TO FLAMERS:

First, a note to flamers. If you are not one to do such a thing, don't bother reading this. I received the following flame anonymously: "Oh, for fuck's sake! Is it just me or do some idiots LOVE to make the canon characters suffer? It's fucking sick. Firstly: Legolas is NOT a masochist! It's completely OOC. Tolkien made his characters more or less PERFECT. Secondly: LEGOLAS DOESN'T HAVE A GODDAMN BROTHER. You are desecrating Tolkien's work by writing this piece of utterly mindless, gratuitous trash. Please TAKE IT DOWN." First off, I fail to see how such language is necessary. Second, yes you pendajo, some people do like it when canon characters suffer. Would you like to know why, or would you rather wallow in ignorance? I'll tell you, anyway. Not everyone in this horrid world is happy, or has it easy. I can tell that you don't really care about other people, and that's fine because frankly I doubt anyone cares about you. Writing is often an escape, and that is why the characters suffer: when they have our problems we can see what they do and it might help us decide what to do ourselves. Also, it takes away some stress. It makes us feel less alone. Yes, I am aware that Tolkien made his characters more or less perfect, but what do you mean to tell me? That once we fall, we cannot get back up again? If this is so, I'll be opening my veins soon enough--but oh, wait, I don't do that stuff anymore. People change, though some people do not and are terrible souls all their lives, such as yourself, but most people have ups and downs, and some have low, low downs. But they learn how to get back up. They learn that things aren't always that bad. They learn to grit their teeth and hang on tight, and fight the ones that want them to hurt. Also, Tolkien really left Legolas's past a blank, so how do you know if he had a brother or not? If either of us is desecrating Tolkien's work, dear, it is you--I know if I wrote a book, I wouldn't want pendajos such as yourself to even touch it. As for taking it down, you're a minority for that one. Welcome to America: republic, my dear, means majority rules. Toodles! I hope you suffer needlessly for many years to come! If anyone read this and still plans on flaming me, let me just request kindly that you shove that empty lump on your shoulders up your ass.

As for the rest of my reviewers, thank you SOOO much!!

Cheysuli: Worry not, I'd never kill of a character--I have far too much respect for the elves to kill them. It isn't Arwen's fault, she just got scared and didn't know any better. She's just a kid, after all! And I know, I have the book, I just never liked it enough to finish it.

Jenni: Thanks for reading, and I'll take it as a complement that you don't like this stuff but read three chapters of mine!

Mannariel: I actually tried to make Legolas's masochism as real as possible, remembering what had happened to someone I used to know and basing it on that. I'll check out your story at some point, but you may have to wait a couple weeks--I'm on track A, so I'll have two and a half months to do basically nothing soon. If I haven't read yours by then, I promise to read it in December (the start of break). Sorry about the sentence structure, but I think funny and thus I write. . .oddly, at times. Anyway, thank you so very, very much for reviewing!

Susan: Okay. I've written more, as per request, and thank you for reading!

Starfleet Hobbit: Yay, I have a fan! Thank you so much for reading and taking the time to review.

Salak: Heh. Have written more, you need only ask.

CocoBeans: Don't be so hard on Legolas! He has to want to get better, and these sorts of things can be very hard to get over. Arwen didn't realize how Legolas would react to the noise, and she was just a frightened child. She never meant to hurt anyone, and she's dread sorry, so go easy on her. As for what's going to happen, you'll just have to read and find out!

Anya-Ring of Sarcasm: If it's uncommon, at least my messege is reaching people, I figure. Thank you for reviewing and reading and all that. More for ya, just read on!

Supernovacade: You have no idea how much what you said means to me. Yes, I am going to continue, I'd write an entire story whether people reviewed or not, but if no one was reading I wouldn't post. Thank you so, so, so much for reading and majorly boosting my self-esteem.

Melissa: Thanks for taking the time to read and review. It's always nice to know that someone out there reads.

Anon: Thanks for reading, reviewing, and requesting that I keep writing--when people do so, I always will write more.

Jill: Your logic is infallible: good story, write more. Thank you!

Cacophony-of-senses: Thanks for reading and I will continue!

GoldenRose: Hell, yeah, I'm evil. I make reviewers such as yourself wait for more, and that means that YAY YAY YAY people read and review! And I just love suspense and melodrama, I'm a total sap. And I definitely deserved to be yelled at for that cliffie.

Enigma Jade: Odd compliment. Anyway, more is here!

LegyLover: Everyone who has read it before does know what happens, but don't worry, I've been trying to post a chapter a day, so soon you'll know, too. As for Legolas…you'll see.

Collie Girl: Thanks! The titles are from fortune cookies. As for "major issues", I take personal offense to that, because Legolas's reaction to loud noises is exactly the same as my own.

Soulsearcher: I'll have to find the lyrics to that song…but then, Gollum did sort of strangle his loyal friend Deagol, so I'm not surprised no loyal friend was ever by him! At least it's only "heh" for you--my friends think I'm weird for saying words like "knickers", "bugger", and "trousers". I think it's more remembering than déjà vu, but call it whatever you like, no one can stop you without large amounts of masking tape. Wow…THANKS!!!

Kit Cloudkicker: Erm…well…you sort of have to read the story…

Helena: Thanks, I'm glad you like it.

Brown-coffee-eyes: If it strikes a chord with you, that's probably because this is, with some changes, what happened to me. And I had to stop, too, because it hurts, doesn't it, knowing? Good for you, for stopping. It's hard.

Tamara: You'll see…

Amunet: Thanks, hi, here's more.

*****

"Legolas, I am extremely sorry about Arwen, she doesn't understand--" Elrohir stopped as he caught sight of Legolas. The Elven prince lay on the floor in a growing pool of blood, his hair splayed out above his head like a glowing halo. The strands of normally tame hair ran over and under each other, still tame but a wild tame, a perfect glitch. His face held a look of utter contentment and acceptance of what was to come. Even his eyes, which Elrohir expected would have been so deadly blank, looked simply happy.

For a moment Elrohir couldn't move. He stood frozen, staring down at the soon-to-be corpse of his friend, lying not a foot from his toes. Suddenly, a warm, sticky feeling came over Elrohir, just on his foot. Looking down he saw that it was blood, Legolas's blood. He was tempted to stare into it, just look at the deep endless chasm of elven insides, but his conscious mind fought the gruesome idea. "No!" he exclaimed, moving hard over to Legolas.

"Come on, Legolas, this isn't what you want! This is not what is meant for you, vanimelda." Elrohir was only a child, but he had seen his father healing plenty of wounds. Calming himself, making sure he did not become hysterical, he found bandages on Legolas's desk. With swift movements he wrapped the sterile strips of linen around the deep wound. When he was satisfied with his handiwork, he stood. "I have to get Ada, Legolas. I'm not a healer. You will be all right, I promise."

*****

Legolas had been gone from his body. He felt like a bird, just watching the blood flow, watching his life drain away. Of course, a bird also dies if it loses too much blood, and Legolas himself was beginning to fade. Nearly all of his vision had ceased when he saw a blur, a dark-haired blur, come to his side.

Elrohir's words took a while to penetrate Legolas's daze. He hardly understood them, perhaps a small amount of sense, but that was all. One word, however, four small syllables of Sindarin managed to pierce through the hazy barrier between life and death. "Vanimelda." Someone wanted him back.

The bird flew to nest. Halfway there a stone ruptured its wing, and it plummeted to the ground.

*****

Elrohir's legs were burning when he reentered Legolas's room. He had hardly allowed himself to slow, thinking only of Legolas's life. Now he skidded to a stop, leaning against a wall, fires starting to spread through his lungs. "You were right to bind the wound, Elrohir, but there is little else you can do now," Elrond said, "perhaps you should alert Legolas's parents, and please make sure Arwen does not come in here."

Elrohir nodded. He straightened up and rushed off again. "Thranduil!" called Elrohir, racing up and down various corridors. The fire threatened to creep back up into his legs and lungs, but he squelched it. "Thranduil!" He hardly noticed when he nearly crashed into the elf. "Legolas. . .is hurt," he explained between breaths, then ran off again.

Elrond had said to keep Arwen away. Elrohir took no heed of that order. He ran back to Legolas's room, not about to let his friend suffer alone. Though there was little to nothing for Elrohir to do, he felt that not being there would constitute abandonment. He stood by the wall, out of the way. Elrond said nothing, but gave him a questioning look: was Elrohir sure he wanted to stay in here? Elrohir was.

Thranduil did come, not long after Elrohir told him what was wrong. Legolas had been moved onto his bed by then, and Elrohir did not hear what Thranduil said. The deep red stain on the floor beckoned, calling him. He took a step nearer. Still it beckoned. Everything swirled around him, except the crimson stain, which only became bolder, growing and pulsating. Elrohir took a second slow, slow step towards the blood, now a deep pool in which he might drown.

Forgotten for the moment, the boy fell to his knees. The blood called to him. Sinister tendrils groped for the Elf, the healthy, happy, stable Elf-child. He closed his eyes, only listening, only hearing the calls. It enticed him, and he felt a wetness wrap around his wrist. The wetness tugged. "No," he whispered. "You may have taken Legolas, but I will not succumb to your power. Never."

Despite his brave words, the wetness was overpowering him. Slowly, he lifted one finger, then a whole hand. Immediately the wetness drew away. Elrohir did not try to pull his hand back. He inched the appendage forward, dipping his fingertips into the sticky puddle before him. It was cool and welcomed him. Before he knew what had happened, he was drawn fully into the blood.

Elrohir's body fell forward. He submerged entirely in the vermilion lake, moving his arms to stay afloat, yet delving deeper and deeper with his mind. He swam to the floor of the lake, ran his fingers through the loose soil. He kept going in a steady stream along the lake floor until his fingers hit something, something sharp, metallic, and evil. Drawing the cruel object up with him, Elrohir made his way out of the red ocean, his body dripping blood.

Elrohir felt a hand on his shoulder. With a gasp, his eyes flew open. He was breathing heavily. The blood was no longer soaking his body, but sweat dripped from him, sticking his hair down and causing the object in his hand to slip. He grasped it tightly on reflex. It was Thranduil whose hand was on Elrohir's shoulder. "Thank you," he said awkwardly, "for finding him here…and everything you did for him."

"I only wish I'd found him sooner," Elrohir replied, holding the object close to his side, not daring to look lest he draw attention to it.

"I wonder what ever happened to him?" With this hanging question Thranduil walked away, downcast.

"Yes," said Elrohir slowly, "I wonder." He had seen the knife now. There was nothing left for him to wonder about, except the intentions of the blood lake. It was not evil, after all. It was good, it had to be. It had given the dagger to Elrohir to protect Legolas. Still and all, it was Legolas's blood. Deep down, Legolas wanted to heal. "Will he be all right, Ada?" Elrohir asked loudly, turning his head to see.

"With any luck, he should be well again soon. Do you think he will be all right, Elrohir?"

"I think he will, Ada," said Elrohir, moving to stand beside Elrond. "I think he will be just fine."

*****

Elrohir was glad to get to bed that night. It hardly seemed as though it had been only a few hours. He had found Legolas near death, and bound the wound. Recalling the process of binding the wound, linen on flesh, soaking up the streams of blood, made Elrohir sick and shivery and cold all over. He doubted he could do such a thing again, unless thrust into a time of reflexive actions and no thought.

At first Elrohir had been sure that the wound was an accident. Then, when he had gone into the blood-sea, he had recovered a knife and thought Legolas was asking for help, maybe subconsciously. But surely that was not so, Elrohir thought. His mind must have just been reacting to the sight of all that blood. The knife, the cut--that had been an accident.

Hadn't it?

Elrohir had moved easily to grab the bandages on Legolas's desk. Why hadn't the Elf prince put on the bandages himself? Why hadn't he cried for help? How had he possibly cut so long and so deep on accident? Suddenly, Elrohir was wide-awake. This was wrong. This was Legolas's secret, his big problem.

Of course! It was so obvious! Why hadn't Elrohir seen it before? He was so stupid. Legolas had gotten seriously hurt. He might have died. And it would have been Elrohir's fault for not seeing the truth before.

There was a soft swish of fabric and a clink.

Elrohir sat up, alarmed. He sighed and laughed at himself when he saw that it was only his tunic, having been thrown across a chair, and just then having slid to the ground. Then what was to clink?

He threw back the blankets to dig through his pockets. Out came a small amount of lint and then the answer: Legolas's dagger. The evil thing, the thing it took some degree of control and maturity to wield. The thing that was now Elrohir's responsibility. He wondered if he could keep the knife safe.

As if it knew, the metal gleamed a cold temptation in the moonlight.

*****

The deep gash had cut into a muscle. It would heal, with quite a bit of time. Until the muscle was ready to be used again, Legolas had to keep his left arm relatively still and in a sling. This was a great disadvantage as he was left-handed. Luckily, though, since he was left-handed, all the other cuts were on his right arm and his legs. No one knew about his secret, and he liked things that way. Still and all, that had been too close for his liking.

When Legolas awoke, he had some explaining to do. "I'm sorry," he began. "It was a feral cat. I got rid of it, but it scratched deep into my arm. I should have called for help, but before I knew it...I guess I just lost consciousness." He wondered who had found the dagger. He wouldn't mention it, though, only explain--should it be brought up--that he had meant to use it in case it was needed, to fight the cat. His father believed him. Elrond looked skeptical, knowing well the injuries of feral cats, but he also accepted the story. Elrohir stood to the side of the room, looking straight at Legolas. And Legolas knew then that Elrohir saw him for a liar.

Every time Elrohir glanced in Legolas's direction, Legolas bowed his head. The two did not talk much for Legolas's first few active days. While Legolas slipped, dropped his eating utensils, and attempted to read and write one-handed, Elrohir stood off in a corner, deep in thought and observation. He kept the dagger with him constantly, and had much to think on. Finally, the two met on a stairwell and stopped.

"I know the truth, Legolas."

"Elrohir, I. . ." what could he say? "I cannot tell them. I just can't."

"But why, Legolas? Why would you do such a thing? What has happened?" Elrohir tried to be as gentle as he could be. If he went about this the wrong way, he knew, he might make a mess of it, and the might never get another chance.

"I have my reasons," was all Legolas would say.

"What reasons? You are a wonderful person, Legolas. Why would someone so good as yourself do these things?"

"Stop it. Stop saying that. I am not wonderful, I am down-right terrible."

"No, Legolas, you are not. You are not terrible," Elrohir said softly, but with conviction, hurt etched into his face and his voice. He reached out to reassure Legolas, draw him back from whatever swamp he was drowning in. It failed. Legolas hardly knew he was drowning, and he drew back. Elrohir's lips parted as if to speak, but there were no words.

"I am so sorry, my friend," Legolas whispered, and he turned and ran off. Elrohir stood motionless, trying to gather his thoughts, and then sat down on the stairs and cried, his head in his hands, his fingers twined in his hair. He was utterly without ideas. Legolas didn't know he was drowning, and Elrohir could not reach far enough to save him.

*****

That's all for now, more later. Sorry, I know I should do more but I've got school and all this crazy stuff.

Vanimelda means absent friend and "pendajo" is a dirty word in Spanish