Chapter Seventeen – What we are, what we need

'Legolas! Come back inside before you catch your death out there!'

Legolas stopped smiling at Gimli's words, passing the Tower a dark look. Aragorn saw what he knew to be fear deep in those blue eyes, cleverly shrouded as the emotion was, and he detected from Thranduil's catch of breath that he could also see it. But he soundly doubted that the others would pick up on it.

Thranduil stepped out into the mud, closely followed by Aragorn.

'Merry?'

Aragorn's call was responded to by a 'Yes?' from within the Tower.

'Did you and Pippin not say that there is a storeroom stacked with food somewhere along the walls?'

Two smaller figures appeared from behind Gimli, both with expressions of keen interest on their bright faces.

'Aye,' responded Merry, 'that we did – why? Are you hungry?'

'No, but Legolas could do with something.'

'Alright then,' Pippin chimed in. 'We shall escort you there.'

They waited for the pair to reach them before the five commenced to the walls of Isengard, keeping a steady pace as they traversed the mile. Legolas had passed Aragorn a brief, appreciative smile; his thanks for not making him go back. Aragorn had returned it, clapping the Elf lightly on the shoulder as they walked, and not daring to show his concern at the slight wince Legolas made at the contact.

The horses raised their elegant heads at their arrival at the wall: they had been permitted to stray a little to nibble on the scanty amount of grass that there was available, and their masters gave their Prince and King respectful bows accompanied by relieved smiles, to which Legolas bowed and smiled back. Aragorn reached the animal he had been loaned to ride, taking a small pack from the saddle, giving the horse a firm pat on the neck, and then rejoining the group.

'Here we are,' said Merry proudly, and the others looked to where he gestured with his sweeping hand. 'Saruman's private store – well, it was, anyway…'

They all stepped through the entrance, gazing about them at shelf upon shelf of food. There were barrels set along the stone-flagged floor, filled with fruits and wines, and some with dried meats of various sorts. A fireplace was situated at the end of the room, suitably dried after the invasion of the floodwaters to allow a fire to be kindled in it. There was a solid table right in the centre, made purely of oak.

'Legolas,' began Aragorn in a serious tone, 'take off your tunic and shirt.'

Legolas' heart sank. He had completely forgotten about his hurts until now.

'Aragorn, I-'

'-Do it, ion nin.'

Thranduil stood just inside the doorway, his face stern yet kind at the same time. He knew perfectly well that Legolas would not dare to refuse him over something like this. True, they had had disputes occasionally that had surely been heard in Gondor over patrols and things like that, but never over anything which heavily involved the health and welfare of the other.

Legolas sighed heavily, unfastening the clasps to his tunic with one hand. He was not offered aid, for which he was eternally thankful: he called for help only when he really needed it, and he had to be in a dire situation for that to even cross his mind.

'What would you like to eat, Legolas?' Merry asked, already beginning to scale the shelves, closely followed by Pippin, who sported a large empty basket. 'There's apples, carrots, bread – no, actually, forget the bread, it's gone mouldy – oh yes! and there's a wonderful leg of smoked ham up here…'

'Some ham would be much appreciated,' Legolas called up, a smile on his lips despite himself as he laid the shirt and jerkin to the side, right next to the two vambraces, observing with a sigh the many small sealed pots and bandage strips that Aragorn had set out on the table beside him.

'Before we continue, have you sustained any broken bones minus the obvious?'

'No,' Legolas lied outright, only to receive a searching look from the Ranger, which he met with steady eyes.

'Fine, then – give me your arm.'

Aragorn took the limb from Legolas' lap, his hands firm yet gentle, cupping the elbow with one and running the other lightly over the still livid bruising. He began to gently press into the flesh that was of so many interesting colourations as to make a southern songbird jealous. He could feel Legolas' discomfort at this, noting that he had not taken a breath for all the time he had been doing this.

'Not yet mended,' Aragorn stated, giving Legolas a smile, which the Elf returned with a flicker of this mouth.

Aragorn uncapped a pot that was larger than its companions, sending an interesting, oddly lifting scent into the air.

'What have you mixed the athelas with, mellon nin?'

'Goose fat, poppy-seed oil, and spring-grass,' Aragorn replied simply. 'It makes a paste that helps take down swelling and bruising, as well as dulling down pain – wonderful for this kind of injury. And the athelas will help the bone along with knitting.'

Legolas smiled properly now. 'The hands of a King are indeed the hands of a healer.'

Thranduil stood observing the treatment of Legolas – the paste of the Ranger would surely be spent come the end of this: the bruising was so very consistent over the body of his son. And he struggled to keep his emotions under check when he saw the deep, horrible wound to Legolas' side. "So," he thought. "That is the 'poisoned wound' Aragorn spoke of in the letter." The fact that he had not been there when it had happened to comfort his child during his agony pained Thranduil deeply, an anger that he had within at himself burning at him.

Aragorn re-splinted the arm after rubbing his salve over it, using a piece of wood he had earlier whittled in preparation for this and the fresh, white bandages, careful not to make it so tight that it cut off the circulation.

'Hannon le,' Legolas offered as his arm was given back to his lap.

'Not a problem.'

Aragorn's brow furrowed heavily as he turned his attention to the rest of Legolas' body.

'Where are these from, mellon nin?' He touched the patch of very, very angry looking skin under Legolas' arch of the ribcage, at which the Elf hissed and drew back a little.

'Legolas, this is a very bad one-' he continued to feel the area gently, soon to stop after Legolas made a small, throaty noise in his pain. '-It feels to me as though the tendons have been ripped!'

'More likely than not,' came the response in a dry, slightly restrained voice.

Aragorn looked up into the blue orbs of Legolas' eyes to see the sad, crooked smile.

'What happened?' he asked again, softly.

'I said something to Master Gríma that upset him considerably-' he cut off and gave a short, mirthless laugh. 'Too weak to do anything himself, he sent down those men whose acquaintance we had the delight of making in the Golden Hall…'

Aragorn's face paled at this, before he gave a soft prompt… 'This is not the work of a fist, Legolas – what did they use on you?'

'Knuckledusters.'

'Knuckl- oh, Legolas.'

'I know!' the Elf laughed, somewhat highly and unnaturally, his gaze diverted from the face of his friend. 'Of all the things…'

Aragorn perceived the newly reddened eyes as they appeared to find something intensely interesting in the wall behind him, avoiding eye contact with both Man and Elf. He desperately wished to comfort his friend, to hug him. But he knew that such a thing would not be at all appreciated in front of Merry and Pippin, who had paused in their task to look down on their Elven companion, horror across their faces.

Merry exchanged a quick glance with his companion before he commenced with the assignment of climbing again to get the ham, Pippin following closely with an already bulging basket – but his hand slipped as he grasped at a bit of the shelf and he missed. Trying to regain his balance, he caught a large pot with his arm, sending it flying down to the ground below them. It shattered, sending bits flailing into the air. Legolas gave a start, jumping in his surprise, spinning round to see what had caused the crash – an action that consequently hurt him as he moved the bones that he knew were broken in his ribs.

Aragorn and Thranduil looked at each other. True, they too had been shocked by the noise, but not to such an extent as Legolas had been: that was a reaction that none had anticipated. And now both looked on as Legolas shook slightly…

'Sorry…' Pippin said quietly, as though the ensuing silence was something about to die and meriting the utmost quiet and respect.

'Master Hobbits,' began Thranduil, taking on his authoritative tone that was commanding yet kindly. 'I was wondering if you could take that food to some of my men? Not all of them will take it, but I am sure that there will be a few whom will be glad of it.'

'Certainly, my Lord,' Merry bowed – a somewhat dangerous feat considering the fact that he dangled from a shelf some twelve feet in the air. He knew perfectly well that the Elven King wanted them out of the chamber, and he was entirely happy to oblige – he had come to respect the ancient and powerful being. They clambered back down, Merry aiding his friend in the carrying of the basket, and they together passed out of the stone chamber, giving Thranduil a respectful bow, Pippin filling a free pocket with apples as they went.

Legolas still indomitably investigated the wall with his eyes, not daring to raise them to either those of Aragorn or, indeed, his father. He was furious with this display of emotion that he was exhibiting – it was most unbecoming of an Elven warrior of his rank and calibre. Yet all of the pain that he felt – physically and mentally – was too great a weight for his soul to bear any longer without collapse. All too much…

A gentle hand held his chin, pulling his head up tenderly. Still he avoided the eyes of his father, knowing full well that those slate-grey orbs were on him.

'Legolas,' Thranduil uttered softly. 'There is no shame in feeling, ion nin.'

He blinked, feeling the betraying touch of warm water on his cheek as it fell from his eye. He dared to risk stealing a glace at the older Elf – at his father – the eyes of the other soft as they held him lovingly.

'You have been through a lot in the past few of weeks,' Aragorn uttered softly. 'More than any other would have been able to survive. But you have. You possess a strength of character that I am yet to see rivalled, Legolas Greenleaf. This is no display of weakness.'

Thranduil cupped the face of his son in a hand, carefully avoiding the bruising and cuts, holding the averse gaze of Legolas.

'I am so proud of you,' the King voiced quietly yet strongly, and Aragorn could hear the fierce pride in his tone. Thranduil was not one to lie, especially to one so dear to him as Legolas was, his only living kin.

Legolas buried his face into the hand, finally succumbing to the offered comfort, his defensive barriers lowered at the words of his father. His eyes squeezed shut, causing more tears to spill from them, and he took in a shuddering breath as Thranduil pulled him into his chest, holding his son with a parents' love.

"By the Valar," the King thought sadly. "The last time I did this was when his mother died…"

He could feel his own eyes become hot, a mixture of emotions fuelling the fire – that time, all of those years ago when they had both sustained that greatest of losses. The fact that he had not been there for his son the last time he had needed him, a mere three weeks ago. The way in which Legolas, full-grown and wise after his own right, experienced in things that could never be taught to him, warrior of Mirkwood, cried into his chest, so very in need of this physical comfort. He might have been independent, but there were some things that Thranduil could still give him.

Aragorn watched on, a sad smile playing over his lips. It was good that Thranduil was able to help his friend: Aragorn had managed last time, but only just. It had taken wholly selfish pleas to get Legolas to come back to him and finally tell him what irked him to such an extent that he flashed the keen edges of his temper. But this was a different kind of hurt compared to last time, and he knew that there was only one capable of giving the remedy needed to quell this new pain.

'Come on,' Thranduil finally said, drawing away from his son. 'Let us allow the Master Healer to continue with his task.'

Aragorn bowed his head at this, coming back over to Legolas as the King stepped back to permit him full access. The Ranger leant over the table to inspect Legolas' back – and gave a hiss at what he saw. His hands gently touched a livid bruise in the middle of his back and to the right, to which Legolas pulled away at the feather-light touch. Aragorn came round again to his friends' front, an eyebrow arched.

'No more broken bones, eh?'

Legolas smiled guiltily.

'Perhaps just a cracked one, then.'

'More like two cracked ones,' Aragorn contradicted, as he placed his hand back on the inflamed, heated area, making sure that his touch was lighter. He scooped some of his paste out and rubbed it into the interestingly coloured patch of flesh, and then came away again, gathering up a large amount of bandage.

'Do I have to have that on?' Legolas sighed, watching the bandaging as Aragorn unwound it with speedy skilled hands.

'Yes, you do. It will help easy the pain a little.'

As Legolas said nothing more, Aragorn took it for acceptance, and wound the strips securely about his friend's ribs.

TRANSLATIONS

Ion nin - My son