It is now 2:27 in the morning and I am just now finishing this chapter. Ridiculous. I'm sorry but I will only be responding to the reviews that had questions, as I wish to go to bed now. All you others who sent me your commendation, I thank you.
cherryfaerie - Well, I update every Sunday night. And as for the elvish translation, I got them from a program I downloaded from a website. Only I can't remember the web-address. *grins* I know someone who has it though, so I'll be able to tell you next week.
Widfire2 - This is before the quest. It takes place in the year 2958, putting Aragorn at the age of 27. The Quest began in the year 3018. And there will be one eventually. I try not to stray too far from Tolkien's work, because he is a genius and you can't alter genius, so I don't do much AU. As for how they met, if you read my other story you will find out my version. :)
MG87 - No worries. Don't care when I get the reviews, as long as I get them. *grins* As for the category, I placed it under Drama first, then Angst. So it'll show up in the drama section when you're looking for it. I don't plan on having that much torture, or the body or mind, going on in this one so I decided it best fit under Drama. Although, that is subject to change. My twisted mind can't go too long without torturing my poor little elf. *maniacal laughter ensues*
" Leaves of Glass "
** Chapter 3 - Unanswered Questions **
It was dark. The trees were silent, still. So still they seemed almost made of stone. Legolas walked slowly through the quiet forest, looking, waiting. There was a noise. A laugh. A harsh, barking laugh that promised no happiness; only suffering.
And then there was pain. It started at his hands, then quickly spread through his body, biting, tearing, consuming. He looked at his hands. Blood. Dark, crimson blood; coating his skin, soaking into his shirt. His own arrow lay at his feet, mocking him, telling him of his weakness.
His vision swam and his body felt light, hollow. He blinked. There was a voice. A low voice, singing softly. He couldn't hear the words. He tried to follow the voice, tried to find the song.
The laughter started again. He was pulled away and the soft voice was silenced. He struggled. The laughter was directly behind him. He felt something reaching. A hand. Coming for him, trying to drag him away.
He woke with a gasp.
He was lying on the ground, wrapped in a rough cloak, his head pillowed on a knoll of grass. It was dark out, though there were no trees obscuring the sky as he expected. The singing was clear now, coming from his left. The voice was rough as well, but the song was of his people.
He tried to sit, moving to push himself up with his hands, but the moment they touched the ground the dream, and the events of the previous morning, came rushing back to him as searing pain raced up his arms and through his body. He cried out and fell back to the ground. The singing stopped.
"Deri an îdh." Estel's soft voice said from beside him. Legolas felt the Ranger's presence settle on his left. "Le faeg harn. Im garo maban le an nín echad an nesta-le." ("Stay still." "You are badly wounded. I have taken you to my camp to heal you.")
Legolas looked up at the Ranger warily. He had expressly voiced his opinion on wishing to stay far from the human's camp. Centuries of hatred and mistrust were not easily shed, even for this Man who had proved himself to be honest and noble. The prince struggled to rise once again, burdened by the cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders. When Strider saw his struggle he moved to help him, but quickly stopped when the elf jerked away from his hands.
"How did you find me?" Legolas asked once he was sitting up. He looked around to more clearly see his surroundings. He was on a small rise in a field; a plain more like, it's flat, smooth grasses stretching out to the horizon even as far as his elven eyes could see, its surface interrupted only by short trees and sparse bushes. The forest, his forest, lay some ways to his left, its dark trees silhouetting the night sky, blocking out the twinkling pinpricks of the stars.
"The trees." Strider answered, not moving, only watching as the prince took in his surroundings. "Let me see your hands."
"I don't need-"
"Daro." Strider demanded gently. "Do not do this, my prince. It will be easier on both of us if you would simply accept my help." ("Stop.")
Legolas' gaze returned to the human, his senses telling his that the brash young man spoke true. He briefly recalled the whispered voices he had heard in the clearing, but quickly shook their memory away. Reluctantly he held out his hands for the Ranger to see. He could not look himself.
In time, he knew, his hands would heal and not even a scar would be left on the perfect flesh of his immortal body. But now they were nothing but ruins. Useless relics of what once were the most accurate hands in all of Mirkwood. So many centuries he had perfect his skills, and now, now he could not even curl his fingers around his bow.
"They took it." He whispered, flinching slightly as Strider undid the blood-covered bindings.
"What?" The Ranger asked, his gaze briefly searching the prince's profile before returning to his task.
"My bow." The elf replied, his eyes wandering towards the horizon where dawn was beginning to make itself known.
As the two sat in silence, pitch black turned to darkest gray and the first rays of the sun crept over the end of the plains, stretching out to banish the night once more, bringing a new day, but no new light to the torn soul that sat at the edge of a forest on Arda's stone.
"My brother gave it to me." Legolas continued, his eyes turning away from the false dawn, his mind frantically searching for a distraction from his dark thoughts. He had no wish to return to that sordid road.
Strider poured a small amount of warmed water onto the prince's hands; holding them gently at he jerked involuntarily. Legolas relaxed again quickly though his eyes still did not meet the humans. Strider ignored this and gently rubbed away the blood from around the wounds then smoothed on a thick amount of a sweet smelling paste.
"Then we shall have to get it back." He said softly, his eyes glancing up to meet the prince's for a moment. But that moment lasted an eternity.
***
With his hands newly wrapped in fresh bandages and the sun finally creeping over the horizon Legolas pondered the young human's words. Get it back... But how? And why?
That was a question that had often found its way to the elf's mind over the past years. It had been 9 years since the death of his beloved, and very nearly his own passing from Middle-Earth, and he could not keep thoughts of the young human from his mind.
No experience in his past had proved good when it came to humans, except for this one. Pain was all he had found at the hands of the Secondborn, but in Estel he had found only tenderness and healing. Why?
Why would this Edain child care for one of the Eldar? Why would he turn his back on his own people to see him safe? Was it his upbringing? Surely to be raised by elves, by Arda's greatest healer and wisest lord at that, had to reverse some of what was ingrained into the minds of the race of Man. (... Human ...)
But was that all? Was that all that attributed to his kindness, his mercy, his love?
But the prince had no more time to ponder these thoughts that were ceaseless inside his frenzied mind. Strider, as the young human had said to call him now, returned to his side bearing two crude wooden bowls. Steam was rising from their contents, disappearing into the cold morning air, and a simple yet mouth-watering smell was wafting towards him on the chill breeze that was blowing. Legolas realized with ire that he had not eaten in over two days.
Strider settled down beside him again, crossing his legs beneath himself as he sat surprisingly gracefully without the use of his hands. "It's not much." He said, settling the two bowls on his bent knees. "But it's not bad if I do say so myself." He gave Legolas an impertinent grin then handed one of the bowls to the prince.
Legolas reached out to take the offered porridge, but stopped when his eyes caught sight of the bandages. He could not even hold the bowl for the pain it caused, how was he to grasp the spoon?
Strider seemed to have realized the same, for he pulled the bowl back again, staring resolutely at the contents. He opened his mouth to speak, but fell silent when two bandaged hands reached out for the bowl and pulled it away from him. He looked up to see the elf's face pale as his hands shook under the weight of the bowl in his wounded palms.
Legolas would not allow himself to appear weak in front of this human; he could manage such a simple task as feeding himself. He moved one hand from the bottom of the bowl and raised it to the rough spoon that was submerged in its contents. He grit his teeth and tried to curl his long fingers around the end, but another shooting pain coursed through his arm and he dropped the bowl as tears filled his eyes.
He nearly jumped when Strider's hand reached out to catch the bowl before it hit his lap. "Maybe I could-" The Ranger began, but was quickly cut off when Legolas jumped to his feet and stepped away from the human, the tears in his eyes replaced with rage in an instant.
"I would rather face all the evil in Mordor than be fed from the hands of a human." He seethed, his eyes darkening, his lips pulling back in a sneer.
"Would you now?" Strider asked, his tone full of sarcasm as he stood to face the prince, angry as well for the elf's vexation at his attempts at friendship and aid. How could anyone be so stubborn as to refuse life-saving assistance? "It will take days, perhaps even weeks, before you will have the use of your hands again; for though the healing abilities of elves are widely know your wounds are still grievous. Will you go that long without food? Or water? Simply for your own pride?"
'You are weak.' That same loathsome voice filled Legolas' head. 'He knows it.'
'I am not weak.' He cried back silently, his face now an expressionless mask as Strider seethed in front of him. 'I will not give this wretch the satisfaction of subjecting me to such humiliation.'
"Yes." He replied aloud, his eyes spitting fire. Then he turned on his heal and stalked away from the camp.
"Fine!" The young human shouted as he walked away. "Starve to death! I do not care!" Then he sat back down and picked up bowl, its contents now disgustingly cold, and began to eat.
*
'Why am I still walking?' Legolas asked himself as the chill wind whipped Strider's false words around his head. 'I cannot survive on my own. I must return to him if I am to live.'
But his pride kept him moving. If only for a while.
*
'I cannot let him go out there alone.' Strider thought irately as he watched the elf's figure get smaller and smaller. 'He will die on his own. I must go after him.'
But he continued to sit and stare at the retreating form. If only for a while.
To Be Continued...
Well, this one was slightly long. *shrugs* Goodnight now. I must be go think of the next chapter, as I do not wish to do this again. Though, I do work better under pressure.
Oh, and I do promise it will start getting more interesting. I know these last two chapters have been sort of slow and I apologize for that.
Until next time!
Adrienne
