TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY
BOOK ONE
DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.
WARNINGS: MATURE AUDIENCE PLEASE. Drug abuse, brutality; healing the result of torture, mentioning of rape, self-inflicted violence. Dark chapter, please heed the warnings.
Please give me some feedback! This chapter was damn difficult.^^
Chapter 4: IT HURTS
/*/
The following two days became a constant line of surprises and total confusion, but also a pure wonder in the good, bright meaning of the word. Legolas was slowly getting accustomed to his new surroundings. Imladris was indeed beautiful, with lots of sun and warmth, bright colors, mostly livid green. The trees were different than in Mirkwood. They were wider, somehow heavier, their branches long and powerful, allowing one to sit on them if he had a desire of climbing trees. These were mostly trees with leaves. Legolas was accustomed to a long, soaring pines and spruces, or beechwoods with a silvery bark, high and proud. Imladris trees were friendly, their talk melodic and whispery. The trees have immediately became Legolas' first friends.
And this variety of flowers! Legolas never suspected that there could be so many flowers. Many of them were typically decorative, planted in the gardens, but whenever Legolas glanced at the far meadows, they were shimmering with thousands of wild violets, golden marsh marigolds, daisies, blue myriads of forgetmenots. He slowly, slowly recalled legends about this bright land from his fuzzy mind, overwhelmed with dark memories and pain of late. He had heard a few tales and he remembered what Moreth had said. He kept comparing it with reality and found himself utterly stunned. Few times during the day he was ordered to fetch something or carry a message, and that sometimes led through a sun-filled patio, or the neighborhood of the stables. These were the most beautiful moments in these stressful days, when he was glancing up and letting the sun kiss that pale, cold skin of his. Imladris was a miracle.
Elves living here were strange. They were laughing too loudly, jesting, humming during work. They talked freely, even in guards' presence. Sometimes there was such a big noise and chaos in the kitchens that it seemed impossible to serve the dinner on time. Yet, somehow, it was always ready, and always equally delicious.
Belithravien made good on her promise and kept an eye on the elfling all days. Under her watchful gaze Legolas was learning to eat again. He was trying dishes he had only served to Mirkwood royalty so far and that was not something he could easily accept or understand. All Elves here were eating like kings. Legolas assumed that Imladris was simply a heavenly rich land. He never believed Neremiel when she was telling him that's not true, for Lothorien is much, much richer, and these meals are being only normal, nourishing breakfasts and light dinners. The border of Legolas' perception was unmoving, however. Hunger was constant in Mirkwood, so Legolas had a bit different idea of richness and judged everything from his own level.
Neremiel was actually the second person of the trio he had got to know. She had become his little timer, bringing Legolas to the kitchens in the morning, seeing him to bed at the evening. Legolas had to struggle to hide his injuries and morning pain from her, chewing the leaves in discreet. Not an easy task, for she was so very curious of everything. She asked tons of questions, and Legolas could not let her notice that he was too weak to answer them, or too tired to comply immediately. As a result Legolas thought it best to wake before she was coming, chew the leaf and then pretend to be asleep until she came to get him up. It happened to be a right reasoning, for he could steal even an hour more of sleep, and when he woke, there was no pain at all. The only thing worrying Legolas was that he was running out of that precious medicine.
The third one of new friends was Gwaithtir, the guard he met at the border. He was very kind to him, but Legolas was afraid to stay near him alone. His physical strength was considerable, and he could easily hurt him, if he only wanted to. So during any talk with the guard Legolas was staying good out of hand's reach, whole his body tense, his eyes fixed on Gwaithtir's hands. Yet the guard seemed to like him, and a lot; so after an awkward start these talks had become a tiny bit more carefree. Legolas saw the guard often. He had no idea Gwaithtir was ordered to watch him and inform Lord Elrond personally.
Legolas wasn't called to his Master's study again. He saw his Lord few times in a corridor, spoke with him briefly and each time was treated very kindly; but he had no information as far about his stay here. He only knew he would be kept. He concluded he had to make a good impression, work hard and accustom to this new place quickly, so that he can please his Master and assure him he was worth keeping. He treated this time as a probation. It showed to be a good time altogether, full of new things, but good.
The strange, blond and handsome Elf, his Master's friend called Glorfindel, hadn't showed from two days. Legolas had no problem with it. Neremiel told him that Glorfindel was actually the famous, legendary Balrog Slayer, who came from across the Sea again, being send back by the Valar. Legolas froze during hearing the story. He knew it from his childhood. Glorfindel had immediately taken a highest position in his mind as a mythical hero and Legolas was deeply scared of him now.
In the meal time Belithravien was seating him at the table and feeding him systematically bigger amounts of food. At first it was wonderful, his famished system wolfing everything down, but with time, as his hunger was sated, Legolas was dangerously close to tears because he simply could not eat any more. He was afraid of Belithravien's wrath or that she would tell Elrond, so he was forcing himself to eat everything and excusing himself only to throw up somewhere he could not be seen. He suspected Belithravien would kill him if she found out, so powered by fear, he had to pretend further.
"What have you eaten in that dark wood, sweetheart?" She asked him once, standing behind him and motherly cuddling him to her hip, as he was sitting in front of a full plate and nibbling. She had always referred to his homeland 'that dark wood'.
"A stew with bread or potatoes," he answered truthfully.
"Was there meat in that stew?" she asked in a sad voice.
"Sometimes." Legolas replied, jabbing a piece of tomato with a fork. "Sometimes we had even sausage."
"And you really had not eaten anything more? Whole day?" Belithravien could not believe her ears.
"No… we had the bread left, we were saving it in case we were hungry."
"Is that why you are keeping dry bread under your mattress?" The Elven woman asked. Legolas dropped the fork and turned to her two frightened eyes. "Neremiel told me." Belithravien said, reaching to stroke the pale cheek. "Pen-neth, if you ever want some food, just come to me. You don't have to store bread. You will be given anything you want to eat, I promise." She soothed and brushed the single tear away with her thumb. "You will not be hungry in this house. I swear, sweetheart."
"Thank you, my Lady," Legolas muttered, bowing his head. The woman sighed. No matter how many times he was said not to, he addressed others as 'my Lord' or 'my Lady' even if they were not one. He called Elrond 'Master', of course, and Erestor 'Sir' – but only because he gave him directions to do so on the first day. Belithravien once again shook her head at this elfling's terrifying obedience.
"You cannot finish your dinner, can you?" she asked, seeing how he struggled to eat everything. He nodded miserably. "Just a bit more, honey. Please. Few spoons, alright? It's hot, it will do you good." The woman said and turned away to her work. Legolas did as he was told, looking mournfully in the depths of his plate, full of soup thick with chopped meat, vegetables and rice. Today he was lucky. He would not have to force himself to throw up after having his stomach filled to its limits.
Erestor still didn't find a proper, full-time occupation for the blond slave. In fact, he did not need anyone more in a household. As a result Legolas ended as a helper in everything. That contented the young one; Legolas was truly afraid that his Master would decide to make a more personal use of him. He wondered if he was told already about the ways he can be used for.
He liked the work in the stables best. There was always something to do, no matter how many Elves were up to work. Recently he met Glorfindel there, after some time of absence: Legolas saw him tending to his own, huge, grey horse (1). He was brushing him slowly, in hypnotic, round moves of his elegant hands, humming a low melody, stroking and petting. The horse was standing still, contented with the attention he was receiving, sometimes nibbling on the fresh hay he was given. His warm, quiet neigh was pleased like a voice of a cat, which was being held on somebody's knees and stroked.
Legolas couldn't stop staring. No one of royalty had ever tended to his own horse in Mirkwood. He thought Glorfindel, a famous hero, far above that dirty obligation too. And here he stood, in stained pants and an opened shirt, brushing the horse as if it was a totally normal thing to do.
Unluckily he spotted Legolas and the hum died into a short second of surprised silence.
"Hello, Legolas!" Glorfindel called. The elfling forgot even to bow with respect, he just hid behind a stall, his heart racing from fear. The Lord sighed. "Do not hide, Legolas, I saw you. Come here, please."
Please? Legolas repeated in his head. Why did he say that? He came out from behind a stall and obediently approached, his eyes fixed on the floor, praying that this encounter didn't end in a disaster. He came closer and recalled to bow, cursing his idiocy.
Glorfindel assessed him closely and smiled in a friendly manner.
"You look a bit better, Legolas. How are you feeling?" he asked politely. The Elf forced himself to answer 'good, my Lord' in a whisper.
"What? I didn't hear," Glorfindel whispered back, winking conspiratorially at the blond child. Legolas stared for a second in confusion, then repeated louder. The Lord nodded and obviously waited for more details, yet none came, as usual. The two was just standing near and staring at each other, Legolas with fear, Glorfindel with curiosity.
Finally the Lord sighed and extended a hand, wishing to stoke the blond head in a soothing gesture, but Legolas jumped away.
"Don't be afraid, child. Come here, I will do nothing." Glorfindel assured, and Legolas suddenly found himself enveloped in a fierce hug, being encircled with one arm and pressed to the wide chest. The other hand was still holding the brush. Glorfindel rubbed his back comfortingly, like he would help a close friend. Legolas was petrified.
"Easy, Legolas, easy. It's going to be alright, you'll see." The Lord said. He continued to rub his back for a moment, waiting for some kind of an answer, but when none came, he settled for a friendly talk. "Come on, say something… You are here from three days, things should not look as scary as at the beginning. Do you like Imladris at all?" he asked.
After a short while Legolas nodded against the broad form. Glorfindel was warm. His hands rubbed steadily, making no violent gesture, moving no lower than the half of his back and no higher than his nape. This wasn't an introduction to any assault, be it physical or sexual; if he wanted to have his way with him, he would just flop him on the ground and have him pinned. Deep breath under his ear matched the beat of a strong heart, which was only steady. Nothing indicated that Glorfindel could have an attack in mind. Was this just a comforting gesture, then?...
"And what do you like best?" came the curious question.
Legolas hesitated. "My… my bed," he said finally, eliciting a warm chuckle from Glorfindel. "And the trees."
"Do you like horses, Legolas?" Glorfindel asked, stroking one last time and loosening his grip. Legolas straightened, but – surprisingly for himself - stayed close.
"I do, my Lord."
"Have you ever ridden on one?"
"No… I haven't." Legolas glanced at the grey, proud animal. "He is so beautiful, my Lord." He dared to whisper, not quite knowing what to say and disbelieving his own courage to speak out of turn.
"Give me your hand."
Legolas hesitated. What was this about? Glorfindel took the slowly offered palm and with a smile put a brush into it, securing it on place with a leather strap on the top. Then he covered it with his own and led to the horse's back, making a sure, definite movement down, along the side.
Legolas was speechless. He was brushing Glorfindel's horse. This mighty Lord wasn't terrifying at all, he was just like his Master in that first evening; what a strange, wonderful happening, Legolas mused, daring to cast a glance up at this legendary hero and finding only kindness in his gaze. And Legolas smiled, truly smiled for the first time in this strange place.
Yes, it's gonna be alright, Legolas thought and sighed. Having Glorfindel behind, his hand leading his and his kind voice in his ear, talking about all stables equipment, was giving a strange sense of safety. It was a blessed state of peace slowly settling down in Legolas. It was a fragile, exhausted calmness, the last remnant of his fear. Like a deep breath of sweet, wet air after the long and especially violent storm, when you was afraid, but now you know it's… just over. What was this feeling called…? Legolas asked himself, and the muscled back under his hand moved as the horse shifted his weight from one leg to another.
Oh yes. Relief.
/*/
Trying to endure the pain, Legolas chewed desperately the last tiny fragment of the leaf, along with the dust from the few accidentally crushed ones, which he licked thoroughly from the paper. Feeling only daze, pain in and frustration, he checked for the hundredth time if there wasn't any forgotten leaf somewhere in his clothes, or maybe in a hiding place under the mattress.
Nothing. Nothing this time. Feeling rising panic that he would not be able to work and earn a severe punishment, fighting the dizziness and nausea Legolas got up only to immediately sit back down on the bed. His body was slow and trembled from the strain. He wiped the cold sweat trickling into his eyes.
"Sweet Elbereth, give me strength, I beg you," Legolas sobbed out, feeling utterly helpless. He just sat there for a few more minutes, trying to calm his heart, that was beating much faster than it should. He settled for deliberate, long and calm breaths. Eventually it worked, and the blood wasn't pumping in his temples madly like before, so that he could think.
He brought both his hands to his forehead and rubbed delicately. His position was bad, but not tragic. There was no need to panic, he told himself. I can endure it. After breakfast it will be better. Some hot tea will calm the stomach and when I move around a little the pain in the muscles will recede, they just need some warming up.
"It's gonna be alright," he said aloud, as if to convince himself to that statement. "It's not that bad. You can endure. Now, up."
Standing up was possible after a few tries, yet making the bed drained him. Legolas only thanked the fate that Neremiel was not coming to wake him up today, because she was coming on the afternoon shift. Alone, without her prying eyes, maybe he would manage to get up and collect himself.
He slowly made it to the door, holding to the wall of bunk beds by one hand. He was swaying on his feet, and his sight was strangely blurred, but he managed to walk out and close the door behind him. After few minutes the dizziness was gone and he accustomed to the new position, only his head hurt.
"See?" he said aloud again, leading a self-to-self dialogue. "It's really not that bad. You can do it."
Focusing at cautious breathing, which was hurtful due to his beaten ribs, he walked to the kitchens. There, as he sat down, he felt a bit better. His knees buckled, and his hands trembled when he was taking the plate of sandwiches from smiling Belithravien. She saw immediately that he was unwell, for the cold sweat was pearling on his forehead.
"Are you alright, sweetheart?" she asked, here eyes going wide.
"Yes, I only have a headache… I wasn't sleeping much this night, my Lady, I couldn't sleep. I'm alright." He lied. She shook his head.
"My brother says the same, I think it's going to be a change of weather. The clouds have appeared, it will be cooler today, maybe even some rain shall fall… That would be good for the tomatoes." She mused kindly. Legolas took the tea and sipped a few spoons. Like he supposed, his stomach calmed down after it. But the mere thought of eating was nauseous, so he told Belithravien he really wasn't hungry now, blaming his headache, and somehow managed to avoid eating today. She strictly demanded a promise that he would come later and eat something. Being a caring and watchful Elven woman she told Erestor at the first occasion and he promised to check on the elfling shortly, what calmed her a bit.
In the meantime Legolas was helping in the other room in the kitchens. He was exhausted and sore all over, and work was so troublesome that day. With time he discovered he was being wreaked by chills. Sending a prayer to Elbereth for help, he tried to focus; dizziness was getting worse, even if the headache waned a little by now.
One Elven boy told him to go to the stables, as he heard the boys needed another pair of hands there, so Legolas obediently left the kitchens about noon and headed to the paddocks. As soon as he started walking he knew it was a bad idea. He started shaking from effort, he couldn't catch a breath, walking drained him as if he was running for long hours, his vision blurred in front of his eyes. Hopefully he didn't meet anyone on his way and could focus only at moving his feet.
Please, please, please… let me get there, sweet Valar, he prayed. His ankle was hurting so. He thought he could not endure this throbbing anymore and just tear the bandages out, but with the last ounce of his willpower he controlled himself. Instead he let himself a short while of rest under the tree; he collapsed on the grass and wiped the sweat away from his eyes.
After few minutes he struggled to get up and scoured his back by the trunk doing so. It brought him relief, for his back was itching maddeningly; probably some old scabs covering the wounds and the scars were the cause. He did it again, harder this time, and it felt even better; so Legolas rubbed his back on the trunk few more harsh times, knowing he should already be in the stables, but being powerless to go. Finally he forced himself to step forward, cursing his weakness and idiocy that he had not broken the last leaf on two and hadn't taken one part today. Maybe he could prolong the peace of his first days in Imladris that way. What will Master say now? Ineffective worker, stupid, disobedient slave. What use could come of him. He didn't blame anyone, his Master was the last on the list of persons he could blame for his state: it was himself he loathed for being so weak.
"You can do this," he muttered through gritted teeth. "It's not far. In the stables you will have a wall to lean on."
His hands were shaking and the sight of the ground was blurred, swaying like a huge swing. Was he still walking, or maybe it was flying? He wondered, for he couldn't feel the ground under his feet, and he lost any sense of direction. Where was up and where was down…?
Blood pounded wildly in his temples, to the point it almost drowned out the other sounds. He noticed a small bloodstain on his thigh. The bandage must have slipped, when he was sitting under the tree, and the wound somehow had to reopen again. Oh, whatever.
He reached with shaking hands to the stall door, but he had no strength to open them. Leaning on them, totally exhausted, he tried again and again, but the cold sweat just blinded him. His body was tired enough with bearing his own weight, unable to find any more strength to push something. Every breath hurt too much, so shouting to open the door would be a bad idea. He knocked.
When someone opened the door finally, wearing a stupefied expression on his face – because who would knock to the stalls? - Legolas saw that Lord Glorfindel was in the stable today, having a merry talk with the stable boys. As the Lord saw him, he nodded to Legolas in greeting, yet the elfling could not return the gesture, still clinging to the doors for dear life and shivering. Glorfindel frowned and came closer, his eyes going wide with shock as he assessed him better.
"Legolas, are you alright?" he exclaimed in unhidden worry as the Elf before him swayed on his feet.
" …'m fine," Legolas muttered, his eyes rolling back, and fell straight into Glorfindel's extended hands, loosing his consciousness.
The Elves burst into action. Glorfindel lowered the limp body on the ground, checking the pulse.
"He only fainted," Glorfindel said, calming the youngsters down. "Get a cloth or something and cool his face, but carefully," he instructed, taking both Legolas's legs and lifting them up so that the blood could flow down to his heart and brain.
A bucket of water and a ripped sleeve appeared immediately and one of the grooms wetted Legolas's hot brow.
"He is burning, my Lord!" he said. The second one opened Legolas's high-collared tunic to make breathing easier. The other took his right hand and was checking the pulse.
The water did it's work. Legolas's eyelids fluttered open, and he awoke with a sharp intake of breath. He moaned, rolling his head to the side, and simply lay there a moment, panting heavily. More water was applied to his face and neck.
"Legolas!" Glorfindel called. "Legolas, can you hear me?" he asked. The blond slave turned his glare to him and then his eyes darted to the sides. Seeing that his legs were being held in the air and he was surrounded by unknown Elves, who were holding him or staring at him, he panicked. He wrenched his legs out and clumsily rolled away from them to lay near the stall doors, his movements weakened and slow. He curled in a foetal position and covered his head by both hands.
"Please don't…" he mewled, trying to fight the awful feeling in his head. "Don't hurt me…"
Glorfindel recovered from the shock first. He knelt near the curled figure, trying to soothe, to help.
"Legolas, you fainted, you are unwell. We want to help you," he explained, taking Legolas's hand in his to uncover his face only to see blood pouring from his nose. Legolas seemingly didn't notice it.
"Please, I'll get up in a short minute… just… please, give me a moment… I'm fine… I'm sorry, sorry, I will sta… stand…" Legolas muttered nonsensically, turning his head away from the light coming from the opened doors and sniffing, copper taste of blood in his mouth. He kept his eyes tightly closed.
"Legolas, you need help, let me…" Glorfindel slipped his hands under his armpits to pick him up, but he screamed as Glorfindel put pressure on his back. The Lord withdrew; his hands were strangely wet and sticky. They were coated in fresh blood, just like the tunic where Legolas's back was pressed. Glorfindel saw that the fabric was torn and had greenish stains. The fiery red flesh underneath was smeared with blood.
"Run ahead to find Elrond, I will carry him to his chamber" Glorfindel said quietly to the boy on his left, staring at the bony body. The boy was stiffen in fear, but complied immediately and ran as quickly as he could to the palace, to inform Lord Elrond.
Glorfindel leaned again and scooped the slender body from the floor. He couldn't believe how light Legolas was. The Elf made a painful sound and started to protest both at lifting him up and informing Elrond; he was terrified to the core and telling his Master about his injuries was something he desperately wanted to avoid. He was afraid that knowing that he was punished before Elrond will send him away. What use could he possibly have from a disobedient slave, after all. And the one he needs to heal first! Unthinkable…
"Legolas, don't," Glorfindel said, seeing how Legolas's head fell back. Seeing that the Elf had not the strength to lift it up, he turned to the nearest stable boy. "Help him… yes, lay his head on my arm. He would be choked by his own blood," he said and headed to the doors as quick as he could. Legolas's murmur reached his ear.
"Please no… he'll be angry…"
"Who? No one will be angry at you, Legolas, we will help you! What had happened to you?" Glorfindel almost shouted, feeling utterly helpless at the sight of the quickly fading Elf in his arms. He felt the front of his shirt getting wet from the elfling's blood, so he took a shortcut through a southern tower stairs. Legolas moaned pitifully as Glorfindel kicked the door open and started to climb the stairs, because the movement was ungentle. Glorfindel started to run as soon as he reached the Royal Wing.
"Hold on, Legolas, hold on, we're almost there," Glorfindel soothed and spotted Elrond at the opposite end of the corridor, coming out of his chamber, clad in a white and sterile robe of a healer. "Elrond!" Glorfindel shouted, running to his friend. "Elrond, he needs help! He just walked into the stables this morning, then fainted; we managed to wake him, but he's in much worse state, just look," the blond Lord said, walking inside the chamber with Elrond.
"To the healing room, there," Elrond instructed and Glorfindel brought the stunned Elf inside. There was another chamber behind the main one, the entrance secured with a red curtain, and there they headed, so that Glorfindel could put Legolas on a clean, wooden table. Legolas curled on it in a foetal position and covered his head by hands.
Elrond frowned at this sight. "Go wash your hands, I will need your help," he said to Glorfindel.
As Elrond saw how bloody Glorfindel's shirt was, he felt a sting of serious worry; what had happened to that child? Glorfindel quickly disappeared in the bathing chamber, leaving Elrond alone, so in his absence Elrond wetted the small cloth and put it to Legolas' nose.
"Here, little one; I will help you sit up, put it to your nose," he said and pulled the slave up. "Lean forward, keep the cloth this way… yes. The bleeding should stop in a while, wait now."
Legolas nodded, powerless. He swayed where he sat on the table, his eyes closed to keep the intruding, vicious light at bay. Elrond frowned, assessing him. He was so pale, almost white.
"I'm back," Glorfindel announced. "What's wrong?"
"I was hoping to hear more details," Elrond said, watching the poor creature start to rock back and forth, in a slow, depressed rhythm, staring at one point in front of him with a blunt, dull look, shielding his eyes with a hand.
"Just look at his back," Glorfindel said quietly, staring at Legolas with terrified eyes. Elrond grimaced at the sight; so that was it, Legolas didn't tell the whole truth about his injuries when Elrond asked about them. Now he was simply too exhausted to hide them anymore.
The Elf Lord attempted to remove Legolas's tunic, but met resistance. Wide-eyed, terrified stare rested on him.
"Don't be scared, Legolas; peace, pen-neth," Elrond soothed. "I will help you. Just be still. Let me."
Legolas let him. Obediently moving his hands as required, he allowed them to take the tunic off, even if his tremble increased and a sob threatened to brake away. He stopped understanding why he was here, his fuzzy, hurting mind wished only to lie down, to loosen the pressure on the walls of his skull; Legolas was slowly losing control over his limbs, voice, reactions, tears. Rising panic at the sight of the two Lords in front of him, wearing strange looks on their faces stung like a huge needle somewhere in the lower back. He felt like choking, suffocating, his inner alarm warned to flee; but these were his Masters, he couldn't… he just wished them to let him go and allow to lie somewhere he could be alone and at peace… What did they want from him? Was it that moment he most dreaded? Had he offended them by fainting today and all this action in the stables? Will they punish him for that bruises and marks…?
Elrond's face sank as he saw those exact bruises which appeared to be under the tunic on the Elf's chest. The pale flesh was covered with dark brown and purple marks, especially in the rib area. Some of them had turned to yellowish shades, some stayed a mix of deeply violet mash with green surrounding under his skin. His chest was also scarred from previous injuries, hideous burn marred his left side and long lacerations covered his arms. Elrond ghosted his hand over the ribcage. The appearance of the bones indicated that few of them were fractured.
"His ribs," Glorfindel pointed few places. Elrond nodded.
Walking around the Elf they saw a criss-crossing net of bloody, thin, long wounds, created by a whip of sorts, torn open by violent scrubbing on the tree. The flesh around the lacerations was swollen and pink. It was an unhealthy flush, caused by probable infection, the cause of the itching.
"See this?" Elrond asked his friend. "Here. The flesh under the wounds is also scarred. Here faintly, but look at this." He pointed an especially mean scar coming from under Legolas's armpit. "It's an old one, you can tell by the color."
"An infection managed to set in several places," Glorfindel pointed. "Here, here… and here."
Elrond came in front of Legolas again and looked him in the eye.
"Who did this to you?" he asked, his eyes full of terror.
"…Mirkwood," Legolas whispered, as he could not think out another answer. Speaking hurt.
"Give me the cloth, little one… see, it stopped. Don't be afraid, don't be scared… I am a healer, I told you. I will help you now. Lie down, alright? Yes… Glorfindel, help me… good, that's right, little one," Elrond soothed, lowering the too light, bony body on the table again.
"I don't like the smell of his sweat," he frowned, bringing his hand closer to his nose. "It's not normal… It smells like he was… hmm," Elrond was muttering, moving his hands to Legolas's head. He felt high fever. "Did he hit his head, falling?"
"No. I caught him."
Elrond cupped Legolas's face in hands. His skin, despite the fever, was cold and clammy to the touch.
"Look at me. Look me straight in the eye." The Elf focused his tired glare on his Master. Elrond lifted his eyelid more. He saw unnaturally big pupil. He laid his head back and Legolas moaned quietly.
"Dilated pupils, sweat with strange smell, dizziness, weakness, blood from the nose, faint, fever…" he counted. "It's not a poison, not a toxicosis… and why the infection hadn't settled in earlier…? What on Arda is this? …no… no, this must be…"
Elrond froze. Moreth. Medicament to dull the pain. Lanewel.
"Legolas, look at me," he called, turning to the Elf again and shaking him gently into awareness. "You took a medicine, your friend Moreth gave it to you. Remember?" he asked, struggling to stay calm.
"Y-yes," Legolas rasped, lolling his head to the side.
"What was that? You must tell me, what was that?" Elrond demanded. Legolas was silent for a moment, trying to answer. His voice came out almost too soft.
"A leaf… small, brown… to chew…" Legolas managed to stammer. Elrond murmured a quick praise and ran to his main room to fetch several vials. Then he turned to his friend.
"Glorfindel, go and call someone to fetch few things, please. A bowl, a big one. He will be vomiting very soon. Additional blankets, few towels and fresh athelas from the gardens. And at least two buckets of hot water, quick. We need to wash his wounds. Go, please," he told him. Glorfindel ran out.
Luckily the stable boy who ran ahead to inform Elrond was still standing in the corridor. Glorfindel praised him for being so considerate to wait and repeated the order from his liege, then returned in a hurry.
"Could you please tell me what's going on?" he asked Elrond, who took off Legolas's new shoes and threw them on the ground.
"I talked to his friend, the one who spoke in his defence in the council hall, remember? He told me that he gave his friend a drug to dull the pain. He got it from Lanewel. You remember good, old Lanewel?"
Glorfindel flinched.
"This funny guy I rescued from the orcs, and who proposed to sell me drugs half price off? Of course I remember," he snorted.
"Legolas was looking more or less healthy, wasn't he? No infections, no pain, no bleeding, even his limp was not that obvious. He could get used to being dazed, so he didn't even feel it so badly and behaved normally. And we did not see anything," Elrond hissed, irritated. Glorfindel could sense how angry at himself he was. "The symptoms as well as the effects of the drug indicate that it must have been Coffin Nail."
"Oh no." Glorfindel sighed. "You want to tell me that… that…"
"There is no cure for overdose. But he did not overdose. The drug has stopped affecting him, in a short moment he will be overwhelmed by withdrawal," Elrond said. "Help me undress him. There may be more injuries."
Glorfindel lifted Legolas up a little, while Elrond untied the laces of his leggings and pulled the fabric down, but Legolas mewled almost desperate 'no', struggling and pushing their hands away. The quickly rising need of the drug in his system was reducing him to basic instincts only. He fought as wild as he could in his recent state, trying to grab the fabric by his hands and cover himself back, but had not the strength even to grip the leggings by his weak fingers.
"Shush, little one, it's alright, I will not hurt you," Elrond cooed, throwing the garment on the floor. "No one is going to hurt you. Lie still…"
"No… please, no… don't…" Legolas mewled heartbrokenly. Glorfindel sent Elrond a meaningful gaze.
Legolas started shivering. Even if in the room was warm, the chills wreaking his body were more and more evident and his limbs started to tremble. He stopped struggling, all his strength drained. His eyes closed tiredly as he surrendered.
"Withdrawal." Elrond said. In the same moment a boy sent to fetch required items knocked on the door and Glorfindel saw two more Elves carrying water, blankets, towels and other supplies. The blond Lord thanked them, ordered to put the things in an easy reach and wait outside. The stable boy stared at the limp, ravished form on the table, partially shielded by Elrond's broad form, and shook his head with eyes wide open. Glorfindel saw him to the doors, patting his arm reassuringly.
Elrond wasn't sure if Legolas even registered that someone else was in the room, but to make him feel a tiny bit better he laid a small towel at the level of his hips to cover his nakedness from view. Then he returned to his injuries.
A gray, unclean-looking rag was tied on Legolas' left thigh. Elrond cut it off and saw a nasty gash which obviously had been attempted to be treated. The makeshift bandage didn't fulfill it's function. The wound smelled foully and was infected by now.
The rest of his legs, apart from occasional abrasions, probably from chains or ropes, and the dislocated ankle was in quite good shape. Glorfindel turned the Elf on his stomach, trying not to jostle him.
The Balrog slayer cursed as nasty as he could possibly muster, and Elrond made a gasping sound, suddenly feeling hopeless. The whipping wounds did not stop at Legolas' back, they reached down to the top of his thighs. But the worst sight was his backside, now red and smeared with blood, as Legolas had torn the scabs open, writhing on the table. Yet it looked more serious. These little cheeks were the biggest cluster of the wounds and it looked like it was done on purpose, to debase the victim and humiliate him even more. Glorfindel cursed again.
"This child was being flogged repeatedly," Elrond stammered.
"If not worse," Glorfindel added with voice full of loathing.
Legolas tensed suddenly, shuddered, sobbed. Glorfindel felt a pull at the hem of his shirt.
"…gonna be s-siick," the elfling stammered and Glorfindel quickly jumped away. He fetched the big bowl he ordered to be brought while Elrond lifted Legolas, holding him under his armpits. Legolas wheezed painfully and threw up.
Elrond held him through the fit, while Glorfindel wetted his brow, trying to bring the fever down some. It was giving huge relief. Legolas arched again, giving out all he had in his stomach.
"Will you not stop it?" Glorfindel asked.
"Not now. It's good he is vomiting, it's the sign that the drug is leaving his system," Elrond said. "Come on, little leaf. I know it's an awful feeling, I know. Be brave, pen-neth," he was repeating, but Legolas was not listening.
The sick Elf was tensing visibly in short pauses between the heaves. Elrond soothed and whispered reassurances all the time, but Legolas didn't seem to register them; he was aware only of the strong hands holding him through the fit and Glorfindel's presence. Not understanding what was happening to his body, laid naked on some table and submitted to his Master's scrutiny he felt completely lost and frightened right out of his mind. Had he the strength to do so, he would fight them off and run away, so that no one could touch him and they all let him heal in peace. Why was he brought here? Why was he stripped? What were those smelly liquids standing on the shelves, what were those tiny knives and needles, scissors and other instruments he did not even recognize? Why the two Lords were inspecting his injuries, speaking of him like he was not even in this room? And now, Legolas thought desperately, retching again, they will be angered, they will do something, they will hurt me somehow. One part of his slave-trained mind was assured that he was doing something wrong, disrespecting his betters. How could I throw up in their presence, offended and angered they will punish me, he thought.
"Hold on, Legolas, it will soon be over, don't fight it, let it all out," Elrond cooed to his ear. "You will feel better after it ends. Trust me. Don't be afraid, give it out," the steady, calm voice seemed to bore into Legolas's mind. What was that voice saying, to trust, not to be afraid? Legolas couldn't understand.
A wet cloth was pressed to his brow again. Oh yes, that was good. That brought relief. More of that…
As Legolas had not much in his stomach, all too soon the violent fit transformed into a dry, tormenting vomit. A thin thread of saliva flowed down Legolas's chin and he could not wipe it away, to his embarrassment. His stomach rebelled again. The Elf heard Elrond's voice in his ear.
"Shush, shush, little leaf. It's alright. It's alright, don't be scared." He said, wiping his mouth with a cloth. "This is enough, he might dehydrate…" Elrond turned to Glorfindel. "Hold him like I do, I need to do something."
They switched places, and Elrond took one of the vials he brought, pouring a spoonful of awfully herbal-scented substance. The scent alone was enough to make one throw up, but Elrond held Legolas's jaw rather fiercely and forced him to take the medicine into his mouth. The Elf struggled so much that he almost wrenched out from Glorfindel's grip, but then went limp in his hold.
The drug was quick to take effect and he did not vomit again. Elrond murmured a soft reassurance and helped Glorfindel to lay him back on the table.
Now Legolas was completely dazed, but at least he let them tend to his wounds with no struggling, seeming absent, resigned and passive. Only trembling of his limbs did not lessen and the thundering of his heart was so strong that the vein on his neck was pulsing like mad. Elrond feared for this poor heart, but now he could no nothing for it. He hoped Legolas had some strength left inside.
With wet towels two Lords cleaned him from the blood, then disinfected every wound or abrasion, to apply proper liquids and herbal brews which helped to stop the bleeding. This achieved, they discovered that the terrible sight of the Elf's back was not as tragic as it seemed, for not every welt bled. Legolas' poor backside though was tortured to the point that he could not tolerate any hand touching it. Elrond knew it as a mental issue more than physical pain. Glorfindel held the sobbing Elf fast, while Elrond did the work there. The few biggest wounds also needed sewing. It was a long and painstaking effort, difficult to achieve with Legolas' tremble, but Elrond had worked on worse cases in the past. Legolas was so dazed now that he did not feel the needle at all.
"Now the ribs," Elrond said, cleaning his bloodied hands and closely observing a prone form of Legolas being laid back on a towel-covered table.
"What do we do?"
"We bandage him tightly from shoulders to waist, and hope the body will do the rest," Elrond said with a sigh. But before that I need to examine it…"
He moved to stand beside Legolas, gesturing for Glorfindel to do the same. They manipulated Legolas's ribcage, feeling the broken ribs. On Elrond's side there was three of them. Glorfindel sensed two.
"Legolas, do you hear me?" Elrond called the Elf. He did not react. "Legolas. Legolas, here, listen to me," Elrond shook the Elf gently into awareness. His daze was serious. It was difficult to get through to him.
"I want you to take a deep breath. Breathe deeply, Legolas," Elrond said, and after a while the Elf complied, but stopped, feeling the pain in his ribs. "I know it hurts, I know. You must breathe deeply. Legolas, please, do it, only once," Elrond coaxed, but elicited no reaction and no pleas would help here. Seemingly that pain was more than Legolas could handle.
Elrond knew that if the lung was punctured, Legolas would be spitting blood and not even Coffin Nail would help here. But he needed to know the size of damage done to the living tissue, and for that he needed to hear his patient's breathing. Having no other choice, Elrond used the power of Vilya, ordering Legolas to breathe mentally. He did. The breath came out of him with a moan, but Elrond seemed relieved, having heard none of signs of a serious damage.
"He did not puncture his lungs. He will be alright."
This at least were some good news. A special balm was massaged into Legolas's flesh, then he was securely wrapped in bandage which formed a tight vest. Both his arms were cleansed and tended to. More bandage was added to the top of his thighs down to knees.
"How we will bandage that?" Glorfindel asked, pointing to the tortured backside. Elrond came closer to the cupboard in the corner and took a clean sheet.
"Can you tear it in wide stripes? Yes, that wide," the Lord nodded and applied a double dose of special balm to the red, welted cheeks. They wrapped the wounds loosely all the way around his hips, easy enough to remove it without much fuss.
"Wait… well… What if he has any internal injuries?" Glorfindel asked tentatively, finally voicing the question which was pervading the two from some time. Elrond spared his friend a long, intense gaze, thinking closer about the possibility.
"There is no point in checking now," he said finally, moving his hand down the thin back. "The possible wound has probably healed by itself already. No need to put him into further stress. But that does not exclude…" Elrond sighed uncomfortably, searching for better words. "Still, the violation could happen. That is even… more than probable. From what I heard… his friend told me…"
Glorfindel worried his lower lip, trying to remain calm.
"And what if the wound was given fairly recently? For example, in a day he was brought here, or a day before?" he insisted.
"He would be limping, walking stiffly. No, it is a type of wound which cannot be seen, but somehow is impossible to misjudge." Elrond replied, shaking his head and delicately straightening the bandage on Legolas' backside.
"Would we see it, while he had this ankle? He was limping already."
"But there were no bloodstains whenever he sat somewhere, his bedsheets were clean, his clothing also. He wouldn't have been able to hide it, that is simply not possible."
Elrond stepped away from the table, as if hesitating; he shook his head though and disappeared in his chamber. Soon it showed he was gone to fetch a comb. He made Legolas's matted hair into one braid, so that the Elf would be more comfortable. Glorfindel stopped him, when he was securing the end of a braid with a leather thong.
"Look at this," he pointed Legolas's neck.
"I saw," Elrond sighed. "Look more closely. Can you see it, here? It looks like a print of a thumb, laid like that," Elrond put his own finger on the mark to prove it. "But the rest is concealed by the rope. I suppose it was a rope."
"A noose…?" Glorfindel whispered. "No, now I feel sick…"
"Was it done on purpose to hide the marks of choking by hands, or was it done because he was sentenced to death?" Elrond asked with a flatliner face. "If so, what happened? The rope broke? He was pardoned?"
"Or was that just a play?" Glorfindel ended. "If only we knew what happened," he hissed dangerously.
Elrond took off his bloodied healer robe and washed his hands in remaining hot water. Then he scooped the broken body in his arms, paying attention to be as gentle as possible. He carried Legolas to bed, placed in the adjacent patient bedroom, and with the help of his blond seneschal tucked him in.
A small bowl was filled with some water and athelas leaves. Sweet, refreshing scent filled the air, and after a while of inhalation Legolas's breathing came somewhat easier. Elrond took yet another vial and delicately moved Legolas's jaw open, spooned a generous amount of the drug into his mouth. That was an antiseptic sufficient to fight the infection, necessary even with others applied locally. A wet cloth was laid on the pale brow. The fever would not give up that easily.
Two Elves sat on the edge of the bed, observing the white-pale creature on the bed, who had positively drifted off to a deep drug-induced sleep. They were tired, but could not abandon Legolas so quickly. Not yet.
"What will happen now?" Glorfindel asked. "What will be, when he wakes?"
"Difficult to say. But he will be totally confused, and his memory might fail him." Elrond sighed. "Let me count. The wounds were not fresh; they must have been inflicted upon him about two weeks ago or even more. The contingent had been travelling for 12 days, as they said. (2) That means he had been whipped in Mirkwood, but the gash on his thigh he earned on the road. The burn looks old too."
Elrond sighed, falling silent for a moment. Glorfindel let him think.
"He must have been given the Coffin Nail on the road; and before, possibly. Let's assume two weeks. And since he came here, that is four days. The worst option is that he was being drugged three weeks." Elrond mused.
"Long," Glorfindel's eyes widened in fright. "You think he is addicted?"
"A human would be, certainly," Elrond sighed. "Three weeks… even being an Elf, he may be under the force of addiction… But mayhap he has some strength left yet. In any case, it will be difficult to fight the mental pain caused by the lack of the drug," Elrond said and stood up. "He had faith in this magical medicine. All the pain went away after it. He had his anchor. Now we took it away to submit him into a torment of slow healing, and he will feel helpless."
"He pleaded me not to show him to you," Glorfindel said. "He said you would be angry."
"In Mirkwood he was not allowed to show any pain. Besides," Elrond glanced at the mess behind him and the bloodied table, "would you like to confess to your new Master that you were beaten almost to death? What would he think? That you earned this punishment, of course."
"This was no mere punishment." Glorfindel growled.
"You know and I know. But Legolas does not. He will need much care, so much care, Glorfindel," Elrond sighed.
"If he survives." Glorfindel's gloomy voice sounded and he glanced back at his friend. "Elrond… you are a healer, not I. But in my opinion he may not make it. When you see that he is only struggling, tormenting, instead of coming back to life… when you see that there is no longer sense… you have such medicines. Do not hesitate, for this one saw too much already, was forced to endure too much. When it's hopeless… give him a way to escape."
Elrond stared a moment at the unhealthy white face. Then he sighed tiredly.
"Go and change, Glorfindel. I will clean up here, then we will let him sleep. He has been through hell today."
Glorfindel nodded and patted his liege's arm, walking out.
Legolas, unaware of his surroundings, sighed in his reverie. Elrond smiled sadly. The painkillers and antiseptics were working, keeping the reality at bay. A deep, healing sleep undisturbed by pain was much needed.
Elrond came closer and stroked tenderly the fair head, then the ivory cheek.
"Poor thing." He muttered. "Poor, little leaf. Little Legolas. Don't listen to Glorfindel. He is a soldier, he thinks in his specific way. He should better say that you fight with all of your strength." Elrond sighed, petting the pale face tenderly. "You will be well again. And when you are, I shall take care of you. I'm here. Sleep well, pen-neth. Rest."
(1) Given current timeline, I don't know if Glorfindel has Asfaloth as his horse. I'm afraid he would be dead then, when the story about the One Ring comes in. Even Elven horses does not live that long. That's why I didn't mention Asfaloth, only replaced him with some other proud stallion.
(2) According to the maps from "Hobbit" LOTR and Karen Wynn Fonstad's atlas I measured the way from Thranduil's Halls to Rivendell. (We assume here that the complex of the caves has been built or started by Oropher.) From my measurements it's roughly 570 km. A normal horse can make about 50 km a day. Elven horses would make about 60, I assume. The contingent would not hurry overly though and let's add some time for meals and rest. That gives us about 12 days of travelling. Please forgive me for this Math, if there are mistakes, you are welcome to correct me.