestured towards the door. His gentle suggestion was met by a hostile glare. Erestor only brushed the king's oppressive stare from him like so much dust. He recognized that it was Thranduil's nature to repel fear with anger. He smiled brightly in response and Thranduil promptly ceased to meet his eyes.
Elrond was unaware of the silent communication which was being conducted over his head. His life force trickled into Legolas with a carefully regulated flow. Gently he opened the conduit a little further and reached out mentally, looking for the prince's spirit.
It was not long until Elrond encountered Legolas. The young elf was like a ghost in his own mind, lost and confused. He looked carefully in all directions - obviously searching for something. When he noticed Elrond, he called out, but his words were little more than whispers.
Elrond tried to move closer and extended a friendly hand. Legolas threw up his arms defensively and Elrond met a weak resistance. Fearing to hurt Legolas further, Elrond retreated, realizing that he was not recognized. Cursing himself he clarified his spirit image, filling in the details that he had unconsciously left out.
The warrior prince relaxed and seemed to settle. He smiled at Elrond, though his translucent face wavered uncertainly. His lips formed the words, "Please tell Elrohir I love him."
"I will," Elrond promised. "Though I am sure he would rather you tell him yourself. Be strong, Legolas."
Having finished the stitches, over one hundred in all, Elrond withdrew back into his own body. He tied off the remainder of the string and handed the spool and needle to Erestor. Sitting back, Elrond stretched the tightened muscles in his neck, wiping sweat from his brow. Then, with the utmost care so as not to damage his work, Elrond packed Legolas' lower leg with a thick wrap of heated herbs before bandaging him from knee to ankle.
Elrond stopped singing and let out a long sigh. There was still much to do ere the young prince was out of danger. Yet suppressing the nasty infection in Legolas' injured leg had already taken much of his strength.
Seeing Elrond begin to tremble with fatigue, Erestor placed one hand on his lord's shoulder. With an almost shy gesture King Thranduil followed the advisor's lead, resting his palm on Elrond's other shoulder.
The Lord of Imladris felt fresh energy pour into him. There were two distinct frequencies. Erestor's he knew, his friend and advisor had aided him thus many times before. He was surprised to feel what could only have been Thranduil's spiritual force. Powerful and pulsing with life and so cold it burned. "Thank you, my friends," Elrond murmured and began his efforts anew.
"I'm not your friend. What I do, I do for the sake of my son," Thranduil declared icily. He wanted there to be no misunderstanding between them.
Elrond pointedly ignored Thranduil's remarks. He was still engaged in forcing down the fever in the blonde's exhausted body. His attentions traveled to Legolas' left arm where the white bone had broken through the layers of muscle and skin. Guiding the splintered bone back to the correct angle he pulled sharply, snapping it back into place.
Legolas let out a tortured scream and threw his other arm across his face as if to block out the pain. Elrond patiently soothed him, singing once more and eased away the hurt. When his patient was quiet once more, he used a plank of polished cedar to splint the bone and tightly secured the appendage to Legolas' chest.
"Now for the delicate work," Elrond smiled wryly as his eyes settled on the prince's crushed hip.
* * *
Elrohir's vision swam. At first he was sure his exhaustion had finally overcome him completely. Yet as the sweet taste of the tea he had just consumed faded, only to be replaced by the unmistakable tang of a sleeping draught.
Too drugged to be as furious as he wanted to be, Elrohir pushed himself away from the table and nearly overturned his bowl of broth. He staggered to his feet, the ceramic mug crashing to the polished floor as it fell from nerveless fingers.
Elladan caught his brother before he could fall. He lifted Elrohir, his twin's dark head lolling against his shoulder. "Forgive me, brother," he whispered even as Elrohir's breathing became deeper and his tired eyes fluttered closed. "It is in your best interest to sleep thus. Besides, Ada made me do it."
Elrohir moaned, Legolas' name ghosting across his lips as his body succumbed to the powerful draught. Elladan slipped into the hall and headed for their rooms.
* * *
I had wanted to write more for this chapter, but I decided that all of you nice readers were due for some more story. Look for the next chapter by Wednesday or Thursday. That's not a promise mind you, but I'll do my best.
As always, thanks for reading! And please remember to review on your way out. ^_^
