One friend To Another

Chapter 2. Fine

Legolas pushed open the door to his allotted room in The Last Homely House of Rivendell and strode over immediately to the window, stopping only briefly to throw his tunic onto the huge bed. The elf opened the double doors and stepped out onto the small railed balcony and gazed out into the dark night with a sigh, his hands reaching automatically for the railing and leaning his weight there as the slight breeze played with his unbraided hair.

A smell reached his nose from the flora that surrounded the sanctuary that was Imladris, the smell of dew dampened grass, the nutty smell of Autumn browned leaves and, just barely detectable, the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle.

"A sanctuary" he whispered to himself.

He had often heard the realm of Elrond referred to as such by his fellow Wood Elves when they grew tired of the darkness and danger of Mirkwood and retreated in their waking dreams to the green lush waterfall dotted world of Imladris. Did Elladan or Elrohir ever grow tired of the peacefulness of Imladris and imagine themselves defending a dark forest full of gigantic spiders and loathsome orcs, he wondered. Probably, knowing those two. They never stayed cooped up in Rivendell for very long, always looking for some excuse to hunt in the surrounding countryside for deer.though more often than not stirring up some orc nest instead and coming home battered, bruised and invigorated after defeating them and getting a lecture from their Adar as he patched them up. He had heard their tales of adventures in Imladris, they had both never been slow in bragging to him how many orc they had killed, how many minor wounds Elrond had to patch up.

Was an adventure all the dark war was to the twin sons of Elrond? He thought to himself. What was Mirkwood then? An adventure to rush into with excitement and eagerness and bravado to brag about later? Would they brag about the elves they had seen fallen, the elves that remained unaccounted for on return after each mission? Would they laugh at how the orc blade almost took their heads off if not for the elf captain that had instead shot down the vile creature?

With a heavy sigh Legolas shook away the dark thoughts that were welling up and closed his eyes against the guilt that gripped his heart like a vice. He was being unfair, he knew that. The twins were braver than some he had met, had a duty to keep the realm of Imladris free of encroaching orc raids and Shadow. It was the twins and Glorfindel and many others that fought hard to keep this place the sanctuary it had become. They kept it safe with their grand orc-hunts and adventures.

The wind suddenly turned chilly and Legolas shivered as his silk shirt was whipped up around him. He straightened with a wince and turned to go back into the bedroom behind him to retrieve his tunic. Goosebumps pricked the flesh of his arms as he walked back in, as his cold skin met the warmth of the fire heated room. Whether it was the sudden cosy heat of the room or the dark turn of his thoughts outside, Legolas wasn't sure but he suddenly felt bone weary. A great tiredness permeated his entire being, an ache flowed through every muscle in his body and he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

Glancing once more out into the night shadows, Legolas tried to remember the last time he had sung. The last time had been here, in Rivendell, in this bedchamber, on that balcony at night, he had stood there and sung a soft melody to the moon. His voice had risen high, reaching the farthest outposts of Imladris in a stirring ballad. All who heard the beauty of that voice knew who it was that sang, and they smiled to themselves at the beauty in the singing voice, the joy in the words and melody.

He could not bring himself to sing now.

Lifting his tunic from the bed Legolas carried it to the wardrobe and hung it up then pulled off his shirt, depositing it on a nearby chair for the laundry maid to collect tomorrow morning. Turning toward the bed he strode to the basin of washing water waiting beside it on the night stand, scooping his hands into it and splashing his face with the cool clean water. Straightening he caught a glimpse of his face in the small vanity mirror in front of him and froze, feeling the water drip down his face and onto his bare torso as he stared at the stranger's face looking back at him. When had his face turned so gaunt, his eyes so dull? Was this the face of a great brave warrior...or a prince?

Legolas felt shame well up inside him at the shadow he had become. He had thought he had kept it all hidden. Did Elrond, the twins or Glorfindel see this when they looked at him? Is this why he had caught pity in their eyes tonight at supper? He thought back to several hours previously, when they had all gathered on the steps of the Last Homely House to bid goodbye to Mithrandir as he took off on another of his mysterious quests into the wilds. None of the household were surprised that the wizard was leaving already. In these dark times he never stayed in any one place for too long. The wizard had clasped forearms with Elrond in fond farewell, had slapped the twins on the back and warned them to stay out of trouble with a grin. Then he had walked over to Legolas and placed one gnarly hand on his shoulder and given it a gentle squeeze, a strange distant look in his eyes.

"Farewell, Son of Thranduil" the wizard had bade him in a voice no louder than a whisper. "'til we meet again"

Then the wizard had leaped onto the horse he was borrowing from Elrond with a grace that belied his great age and galloped out of the arched gates and into the distance.

Fear and self-loathing bubbled up into Legolas' chest from the deep pit of his abdomen as he remembered that look from the old Wizard.

He hated to be pitied, hated to be looked on with such love and understanding. He didn't want that . He wanted them to hate him, not pity him. Hate the shadow that he had become, just as he hated himself.

Legolas looked up again at the mirror before him, tearing his eyes away from the unfamiliar face reflected there, and looked deeper into the glass of the mirror to the room behind him. He saw the flickering shadows cast into the darkened room from the fireplace. He had forgotten to light any candles when he had entered and the red and orange glow from the flames was all the light the room had to offer.

But he could see just fine.

He could see the reflection of the dressing table that stood by the closed doorway of his wardrobe. He could see the huge mirror above the table that threw the view of his back into the smaller mirror before him. He could see the dark scars that were etched like permanent markers of suffering across his back and shoulders. The old scars of past whips and daggers that cut across the milky perfection of his glowing elven skin.

He looked away from the images in disgust, and cast his eyes instead down to his torso, to the scar in the centre of his left pectoral from the black arrow he had received six months ago and that should have disappeared shortly after, erased by his elven powers of healing. The puckered skin was a stark reminder of that long night in Mirkwood when he had led a large patrol out into the forest. The previous patrol had reported spiders larger than ever seen before in the far west and Legolas had gone out with his best scouts to find and destroy them. They had found the spider nests easily and attacked, catching the huge arachnids off guard. The fight should have been over quickly, the spiders defeated, the patrol safe and on their way home before dawn. But it had not gone that way.

As the last spider had fallen Legolas had watched the huge corpse tumble down from the tree he was fighting in, following the black shape to the ground as it landed on it's back and lay still. Satisfied the hideous creature was dead he turned to his captain to give the signal to regroup on the ground - when suddenly he felt himself flung back against the tree trunk with an excruciating pain in his chest. He had felt the air driven out of his lungs, the fiery pain scream through his body, and the long hard fall to the ground just as the spider had done not moments before...

When he awoke days later back in his room in the palace, his father had told him that half of his patrol had been killed, cut down by orcs as they stood in defence of their prone prince lying helpless on the forest floor. Thranduil named each elf that had fallen that night, each soldier and friend that had given his or her life for their prince. His father did not blame him. Their families had not blamed him as he stood by the king's side another week later as the entire realm sang a lament to the dead elves. Nobody blamed him for the huge loss to the realm that night. Nobody had to. He blamed himself. And they knew it.

He had stood by his father and sung with his people the haunting lament of bravery and mourning and loss, and he asked himself over and over in his own head why they had died and he had lived.

They had been his responsibility. He was the one who should have sent out a scout to comb the area for the orcs that he should have known would be working in league with the spiders and had been laying in wait until the elves relaxed and give up their positions in the trees and then fired every poison-tipped arrow they had at the unsuspecting warriors.

Unsuspecting.

He should have known they were there. He should have checked the bushes that dotted the entire area for danger. He should have sensed their presence. He should have...

Legolas let out a gasping sob and his head raised again to the mirror in front of him as he struggled to breathe . Now the gaunt stranger that stared back at him had tears coursing down his cheeks to run in rivulets down his scarred chest. He felt the pain now from the wound just as fresh as the day he had woken in the palace. He had lied when he had told the healers that the wound no longer pained him and he felt fine and able to go back out with his warriors on patrol again. If anyone had asked him if he was alright if he stumbled or they caught a wince on his face if he had moved too suddenly he always gave them all, including his father, the same answer, with the same tired smile plastered on his face. "I am fine"

Legolas washed the tears from his face, pulled back the sheets and climbed into the warm inviting bed.

He waited for sleep to claim him and the nightmares to begin.

He was anything but fine.

TBC.