Awakening
They held me down so long I almost drownedAragorn:
Breathing, ai Valar, the challenge, I am breathing. I test my lungs and they are weak and are like lead within my chest. I wait, tense and breathless, anxious not to take the next. There is fear, great fear that I have not felt before. I fear the world will have turned, as my dreams of late, to darkness. I fear that the future is mapped before us; empty, useless, a waste of slaves and mockery.
There is pain; agony of my eyes that fight to burst open without mercy and against my will, they will rip from my head leaving it raw and lost to sight. There is pain, of breathing; my lungs are too large and my chest is too small. There is pain; my skin, it is scarred and raw, the softness beneath me rubs without sympathy.
There is numbness, a new sensation? I do not know. I remember that I fell and fell out of all time and knowledge except my own. I was numb and did not feel the crash to earth.
There is sound, sound from without and not from within. Evidence of a world that continued beyond me, survived me. It is a pitiless world that regards me not, but tosses me from one situation to another, until once again I am breathing and within its grip. There is breath, I focus and take another. My body winces with regret as the sea like depth rattles my bones, shatters my peace. I am not whole.
Elrond:
I slept and sleep drew from me such pleasant dreams that for the world I would have lost myself within their sweet embrace. I was with her, she walked beside me and though her face was hidden from view her skin was soft as milk and clung to mine as though it had fitted always. She did not speak, but her hair, breeze light, brushed against my face. I want to stay here, in this place. Something calls and longs for me to wake. Warmth spreads through myself and I refuse the call; here I can be whole. My hand is within another; it is tight around me. I think it is she. My eyes; my thoughts will wrench me from her. I fight the urge to wake but she is gone and comfort is shattered. I will wake.
Aragorn:
Flickering flames of colour now dance before me as my eyelids stray from control. They open and shut forcing me into perception. I do not lie within my mother's grasp. They focus; there is light, like no light I can recall. It is not dull or sharp with red and washed with blood, it is not black and tinged with ash. My eyelids flicker and the focus is clearer, I can make out swirls of ceiling like morning mist.
I can feel, alongside this numbness. Skin touches my skin. It is soft and so light it ought to have come from my dreams; but my dreams are black and dreadful to behold. It cannot be of this world. This skin has fingers; I can sense them, though I cannot see. I believe they are entwined with my own.
It is quiet, I can hear the flicker of my eyelids; the sound of my beating heart; dreadful, erratic; it frightens me with its intensity as though it wishes to burst from within. There is a step; I hear it faint as a tremble; it comes toward me. So, I am not alone. My body convulses me in fear; they are coming. My mind strains to escape, sending frantic signals to my limbs… escape… run… they will come.
My limbs; they cannot shift. My legs, my arms cry frantically with agony, my mind screeches, deafening my other senses. They are numb to my cries, my calls. I cannot move them. My neck, my head cannot turn. I am locked within the walls of my own wreckage. I will not cry out; they shall not know my weakness. I cannot move.
Shaking, I am warm, so very warm. My chest closes in on myself in panic; the bones are sharp and deadly and shove themselves toward my lungs, grating each other with piercing pain; shattering my breaths.
Legolas:
Your hand was within mine. It began to lose its grip. I thought I began my descent from the earth, but something tethered me here.
It is sudden when it comes. Shudders charge through my bones and through my nerves, and through my hands and skin; as though I am but an autumn leaf and the room is filled with gale. You shake I realise, your chest rattles and breath ragged and impatient is slipping from you. I am here. I am whole and within this room and the air is clean and fresh and cuts like ice.
Eyes are open. I grip your hand for fear that you might blow away. The eyes I see are desperate and searching as though filled with blind panic and I know you cannot see me. You tremble more and gulp for air and shake within my grip and I shall not hold you.
'Estel' I whisper, but the sound is empty and you have not heard me. 'Estel, Estel I cry, Estel you are here, I am here, see me, feel me. It is Legolas, this is home, I am here.' The words are unconscious; slipping from my mouth in wonder, shock. I want so much to feel you whole and safe. Your eyes are still painfully dynamic, dredging the air for a sign that you live I think. I move within your vision, your trembling fingers still within my own. I move close so that my breath brushes your face and I have blocked your view.
'Estel, Estel I am here.
You calm a little. You have seen me. Your eyes cease their wandering and my soul beats with the joy unbound, you recognise me; you know me. I no longer belong to the void of empty memories.
'Legolas' it is the word I have longed to hear, I am wild with the delight of it that I might leap from the window at this moment. You know me. The word is spoken slowly, as though language is a new and unfamiliar process. The voice does not rise above a whisper and is dry and cracked as drought; but it is there and the words are familiar. The effort is monumental and so draining that I fear to lose you again. Concentration and pain are dented within your features; wild; afraid.
You speak in Sindarin. Your words are terrible and drain my joy like colour from dawn.
'I cannot move. Help; please; I am trapped' The words are harsh and desert dry. Your lips are chapped and sore. 'I am numb I cannot feel. They are coming.'
'Estel' I beg, so tired, too tired to begin the fight again. 'Estel they are not here. This is Imladris. You have awoken; you are free; they are not here, they are behind.'
'No;' you cry with terror pushing your cracked voice to the limits of its capacity and I think it might choke you. 'They are here; I cannot move Legolas, my legs, they are numb; please, please they are here. Legolas!'
The words are deadly, yet how can you know you break my heart once more. Your father stirs and silently I think the Valar that I shall not be alone to persuade you; to hold you; to love you.
Elrond:
I have been dragged awake by a sound. The sound is from a dread nightmare; it sounds like the voice of Sauron as he whispers within my thoughts. The sound is dry and rasps like long forgotten breath. I wish it would end.
My eyes jump open with shock and I am greeted with the greatest joy. Hope, he has returned; my hope. The grey eyes are open and moving and the dreadful voice is his. 'Legolas, Legolas he calls.' Delight shakes me and shatters through me like water breaking upon stone. He lives, he lives. My soul soars; Elbereth, oh Elbereth Gilthoniel. You have given him back to me. I could not be more grateful. My prayers fill the room and deafen me to the cries my son emits.
It is only later that I hear, that I sense the shattered bones that tremor within my grip.
'Ada?' the wild croaking startles me with a word that I recollect. For a second the joy is heightened. He knows me; Estel knows me; he has come back to me. I do not note the fear; the dread; the emptiness with which he calls.
'Ada, Ada, Ada,' The word punctuate the constant struggle for breath, For the first time I see the pain within his features as each is taken. Then the reality of his injuries creeps back to me. He is still hot. He cannot move. My mind takes me to his bed and I find myself within him, having woken, limbs outstretched and useless; the poison of Mordor within my thoughts. I fear, as he must.
'Ada, Ada, Ada,' his song is relentless. 'Ada I cannot move. Please, I cannot move.' He does not seem to address me, but addresses the very air he breathes. I do not dare to answer.
Wounds that will not healDisappointment comes in many guises and so it comes to Imladris, filling the gaps of silence and suffering that had gone before, manipulating and moulding despair to fit new forms. It is at odds with the joy that all wish and demand; the joy that had come when eyes had opened and fever had cooled.
Despair creeps between the father and son, whilst, as dusk washes the sky, they speak, in hushed tones of the pain yet to be lived; as they discover that living alone, will not be enough to satisfy.
Three are within that room. One, the friend, shadow like and silent, sits breathing at the left of the bed, hand clamped around the weaker one within its grasp. The hand is tight like a bond gripping the other to the world and to himself. The expression upon the fair countenance is stern like a soldier on duty; strong, determined. The second; the son, unmoving and desperate, trapped within a body that will not follow thoughts, a body shattered and slow to heal; perhaps it never shall. He peers above, eyes darting between the two stronger wills binding him to his life. To the right of the bed; the father sits; steely and wilful; possessive of this child who has been returned to him. He leans over, imposing his thoughts, his wishes on his frail child, at last a part of him once more.
The father sings, using the ancient tongue to calm in the only way he knows how, to ease the fear of the child, leading him to an uneasy and anxious peace. The son quietens at the sound; the familiar words that echo of a time before the prison and the pain; the cries had been too sore; the breaths too difficult. As he turns from desperation the ragged breathing abates and becomes less intense. The knives of agony subside to a heavy ache. He breathes longer and deeper.
The father speaks softly, rhythmically, not wishing to alarm.
'Estel, my son' he coaxes 'what do you remember?' He questions.
The son speaks. His voice is still arid, although he has drunk water, the words still falter, unused and novel. His sentences are short and pointed. He speaks like a song and it seems he addresses no one.
'There was darkness. There was fire. There was a void with no memories. There were men. I think they hurt me. They had whips and fire. There were others. There was ash and burning. There was a fall. There was darkness. I remember the darkness.'
The words are haunted. 'Ada, what happened? I cannot move? Ada?
The friend's fist clenches harder around the weak wrist within its circle. His features contort, proud and protective. He would throw himself between the father and son if he could avoid further pain, but he is too late, for hurt germinated long ago in this place. Discussion may bring understanding; but it will not clean the slate of the blood that has been shed.
The father speaks; choosing his words carefully, deliberately. He tells the truth and seems immovable as stone solid and still. Inside he is crumbling.
'My son,' he shivers in pleasure that he can at last direct these words at this child who lives and breathes before him; aware; questioning. 'There was darkness.' He repeats the words of dread.
'Darkness took you; but you have come back to the light.' He speaks with hope he is not certain of.
'You were taken. They took you to a place of darkness. They hurt you. You have suffered.' He uses the same rhythm, beating the words in time with his breath.
'You fell. Legolas saw you; he was there. He brought you back to me. Your body was broken. I thought you would not live. Many days you have lain captured by fever and borrowed death. Today you have returned to me. You shall heal.'
He has explained and exhales in relief that the words are gone; have been uttered. He has told the truth he believes, but he also doubts.
The son speaks, plaintive and uttering the mantra he seems to have learned.
'Ada, please,' he searches and scrambles for answers, 'I cannot move… Ada?'
'You fell.' The father repeats the words he wishes to forget. 'Your limbs were wrecked. Your legs, your hips were crushed and broken. Your feet were torn. Your ribs were shattered. Now they are mending, binding themselves once more to make you whole. You will be whole once more my son.'
The son peers with terrible eyes, clear as summer sunrise. He pierces the father with his glare. He will not settle for this blind hope he does not feel. He is numb and weak and filled with darkness. He will ask the question the father does not want to answer. His arid voice is cold and fearful.
'Ada… will I walk again?'
'I do not know.' He replies.