Wow, chapters are in double digests now!!!
(Thoughtful pause)
Ok, ok I know what you're thinking, shut up and get to the story, well here ya big meanies "cough" raven "cough"............
Chapter Ten: Hollow and Alone
"But all the vacancy The words reveled Is the only real thing I've got left to feel Nothing to lose Just stuck Hollow and alone
And the fault is my own
And the fault is my own"............Linkin' Park
The dawn came slowly, starting as a cold grey mist that hung low on the ground. As the last of moon light faded and the last of night's candles burnt out, (William Shakespeare's line not mine, so don't sue) and the sun's dawning light pierced through the grey mist, the camp began to stir.
"Have you been up all night?" Came the call from the ground, grumbling something inauditable Legolas slid down the beeches branches to the ground.
Rondiath was a tall strong man of 9-and-50, with an aura of masterly authority. His dark hair was shaggy and graying slightly, his eyes were a hard steel color but they could become a soft morning dove grey when the situation called for it. But mostly when it came to matters this particular elf, they were in a tone of when a teaching master when a pupil has done something foolish.
"So, setting yourself up for target practice, *again*." The man said to him, looking down to the elf that was shorter then him by a few half inches and looked back at Rondiath with a slightly impudent gaze of one who awaits lecture.
"Do ever stop to think for one moment that these acts of yours are going to get you killed one day child?" he asked. Although Legolas was at lest a century older then Rondiath, he often used that title when he was annoyed with him. In truth though Rondiath did look much older then him, and also in truth my elven standards Legolas was only the equivalent of seventeen approaching eighteen and his features and stature betrayed the reckoning.
"Well, as the situation was, there were two dozen other people that could have been hurt but I had an idea-"
"You always have an 'idea' Legolas, and your ideas almost always put at odds with things that weld swords!"
"Wouldn't you do the same?" The question was more of an interrogation.
Rondiath looked hard into the young elf's eyes and youthful but worn face. Rondiath knew that his immortal was more then a century his senior, but his face and heart were young, younger then Rondiath's, and also caring wounds that had not closed and healed yet even though he covered the scars well, either with long sleeves or a mask of impassiveness. His only betraying feature was his weathered blue eyes. There silvery overcast lent itself an icy gaze, these eyes that belonged to one who seemed no more then seventeen but any youthful vitality and clarity that should be there were not, and the royal blue visage was marred by suffering. A suffering that is ordinarily not inflicted upon one that was so young, nor should be. It was the kind of suffering that was inflicted by a betrayal. A betrayal that is felt deep, of trust, guidance, and love. The numbness in these sapphire depths seemed almost unimaginable.
"Yes," Rondiath answered the question, "I would do the same." A small, proud grimace flashed across the blue eyes, "But I have never seen someone who invited Death to themselves so willingly as you." He then left Legolas with those words.
~*~
The stream that flowed just outside there camp was sparkling and made the sweetest sounds as it tipped over stones, like the gay laughing of children on a summer's day. Legolas sat beside it looking across the water to the woods of his home, or what had been his home. How long ago had it been? How many years had it been?
//(Flashback) Rondiath was scouting out the new campsite for the night, he thought he saw a small dark object or form to the left of the hollow of beech trees on the northern edges of Mirkwood. Knowing of the beasts that prowled the forests of the Wood, Rondiath drew his sword and cautiously inspected what might be there.
He was shocked to find that it was a boy. Twelve, maybe thirteen years old, he was even more surprised to see that the boy was an elf and unconscious. Trying to wake him, Rondiath shook the boy's shoulder; it wasn't until then that he noticed the blood on the dead leaves around them, and that it came from the young elf's arm.
Rondiath saw that one sleeve of the boy's tunic had been torn off to make a bandage for the laceration on his left arm. Unwrapping the bloodied material from the elf's arm he gasped at the sight. A jagged cut ran from the boy's wrist all the way up to nearly the middle of his upper arm, and it was precariously sewn together with ruff stitches. Blood dripped from the crux of his elbow and from points on his forearm, the skin just around the laceration was red and burning with on infection, the rest of his skin was a stark, ashy white.
"Celebdur!" Rondiath shouted, "Quickly, bring a healer!"
Celebdur came hurriedly with a healer called Tolbeth, the two newcomers' eyes widened when they say the boy, and the bloody wound on his arm. Tolbeth knelled by the young elf immediately, she took his arm gently and examined the wound. She was worried by the way his skin was deathly pale, and his forehead and the wound were casting enough heat to warm a whole room.
"Set up camp," Tolbeth instructed, "Put up one of the tents and a cot with extra blankets, and I'll need hot water."
Celebdur and the others of the company went to work setting up the camp and the sickbay, Tolbeth and Ansatin, her assistant that she was training looked after the boy. The tent for the healer and apprentice went up first; Ansatin built a fire outside the tent and fetched water from a nearby stream to boil while Tolbeth examined their charge's wound and to see what was causing the infection.
When Ansatin brought in the water, Tolbeth took a cloth, dipped it in the steaming water, and preceded to wipe away the dirt, sweat and dried blood from the long, deep laceration on her patient's arm careful of the stitches that were holding the wound together.
Ansatin came over to his master, "Can we take the old stitches out, Master Tolbeth?" He asked.
"No, he'll bleed to death before we could sew it again because the infection is too strong now, it's naur." Tolbeth said to her student.
Ansatin's eyes widened with the one word, naur was a virus that infected fresh, bloody wounds. The infection caused the victim to bleed twice what they should if cut. If wounds that were infected weren't sewed at once, or if the stitches were removed the victim could bleed to death within minutes.
"Then what do we do?" Ansatin asked.
"We'll stitch up the points that are bleeding and see if there is any falmau growing near. It will slow the infection, but to cure it we will have to let it run it's course." Tolbeth answered. There was no cure for the naur, they would have to wait and see if the young elf had enough strength left to survive. // (End flashback)
Legolas grimaced slightly as a twinge was sent through his left arm, not much this time. The old stitches had never been able to come out, and never would be, the infection had damaged the blood vessels too much.
He hadn't wanted to stay with them, but they didn't want to let him go. It wasn't imprisonment, he and anyone else was free to go whenever they wished. He guessed the longing to be somewhere was greater then he had expected and he had stayed. They were good people, but they were rumors spread about them, and anyone who did follow them. Celebdur was their leader, not just because he was the one who had started the band, him and Rondiath and few others had been outcasts and had picked up anyone who wished to stay with them, Celebdur was the wisest of them all, and had compassion for everything that was on Middle Earth.
Still, the elf felt out of place. He was more aloof then the others and even though there other elves in the band, but there were not many............not many elves were outcast for their homes to begin with.
'If you wanted to runaway you should have *runaway*.' His tortured him again and again. The only thing he seemed to have left to feel was hollowness.
"Legolas." Someone called pulling him from thought.
"Yes?" He answered. It was Rondiath.
"So, seeking the solace of the river?" He asked going over to stand next to the elf.
"I needed to get away from everyone for a while." He said blandly, Rondiath snorted slightly.
"I came to ask you about something that Celebdur asked you about a few nights ago." Rondiath informed him.
"What is it?" Legolas asked rising.
"About this." Rondiath produced the small silver ring. "Celebdur wanted to know if you recognized this, and if you knew the boy that wore it."
Legolas stared pointedly at Rondiath; the silver of his own eyes seemed like a cold frost of old pain over the sapphire.
"Yes, I did." He said simply coolly, but not without an undertone of anger, pain and a blizzard of other emotions.
"What happened to him?" the other asked offering the band to the elf that took it gingerly in his hand this time, fingering it gently as if it might bite. His felt his chest swell, his eyes grew hard and the tone of his voice grew bitter.
"He's dead!" He said more sharply then intended and threw the ring to the ground and walk away.
TBC
There! Are you happy now!?
Just review please and continue to keep giving me swift kicks to remind me to keep my butt in gear!
(Thoughtful pause)
Ok, ok I know what you're thinking, shut up and get to the story, well here ya big meanies "cough" raven "cough"............
Chapter Ten: Hollow and Alone
"But all the vacancy The words reveled Is the only real thing I've got left to feel Nothing to lose Just stuck Hollow and alone
And the fault is my own
And the fault is my own"............Linkin' Park
The dawn came slowly, starting as a cold grey mist that hung low on the ground. As the last of moon light faded and the last of night's candles burnt out, (William Shakespeare's line not mine, so don't sue) and the sun's dawning light pierced through the grey mist, the camp began to stir.
"Have you been up all night?" Came the call from the ground, grumbling something inauditable Legolas slid down the beeches branches to the ground.
Rondiath was a tall strong man of 9-and-50, with an aura of masterly authority. His dark hair was shaggy and graying slightly, his eyes were a hard steel color but they could become a soft morning dove grey when the situation called for it. But mostly when it came to matters this particular elf, they were in a tone of when a teaching master when a pupil has done something foolish.
"So, setting yourself up for target practice, *again*." The man said to him, looking down to the elf that was shorter then him by a few half inches and looked back at Rondiath with a slightly impudent gaze of one who awaits lecture.
"Do ever stop to think for one moment that these acts of yours are going to get you killed one day child?" he asked. Although Legolas was at lest a century older then Rondiath, he often used that title when he was annoyed with him. In truth though Rondiath did look much older then him, and also in truth my elven standards Legolas was only the equivalent of seventeen approaching eighteen and his features and stature betrayed the reckoning.
"Well, as the situation was, there were two dozen other people that could have been hurt but I had an idea-"
"You always have an 'idea' Legolas, and your ideas almost always put at odds with things that weld swords!"
"Wouldn't you do the same?" The question was more of an interrogation.
Rondiath looked hard into the young elf's eyes and youthful but worn face. Rondiath knew that his immortal was more then a century his senior, but his face and heart were young, younger then Rondiath's, and also caring wounds that had not closed and healed yet even though he covered the scars well, either with long sleeves or a mask of impassiveness. His only betraying feature was his weathered blue eyes. There silvery overcast lent itself an icy gaze, these eyes that belonged to one who seemed no more then seventeen but any youthful vitality and clarity that should be there were not, and the royal blue visage was marred by suffering. A suffering that is ordinarily not inflicted upon one that was so young, nor should be. It was the kind of suffering that was inflicted by a betrayal. A betrayal that is felt deep, of trust, guidance, and love. The numbness in these sapphire depths seemed almost unimaginable.
"Yes," Rondiath answered the question, "I would do the same." A small, proud grimace flashed across the blue eyes, "But I have never seen someone who invited Death to themselves so willingly as you." He then left Legolas with those words.
~*~
The stream that flowed just outside there camp was sparkling and made the sweetest sounds as it tipped over stones, like the gay laughing of children on a summer's day. Legolas sat beside it looking across the water to the woods of his home, or what had been his home. How long ago had it been? How many years had it been?
//(Flashback) Rondiath was scouting out the new campsite for the night, he thought he saw a small dark object or form to the left of the hollow of beech trees on the northern edges of Mirkwood. Knowing of the beasts that prowled the forests of the Wood, Rondiath drew his sword and cautiously inspected what might be there.
He was shocked to find that it was a boy. Twelve, maybe thirteen years old, he was even more surprised to see that the boy was an elf and unconscious. Trying to wake him, Rondiath shook the boy's shoulder; it wasn't until then that he noticed the blood on the dead leaves around them, and that it came from the young elf's arm.
Rondiath saw that one sleeve of the boy's tunic had been torn off to make a bandage for the laceration on his left arm. Unwrapping the bloodied material from the elf's arm he gasped at the sight. A jagged cut ran from the boy's wrist all the way up to nearly the middle of his upper arm, and it was precariously sewn together with ruff stitches. Blood dripped from the crux of his elbow and from points on his forearm, the skin just around the laceration was red and burning with on infection, the rest of his skin was a stark, ashy white.
"Celebdur!" Rondiath shouted, "Quickly, bring a healer!"
Celebdur came hurriedly with a healer called Tolbeth, the two newcomers' eyes widened when they say the boy, and the bloody wound on his arm. Tolbeth knelled by the young elf immediately, she took his arm gently and examined the wound. She was worried by the way his skin was deathly pale, and his forehead and the wound were casting enough heat to warm a whole room.
"Set up camp," Tolbeth instructed, "Put up one of the tents and a cot with extra blankets, and I'll need hot water."
Celebdur and the others of the company went to work setting up the camp and the sickbay, Tolbeth and Ansatin, her assistant that she was training looked after the boy. The tent for the healer and apprentice went up first; Ansatin built a fire outside the tent and fetched water from a nearby stream to boil while Tolbeth examined their charge's wound and to see what was causing the infection.
When Ansatin brought in the water, Tolbeth took a cloth, dipped it in the steaming water, and preceded to wipe away the dirt, sweat and dried blood from the long, deep laceration on her patient's arm careful of the stitches that were holding the wound together.
Ansatin came over to his master, "Can we take the old stitches out, Master Tolbeth?" He asked.
"No, he'll bleed to death before we could sew it again because the infection is too strong now, it's naur." Tolbeth said to her student.
Ansatin's eyes widened with the one word, naur was a virus that infected fresh, bloody wounds. The infection caused the victim to bleed twice what they should if cut. If wounds that were infected weren't sewed at once, or if the stitches were removed the victim could bleed to death within minutes.
"Then what do we do?" Ansatin asked.
"We'll stitch up the points that are bleeding and see if there is any falmau growing near. It will slow the infection, but to cure it we will have to let it run it's course." Tolbeth answered. There was no cure for the naur, they would have to wait and see if the young elf had enough strength left to survive. // (End flashback)
Legolas grimaced slightly as a twinge was sent through his left arm, not much this time. The old stitches had never been able to come out, and never would be, the infection had damaged the blood vessels too much.
He hadn't wanted to stay with them, but they didn't want to let him go. It wasn't imprisonment, he and anyone else was free to go whenever they wished. He guessed the longing to be somewhere was greater then he had expected and he had stayed. They were good people, but they were rumors spread about them, and anyone who did follow them. Celebdur was their leader, not just because he was the one who had started the band, him and Rondiath and few others had been outcasts and had picked up anyone who wished to stay with them, Celebdur was the wisest of them all, and had compassion for everything that was on Middle Earth.
Still, the elf felt out of place. He was more aloof then the others and even though there other elves in the band, but there were not many............not many elves were outcast for their homes to begin with.
'If you wanted to runaway you should have *runaway*.' His tortured him again and again. The only thing he seemed to have left to feel was hollowness.
"Legolas." Someone called pulling him from thought.
"Yes?" He answered. It was Rondiath.
"So, seeking the solace of the river?" He asked going over to stand next to the elf.
"I needed to get away from everyone for a while." He said blandly, Rondiath snorted slightly.
"I came to ask you about something that Celebdur asked you about a few nights ago." Rondiath informed him.
"What is it?" Legolas asked rising.
"About this." Rondiath produced the small silver ring. "Celebdur wanted to know if you recognized this, and if you knew the boy that wore it."
Legolas stared pointedly at Rondiath; the silver of his own eyes seemed like a cold frost of old pain over the sapphire.
"Yes, I did." He said simply coolly, but not without an undertone of anger, pain and a blizzard of other emotions.
"What happened to him?" the other asked offering the band to the elf that took it gingerly in his hand this time, fingering it gently as if it might bite. His felt his chest swell, his eyes grew hard and the tone of his voice grew bitter.
"He's dead!" He said more sharply then intended and threw the ring to the ground and walk away.
TBC
There! Are you happy now!?
Just review please and continue to keep giving me swift kicks to remind me to keep my butt in gear!