This is kinda short, but there's more to come.  Honest.

The Men had left the frozen elf in the clearing.  As they turned to go Strider had tossed his herb pouch onto the cloak they had lain upon.  "Clean yourself up and get back," he ordered.  Then he grinned mockingly.  "And don't forget the wood."

          Legolas lay still for some time, mobility slowly creeping back into his limbs.  His cloak was cold and stiff with blood- his blood.  He gathered his strength and rolled off, onto the soothing earth.  When he could rise, he reluctantly took the herbs and began to treat his injuries.  He no longer wished to live; elves are passionate creatures inside, and can die of mental trauma, especially rape.  He shook himself away from that train of thought.  No matter what his injuries, he had to protect the Hobbits.  He had a duty, to the Fellowship, and to all Middle Earth, to protect the Ring.

          Gimli had been ready to seek Legolas out when the elf finally returned to the clearing bearing an armful of wood and cloth.  He relaxed slightly, seeing that his friend had not needed to be carried back comatose, but tensed again when the elf merely dropped the wood quietly and left again, heading for the river.  He watched from the corner of his eye as he woke Frodo and Sam to keep the watch, then followed the elf.  Legolas' movements seemed odd.  He trailed along as quietly as he could, stopping when he saw the elf at the river's edge.  The starlight shone brightly, and he could easily make out the dark stains the elf was scrubbing from his cloak.  He frowned and stepped forward.  "Elf…" he began, and was baffled as Legolas started in fear.  He scowled inwardly.  Legolas should have heard him coming, should have known he was there.

          "What do you want?" Legolas asked dully, still scrubbing mechanically at the fabric.

          "That's blood.  A lot of it.  And considering where it is, I'm betting it's yours."  The elf made no reply.  "What happened, Legolas?"  Gimli placed a light hand on his shoulder, confused when the elf shied away.  "You have never been afraid of me before.  What is different now?"  Legolas sat still, his scrubbing forgotten.  "Maybe you see someone else beside you." 

          Legolas lowered his head.  The dwarf saw tears glimmer on his pale cheeks.  Reacting as he would to a frightened child, for the elf resembled one despite his years, the dwarf loosely embraced the elf, holding him lightly against his chest, trying to comfort him without making him feel trapped.

          Legolas stiffened at the touch, then collapsed into his new friend's arms.  He would not, he *could* not, turn to the innocent Hobbits for this.  This battle-hardened comrade would be better able to understand the duty that drove him, and the pain he must endure. 

          The dwarf did not ask for explanations.  He simply held the weeping elf in the starlight.

          Legolas watched impassively as the boat carrying Boromir's body disappeared from sight.  He fought to keep his face still as he struggled with his fears.  He had withdrawn since the last incident, speaking only when necessary, sleeping only because the Fellowship needed his eyes and bow.  He glanced now at Aragorn, but the Ranger stood silently, tears on his face.

          An irrational, but very real fear planted itself in the elf's chest.  It would not be unusual for sadness to lash out as anger; he feared what the Man might do.

          In the following days the elf pulled into himself further, focusing only on their hunt. He slept, when necessary, beside Gimli.  In his calmer moments he could almost find it amusing that he would turn to one of a race he had long mistrusted for protection.