Calaen shook his head slowly, hoping that when the next second came, the two Elves in front of him would disappear, and he would realise that his mind had been playing games with him. But that did not happen. He lowered his eyes to where Legolas was still tied, and he swallowed nervously. Blood had pooled around his brother's beaten body. His hair hung around his face, and it was only the ropes around his wrists that prevented him from collapsing.

"What have you done, Calaen?" Thranduil hissed, as he dropped to the ground next to his youngest son. "What have you done?"

The dark haired Elf shook his head, and held his hands up defensively. "No, this was not me. I found him like this, I…"

Thranduil made a noise of anger and made to attack his son, but Airëlus beat him to it. In one swift movement, the Crown Prince had grabbed the belt from the floor, and struck his brother across the face with it. His blue eyes flashed furiously, and he leaned forwards to grab the front of Calaen's tunic.

"We saw you with this in your hands!" he shouted. "How can you deny it?"

"Airëlus, get him out of here," Thranduil snapped, as he pulled the blindfold from Legolas' eyes. "Lock him in his room, and then come back here. I will need bandages and medicine."

The Crown Prince nodded once, and, grabbing his brother by the arm, he dragged him none too gently from the room. Calaen went without a fuss – he was not fool enough to even try and fight back. He knew full well that there would be enough trouble for him as it was.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Legolas was dimly aware of his blindfold being removed, and his bonds being cut. His eyes fluttered a little as he was lifted into strong arms and carried over to the bed. He wanted so much to look up into his rescuer's face, but the pain would not allow it. And, what if it was no rescuer? More than likely it was another one of Calaen's games.

He flinched inside as he felt a hand stroking his hair. He heard someone speaking soft words to him, but the state he was in made it impossible for him to focus properly on anything. His eyes fluttered briefly again, and whoever it was with him, grabbed his hand. He silently thanked the Valar that it was not the one with broken bones.

"It is alright, ion-nin. I am here now," Thranduil said softly, brushing golden hair from his son's cheek. He had seen the word that so cruelly marked Legolas' body, and when first had laid eyes on it, had nearly been sick. But he had forced himself to calm down, so that he could be strong for the young Prince.

Legolas took a deep breath, and snapped his eyes open. His gaze landed on the Elf in front of him, and he shook his head slowly. "Please Ada, no more," he breathed.

Concern flitted across Thranduil's face, but he continued to soothingly stroke his child's hair. "You are safe now. No-one is going to hurt you."

Instead of being calmed, Legolas hit his father's hand away, and jumped from the bed. That proved to be a mistake though, for as soon as he moved, the room spun around him, and lights danced in front of his eyes. This was not fair. Why should his life and this torture be prolonged, when all he wanted was death?

Thranduil drew in a sharp breath and leapt forwards as his son fell. But he managed to catch the Prince before he hit the floor. "By the Valar…" he muttered. "Legolas, please calm yourself. I will not hurt you, and neither will anybody else. You must sit down, for you are weak."

It had taken Legolas all of his remaining strength not to fall apart, but at his father's last words, he broke down. "Please, stop this. Stop playing these games with me."

"I am playing no games with you," Thranduil replied, startled. "Ion-nin, you have been badly injured, and the last thing that I want to do is cause you further pain."

"No," Legolas whispered. He glanced down at the Elven-king's hands on his shoulders, and shook himself free. "Do not touch me like that. I have been put through enough, though the pain that came from you was worse than anything else. Please, just kill me now, if you are going to do it."

Thranduil stepped back, stunned. "Legolas, what do you…? I do not-

The door was suddenly thrown open once more, and Airëlus ran into the room. In his arms he carried numerous herbs and bandages, but as soon as he laid eyes on his brother, he threw them into a chair, and darted forwards to embrace him. Tears stung his eyes, and he was not ashamed to let them fall.

"Legolas, I am so sorry," he whispered. "Valar, please forgive me. I should never have left you on your own."

Legolas locked eyes with his father briefly, though he was quick to lower his gaze again. He buried his face into Airëlus' shoulder, feeling slightly safer in his elder brother's protective arms. Thranduil however, was confused and hurt. He did not understand why his youngest child felt such fear at him, and flinched at his touch.

"Come, Legolas. You must let us examine your wounds," Airëlus said softly, pulling away from the embrace and helping his brother to the bed. "Ada will tend to you, alright? You can grip my hand if…" He trailed off as the younger Prince shook his head violently.

"Please, do not let him," Legolas whispered, as he sat on the bed.

Airëlus shot Thranduil a quizzical look, before turning back to his brother and brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "But why not? Ada is skilled at healing, and he knows full well what he is doing."

Legolas bit his lip and nodded once, as he drew his knees up to his chest and hugging them tight. Letting Thranduil tend to his injuries was the last thing that he wanted to do, but having said that, he feared the anger of the Elven-king. Valar knew what else he could do.

Thranduil relaxed slightly, though confusion still flashed in his eyes as he picked up a wet cloth from the pile that Airëlus had dropped. He shot his eldest son a look of despair that was immediately returned, before sitting on the bed behind Legolas and pushing the golden hair across his son's shoulders.

"There is Athelas on this cloth," he said softly. "I am sorry."

Athelas stung at the best of times, but with the young Prince's back covered in so many bloody welts and lacerations, it would surely burn him with a fire so fierce, that it may well have come from Mordor itself.

"You will be alright," Airëlus said softly, reaching out and taking his brother's hand. He started though, as the younger Elf cried out and pulled away. "What is it?"

"It is broken in places," Legolas said distantly, cradling his hand against his chest.

Thranduil's eyes narrowed at the words, and he felt very much like kicking a large hole in the wall. But he forced himself to calm down – he had to be strong. He lowered the cloth and pushed it over the inflamed welts, cringing as Legolas drew in sharp breaths. Inflicting further pain on his son was the last thing he wanted, but this task was unavoidable.

Tears gathered in Legolas' eyes, and as the Athelas fell into his bloody wounds, he jerked forwards, away from his father. Airëlus caught him by the shoulders and held him still, speaking softly to him in Elvish. He did not know what was being said, though. All he concentrated on was getting through this pain.

"I am sorry, Legolas," Thranduil said. "I know it hurts, but I am not doing this for any reason other than to heal you." He took a deep breath before wringing the cloth out over his son's back.

"Don't," Legolas whispered, letting his head fall forwards to rest on Airëlus' shoulder. Tears fell freely from his eyes, but this time he did not stop them. He did not care any more. What should it matter if Thranduil saw another show of weakness from him?

Airëlus closed his eyes as he stroked his brother's hair. "Peace, Legolas. It will be over in no time. Do you understand what Ada said? Do you understand that this must be done?"

The young Prince made a slight movement with his head, and as his wounds were doused once more with the Athelas, he cried out, clenching both fists. The broken bones in his left hand screamed at him to relax, so that they could be relieved of the agony, but he ignored the pain. He had to.

"Alright, I am nearly finished," Thranduil said softly.

Airëlus glanced across his brother's shoulder, and looked into his father's glistening eyes, though he pretended not to notice the tears. He knew how hard this was, and he also knew that the Elven-king would rather cut his own throat than put his child through such pain that could be avoided.

"Do you wish to swap places?" he asked. "I will do that."

"Thank you," Thranduil said quietly.

Legolas started as Airëlus' face was replaced by his father's, and he tried hard not to let himself fall into the arms that he had once known to be loving. But as the cloth was rubbed over his back once more, the Prince could not help but lean forwards. And as he felt himself being held by the King, he was powerless to do anything about it.

"You are doing so well," Thranduil murmured.

"No more," Legolas whispered.

"I have finished now, anyway. All that is left for me to do is to bandage your wounds and then see to your hand," Airëlus said, moving the blood stained material out of sight, and producing a long strip of white cloth.

Thranduil smiled briefly as he felt his son relax against him. Still he did not know why the Prince had spoken such words, or acted in the way that he had, but it seemed to be alright now. Legolas seemed to have calmed down, and realised that his father was not the enemy.

But how wrong the King was…

………………………………………………………………………………………………