Thank you all for the reviews, I'm sorry the updates aren't as frequent as I'd like them to be, but I'm trying.
Over the next week I spent most of my time in a bed in one of Elrond's healing rooms. A daily routine of stretching, bandage changing and breakfast came about. After that I would either immerse myself in a book that Elrohir had let me borrow or would teach Elrohir the basics he would need to learn to sign with me.
I taught him the manual alphabet; he seemed to be fascinated with the variety of hand shapes that had been created. I explained that sign was a four dimensional language, holding many advantages over spoken languages, which are only three-dimensional.
Sign not only uses the three spatial dimensions, length, height, and width, but also uses time, which allows for complex concepts to be conveyed much more quickly and clearly than is capable in a three dimensional language.
Elrohir soaked up my knowledge like a sponge does water. He was one of the fastest adult studies I'd ever taught. I seemed to be healing as quickly as Elrohir was learning; I soon began to push myself again while stretching; it felt nice to start getting my full flexibility again. At the end of the week I decided that I could start practicing again.
The next morning after I had eaten breakfast I asked Elrohir if I could have a tour of the grounds. He agreed, eager to learn signs for the objects around his home. During our expedition I must have shown Elrohir over two dozen new signs; he seemed enthralled by the variety of gestures I used. While we were out and about I looked for a nice flat area that I could practice gymnastics in. I found an even expanse of ground near the practice grounds where, as Elrohir explained, he and his brother practiced hand-to-hand combat as well as sword and staff fighting. I thought about the path from my room to the practice grounds and committed it to memory.
Elrohir showed me the dining room and kitchen, as well as the archery range, the gardens, and the many corridors of rooms and libraries contained within numerous long hallways. He introduced me to countless people we ran into throughout the day. All of the elves we ran into were more beautiful than books could ever describe. By the end of the day I was feeling very short and very mundane. I forcefully shoved the feelings out of my mind.
The following morning I walked the path from my room to the practice grounds, perfectly remembering every turn. I stood for a moment spellbound watching the elves practice combat. Their movement was swift but also perfectly timed, graceful, and purposeful. I shook myself from the rapture and commenced my series of stretches. I began with simple tumbling, stand – drop – roll – stand again, easy. So I moved on to backwards rolls from standing, also easy. I was amazed how easily my body remembered the movements after such a beating. I went through cartwheels, back handsprings, forward handsprings, and a number of other aerial moves. Confident that my body was recovering I began an old routine. I went slowly at first, but sped up over time until I was flashing through the air and over the ground like I had done in the gymnasium. Once finished I stood breathing hard, it was more taxing than it would have been if I had been fully recovered and in practice. I looked around and found the elves watching me. I blushed, turning a shade of bright red I'm not sure if I had ever accomplished before.
I retreated from my practice area and back to my room, safe from the stares of all those people. I changed into some clean clothes that had appeared in my room at some point during my practice. Then I snatched a book off the bedside table and buried myself in it, hoping no one would bother me until my nerves had settled again. I hated being watched, I hated being stared at by anyone now. I used to enjoy the looks of awe I'd receive from any audience; but since that night I loathed any sort of attention I acquired.
I set the book aside, my thoughts returned to that night. I hadn't let myself think about it for a while now. I dropped from my chair to the floor and curled up. I felt so dirty, so violated and used. My own blood had branded me not worthy of life or love. Tears slid down my face and I watched them drip onto the wooden floors; they lay there, a tribute to my pain and sadness.
I had tried to keep thoughts of that night out of my mind, but they would force themselves upon me just as my brother had. It was like being raped by my own mind, I wasn't safe anywhere. I slammed my hand onto the floor; it stung, turning my palm red. I stared at the red surface of my palm, watching the color slowly blend into its natural pale tone.
I took a deep breath and attempted to calm my mind. Managing the feat I stood up and wiped the tears from my face; then I sat back down in the chair and picked up my book once again.