A/N: Special thanks to Cheysuli, who seems to have an entire story planned. The evil writer's block has been conquered! (At least for now.)
Legolas repositioned his bow and reclined against the tree's trunk, listening to the night sounds around him. Nothing seemed to indicate danger, so he made himself comfortable on the thick branch and relaxed slightly. The trio had grudgingly decided to stop for the night, but only because they could not risk missing the trail in the dark. He needed far less rest than the others, even in this stressful time, so he'd volunteered to watch. The sooner the Hobbits returned the more secure he'd feel; he was still afraid of the Man's behavior, and knew that Gimli could not always be there to protect him. With more potential witnesses, perhaps Aragorn would be less than likely to do anything.
The soothing sounds of unafraid wildlife calmed him, and he let part of his mind drift. He followed thought trails back to his childhood in Mirkwood, in days before the shadow became so prevalent. He smiled inwardly as memory followed memory: his first horse, and riding with his father; his first archery lesson- the thrill of finally hitting the bullseye. The memory of his first introduction to Lord Elrond and his children came with thoughts of the pranks they had played among themselves. His smile dissolved unnoticed as he remembered his introduction to the human orphan in Elrond's care. Estel had been a shy child, but had quickly warmed to the archer. Legolas became a big brother to the boy, transmuting to friendship as the boy became a man. He'd gotten the surprise of his life when he found that Estel was in fact Aragorn, future King.
He sighed quietly, reflecting on their past. Aragorn had always been a good friend, even when they were being annoyed with each other. He was doubly hurt, then, when the two Men had first assaulted him. He had not been expecting to have to defend himself against them, and did not wish to do severe damage to them. They had not held such restraint, and further outnumbered him. By the time he realized the severity of the situation, it was too late to fight.
The violation of his body had hurt him, but he had had far worse physical injuries in battle. It was the mental anguish of his friend's betrayal that had sent his mind into hiding. He knew Gandalf had cared for him after the fact, but did not remember much of it. The wizard had not pressed him for explanations, once Legolas had declined to speak. He remembered full well what the Men had done, but Aragorn was the best tracker and woodsman they had. Losing him may well have lost lives. Losing trust in him could have had the same result.
Gandalf's loss had driven his spirit further down. He clung desperately to the naive joy the Hobbits seemed to never entirely lose, trying to take it into himself. He had succeeded only in short bursts, when he could forget what had happened and be, if not happy, at least content.
The second attack he still cursed himself for. He had known full well what Aragorn was intending when he sent the archer out for wood, and had still been caught. His duty to the Fellowship had called him to rise and care for himself when his spirit would have preferred he never rise again. He'd had periods of painfully heightened sensation for nearly three days following the incident, as the drug worked its way out of his system.
He'd had another surprise awaiting him that night, one more pleasant. The dwarf had realized that something was not right, and had taken it upon himself to see to his new friend. Gimli had held him as he cried that night, allowing Legolas to turn full responsibility to someone else for the time being and simply feel. The dwarf never mentioned that night, but Legolas knew he was watched, and felt safer from it.
His thoughts were disturbed by the swift introduction of a rock and his temple. Dazed, he could not resist as rough hands pulled him from his perch. One hand covered his mouth; another wrapped around his throat, propelling him forward. He stumbled as his vision spun.
Several yards from their campsite, well out of sight, the hands released him with a shove, sending him sprawling. Confused, he tried to rise, only to be floored again by a kick to his stomach. He tried to focus bleary eyes on his attacker, and saw just what he had feared. Aragorn was enraged; despair tinted his eyes.
"You let him die," the Ranger hissed viciously, kicking the elf again. "The high and glorious Prince of Mirkwood, too busy saving his own neck to help a friend in need." Legolas tried to defend himself, but was cut off by a swift blow to the head, adding to the pain he felt there already. He thought he felt his cheekbone crack, but the punishment to his ribs and stomach, and the pain in his throat, made it impossible to speak, or even cry out. He could only curl helplessly around his abused middle, his vision still swimming sickeningly as the Man vented his rage.
Gimli woke to the sound of stumbling feet. He leapt up and grabbed his axe, and was ready to fight when two figures shuffled into the campsite. He let the axe fall as he recognized him companions, and rushed forward to help support the injured elf. Aragorn allowed him to take Legolas, while the Ranger removed several herbs and bandages from various pockets and pouches. Gimli watched suspiciously as the Man tended Legolas' wounds. The elf's hand crept to his, and frightened blue eyes met his own brown ones. Gimli rubbed his thumb soothingly over the elf's hand, and Legolas relaxed, the fear in his eyes lessening, fading eventually into sleep. Without releasing the elf's hand, he turned to Aragorn. "What happened?"
Aragorn studied the sleeping figure, checking his work. "I woke to Nature's call, and saw him missing. There was a noise further off, and I followed it to a trio of orcs. They had overcome him somehow. They didn't expect me, so I was able to surprise them. Legolas and I took care of them."
"Why didn't you call me? My axe is always eager to taste orc," Gimli told him, keeping his disbelief out of his voice.
The Ranger didn't meet his eyes, but answered without hesitation. "There was no time, and I did not wish to alert them to our presence." He rose abruptly. "I shall take the watch tonight. Look over him."
Gimli narrowed his eyes at the retreating Ranger. Legolas stirred beside him, and dwarf turned to find pain-filled eyes gazing at him. He allowed the elf to propel himself into the security of his arms. Gimli shifted until he was beneath the elf's upper body, while the archer wrapped trembling arms around his comforter. Gimli waited until his friend's tears had slowed, then carefully tilted the blonde head to look at him.
"Legolas," he murmured. The elf looked at him dully. "Will you tell me?" He didn't truly expect an answer. Sure enough, the elf shook his head slowly, looking down. Gimli accepted this for the moment, but a flash of something prompted him to lift Legolas' chin once again. He ran a feather-light touch along the heavy bruising on the elf's throat, pulling away with a murmured apology when his friend winced. The dwarf held onto his friend, letting him burrow back into the haven of scratchy beard. He had his suspicions, had held them since the night Legolas had returned with a bloody cloak and no visible injuries, but without the elf's cooperation, there was little he could do but watch. He held the now still elf closer, rocking him gently, and vowed to do everything he could to protect this creature.
-- I don't know what color Gimli's eyes are, but since it's a tiny detail, I just picked one.
