Legolas
They all thought he was doing well. Legolas hadn't cut himself in a week. He'd been having three meals each day and hadn't thrown up after any of them. True, all of these things had been under duress, but his father and Estel were simply glad that they'd managed to bully him into sticking to their basic requirements.
He hadn't cried or had a panic attack since that first night. His father was thrilled, sure that Legolas was on the mend. Estel wasn't fooled as easily, but he seemed to be waiting for Elrond's lead before pushing Legolas to talk about anything he didn't want to. Several times, he'd urged Legolas to talk to him, to tell him what was bothering him, but he never insisted past the prince's initial refusal.
Sometimes, it was all Legolas could do to keep the self-loathing off his face. He'd never felt more flawed, more imperfect in his life. It was all he could do to keep his composure when eating, and with each bite, his bitter hatred for himself increased. Without his knife, there was no way to release it.
Estel had promised he wouldn't let Legolas drown, but Legolas was drowning now more than ever under his friend's care. Estel just didn't understand. He was like a ray of light; he had no idea what it was to be like Legolas, fundamentally defective and desperately grasping at any way to claw his way out of the pit of his own ineptitude.
He hadn't helped his father with matters of rule since Estel had first found out his secret. He wasn't trusted with weapons anymore. He wasn't even trusted to be on his own. Legolas had even tried to read, thinking to educate himself on some of the more arcane forms of warfare, but he couldn't focus. He needed his knife; somehow, he'd become useless without it to correct him when he erred.
His mind was muddled with exhaustion. Each night, he pretended to sleep. Elves needed less sleep than men, but after a week, even he was taking strain. He was sure that if he let his guard down long enough to fall asleep, he would break.
"Brother!"
Legolas cringed as the twins entered the room, pulling Estel into a rough hug. Estel laughed as he greeted them, the relief in his voice clear. If the twins were here, it meant Elrond was here too.
Elladan and Elrohir turned on him, greeting him just as happily and boisterously as they had Estel. Legolas tried to smile for them, and failed. Just another thing he failed at. Why was he even alive? Was there ever an elf more useless than he?
"Legolas?" Estel stood close, watching him carefully.
Legolas did his best to school his expression. "I'm fine, Estel."
Estel nodded, clearly not believing it.
"How are you doing?" Elrohir clasped the prince's arm, an expression of such tender concern on his face that Legolas had to shut his eyes to block it out, lest he break down.
"I'm fine," he repeated.
Elladan laughed. "I'd have thought that after all these years, you'd have come up with something smarter when trying to fool us. We haven't believed 'I'm fine' from you for centuries, Legolas."
Legolas nodded, his eyes on the floor. Before, he could have fun with the twins, and especially with Estel. Now, it was taking all of his energy not to fall apart simply by breathing. He felt stretched and exhausted. He just wanted to be left alone.
The twins' faces fell, and Legolas berated himself fiercely for not putting up a better show for them. Some perfect prince you are.
"Come, Ada said we should join him and Thranduil for lunch." Elladan pulled a cheerful smile back onto his face. "You coming, Legolas?"
Like he had a choice. Legolas simply nodded. He was silent as Estel and his brothers chatted on their way to the king's private dining hall. He was too busy dreading his imminent encounter with Elrond to follow their conversation. The elf lord would see right through his silence. Legolas was sure that Elrond would have only to look at him to divine his deepest thoughts.
He was terrified that Elrond's kind smile and gentle understanding would break through his façade, and then he'd be a weeping mess again, even more pathetic than he was before.
They got to the dining room before Elrond and Thranduil, but the two joined the group shortly. Thranduil's eyes were suspiciously red, and Legolas knew that his father had once more been crying over him. Perhaps the king wasn't as assured of Legolas' improving mental state as the prince had thought.
"Legolas." Elrond pulled him into a gentle hug.
"Hir nin." Legolas remained stiff, waiting for it to end. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he blinked rapidly, fighting the burning desire to lunge for the butter knife and slash his arms with it. He only restrained himself with the knowledge that five sets of hands would stop him before he even got close.
"Come, let us eat, and then you and I will talk."
Perhaps he'd gone pale, because Estel suddenly put an arm under Legolas' elbow, as though expecting him to collapse.
They sat down, and Legolas thanked the Valar that no one seemed to expect him to participate in their light conversation of travel and weather conditions. He stared down at his plate, which contained two chicken breasts and some roasted vegetables.
Why, why did he have to do this? He was having a hard enough time dealing with his fear of the imminent meeting with Elrond, and food was only going to make it harder. He scarcely had the energy or mental control left after his worry to force himself to eat with composure, but he knew that no one at this table would accept that excuse.
"Mellon nin? Talk to me." Estel leaned close, speaking in his ear, his hand slipping into Legolas' cold one. Legolas closed his eyes. It would be so easy to squeeze back, to take Estel's hand and the comfort and strength it offered, but he knew then that he would lose his pathetic imitation of perfection and break down completely.
He gently disengaged his hand and picked up a fork, wishing that he would drop dead on the spot. "I'm fine."
Somehow, he made it through lunch. Legolas' fingers twitched afterward, itching to be down his throat, forcing out the impurities he'd ingested. The moment he had been dreading had arrived. Elrond stood and gestured to a seldom-used study. "Come, Legolas, let us talk."
Estel gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze as Legolas rose on shaky legs, sure he was being led to his doom. Elrond sat next to him on the wide couch in the study and carefully checked his bandages.
"The wounds are healing well. I am happy with how Estel has treated them." He re-wrapped the bandages and moved to sit across from the prince in an armchair.
"Tell me, Legolas," he said gently.
Legolas refused to meet his eyes. "Estel has already told you everything, I'm sure."
"I would like to hear it from you."
Legolas pressed his lips tightly together. Once Elrond got him talking, he was done for. They sat in silence, and Legolas could feel the elf lord's gaze on him. Just being in Elrond's calming presence was messing with him, visiting Legolas with the mad desire to blurt out everything. If it came to a test of patience, then he knew he would lose.
His prayers were answered when Elrond changed his approach. "How long have you felt the desire to be perfect? The desire to purify yourself?"
It was a different question to the one Estel and Thranduil had asked many times. They asked why he thought this. He had no answer for that question, but this question, perhaps, he could answer, and then maybe Elrond would leave him be.
Legolas thought about it. "I don't know. Since I was young."
"How young? Before your naming day?"
"No… after that, I think." He still remembered those happier times, before he was aware of his own failure and his need to correct it.
"Your crowning day?" Elrond prompted.
Legolas flinched. He remembered that day well. He hadn't yet discovered cutting. He'd felt like a fraud, standing in front of his people having a ceremonial circlet put on his head. They didn't know just how imperfect he was. "Before then."
"So sometime when you were still an elfling, then. With your permission, I will speak to Thranduil of this. I think that if we can discover where these thoughts come from, we might be able to deal with them better."
"You can talk to my Ada, if you wish. I don't see that it'll make any difference, though. None of you can mend my flaws. Only I can do that, but you won't let me."
Elrond didn't protest to this as his father or Estel would have, but simply looked at him, concern and sympathy in his eyes. Legolas bit his lip. He shouldn't have said anything. He could feel words chafing behind his lips, as though Elrond was drawing them closer to the surface.
The silence went on and on, and Legolas bit his tongue, praying Elrond would be done with him soon, but the elf lord simply watched him. Legolas' chest was heaving as he tried to control himself. Moving slowly, Elrond came to sit close beside him. "Legolas?"
The words burst from his mouth without his consent. "I can't do this, Elrond. Please, you have to let me go. Please. I feel like I'm drowning in a pool of water with no surface and no one will help me. It's getting deeper and deeper with every day and no one will let me swim my way out. If you ever cared for me, let me go, let me be alone. Even for just a few minutes each day. Please."
Tears welled in his eyes, and Legolas was only aware that his fingers were digging into the still-healing cut on his arm when Elrond gently pried them away, taking the prince's hands in his.
"Oh penneth, I'm sorry you are suffering so."
Legolas' control shattered and he found himself being drawn into Elrond's side, his head resting on the elder's shoulder as he shook with sobs.
"I can't do it," he wept in abject misery. "Please, I can't. What do I do?"
Elrond's arm around him tightened. "You let us take care of you, Legolas. Hiding your pain away won't help anything. You know that we would never let you drown, if you would just reach out and take the hands offered to you."
"You can't help me. Only my knife can."
"Let us try, penneth. Grant us that much."
"It's too hard," Legolas cried, desperately holding onto Elrond's tunic.
"I know, I know." Elrond rocked him gently like an elfling as Legolas wept. "I know you feel like you are falling apart, but what you are feeling now is closer to being well than shutting yourself off like you were before, I promise you that much."
Legolas shook his head in silent denial, unable to get the words out.
"I know what I am talking about. I am a healer, you know. You have always trusted my expertise before. Trust me now in this, Legolas."
"So – what? I just spend the rest of my life weeping? I'll take the withdrawal, thanks."
"You may spend months or even years weeping, but it won't endure forever. I can help you, Legolas, but only if you let me. All I ask is that you don't shut me out of your suffering."
It couldn't possibly be that simple. Legolas act like the weak fool he was, and Elrond could magically fix him? Then again, he'd seen Elrond perform acts of healing that could only be magic before.
"What are you thinking? The truth, now."
Legolas answered before he could think better of it. "That if being weak and pathetic solved problems, I'd have none. That can't be the answer to this."
"Showing your pain in itself won't solve your problems, no, but it will allow myself and those helping you to see what you are struggling with, and thus let us know how to help you."
"I still don't believe it," Legolas muttered reluctantly.
Against all odds, Elrond laughed softly. "Fair enough, penneth. You don't have to believe. You simply have to give me – give us – a chance. Can you do that?"
An hour ago, the honest answer to that would have been a resounding no, but Elrond had a way of making even the darkest situations seem solvable.
"I can try," Legolas whispered.