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. Slash (in flashback), a critical state of one certain Elf. And something you could call cliffhangers. So again healing themes, but trust in Elrond.
Chapter 5: BREATHE, JUST BREATHE
/*/
Elrond kept coming back to the healing room in shorter and shorter periods of time, once he had discovered that Legolas' state was worsening with every hour. Finally he sat down on a chair near his bed and watched over the Elf. He knew watching wouldn't help, but he couldn't focus on anything else and he felt he could not leave Legolas alone.
He stroked the fair head gently and the semi-conscious Elf whimpered, frowned as if in pain, but otherwise made no other sound. Elrond supposed he was far too weak to form any coherent words. Delicately he uncovered the bony body and inspected the inflamed wounds which marred the white skin. Legolas was unresisting; swellings near the wounds forming under the bandages told Elrond that the infection managed to settle in anyway and now was being fought in his system. The healer wondered if the Elf was in pain, and if so, how much; through his daze he shouldn't feel anything, but if he was conscious enough to register the pain, lying on his back must have caused sheer torture, and the fever could engender unpleasant visions. The drug leaving the prone body was a deadly poison in bigger amounts, a huge danger to a system as weak as Legolas'. Seeing him now abed Elrond imagined him laying somewhere in a dark cell in Mirkwood dungeons, in a pool of cold water trickling from the ceiling, unconscious and incoherent from fever, totally at guards mercy. And Elrond saw under his eyelids what the guards could do to him then. The thought made his stomach churn.
Suddenly Legolas stiffened and called something in a frightened voice; it wasn't loud, it wasn't even articulated. But Elrond could recognize the call for help. He opened his eyes, but seemed to be blind to the world surrounding him. Elrond soothed him delicately, wetting his brow, cooling his limbs and whispering quiet incantations. He hoped that the Valar did not abandon this child, not now, when he finally was in a safe place, almost at the end of his nightmare. Elrond knew he could give him no more medicaments, not until the drug finally leaves him for good. He could only wait. But waiting was consuming him, and he could almost feel the cold breath of Námo in the poor Elf's aura. Legolas called again.
"Shush, little one. It will be soon over, don't let go," Elrond whispered, stroking steadily the blond, matted mane.
Yet seemingly all his encouragements were for naught, because Legolas closed his eyes tiredly, and his breathing, shallow as it was, slowly began withering. Elrond felt a sting of alarm. Quickly inspecting the pulse, he found that it was almost imperceptible, and in any case far too slow.
Legolas was dying.
"No, not now! Don't give up!" Elrond scooped the slender body into his arms and laid the poor head on his arm. Doing what he could, he channeled his own energy and strength into the drained Elf, praying to the Valar. Vilya shone dimly on his finger. He knew that Legolas' fëa must hear him, even if his mind couldn't register what he was saying, so he spoke.
"You cannot give up now! Legolas, I know you can hear me. You are scared and you don't know what is going on around you, you're in pain and you cannot believe I want to help you. I understand all that. But please, give me a chance! Give me a chance to make it better! To heal you, to take care of you, to save you! Come on, little one, I know you can do this! Breathe!" Elrond fervently spoke to his ear, gently rocking back and forth. "Please, sweet Elbereth, let him live, give him one more chance! Legolas, fight! Fight. You must. Trust me. Trust me…"
Legolas made no move. He did not open his eyes. It wasn't a physical case, Elrond's energy should ease the breathing and help a lot. Elrond could feel slight dizziness and delicate weakening of his fingers, he knew he did send the energy and it was delivered. Legolas simply didn't intend to use it.
"Legolas, what do you have to lose…? Try, please, try again. I know you can. Please, please… breathe," Elrond cooed to his ear. "I promise to take care of you. You are safe here, no one will ever hit you, no one will hurt you. We will do everything we can to give you real life again. I promise. Hear me…? It's a promise…"
Feeling tears blurring his vision, the strong and powerful Elf Lord pressed the limp body to his chest and sent a prayer to Eru himself, asking for help. Legolas was so cold in his arms, so still.
"No matter what he is saying now, no matter what he asks… please, don't take him away," Elrond said through a clenched throat. "Don't take him away, don't take him away… don't take him away from me," he whispered.
Glorfindel inhaled silently. He was standing in the doorway, watching the two; he came into the room drawn by a strange feeling of dread. His suspicion was proved correct, it was about Legolas. But he never suspected Elrond would commit himself so much. After all, he knew nothing about the blond slave. Glorfindel knew that there was always a strong bond between a healer and his patient, especially so mistreated as this one. He knew that Elrond was overprotective the way he was, just his nature. He could imagine how sorry he felt for the mistreated, innocent being and how much he wanted to help, feeling guilt that he hadn't noticed the elfling's injuries earlier. But 'don't take him away from me'…?
Glorfindel recalled another situation, twenty years ago, when Elrond was sitting near the bed of his own wife and praying for her life just like he was today. He suddenly realized the similarity of this situations and instantly knew how painful a blow will it be to his friend. His own throat clenched and choked him, blocking the air.
"Wake up, little leaf," Elrond pleaded. "You cannot die here, not now, not after so much effort and tries… Don't give up! Legolas, start breathing. Start breathing now. I promised you. Dare to believe I was honest. Breathe…"
Glorfindel could not watch anymore. He was just about to come closer and tell his friend it was over, when Elrond actually sobbed and laid the broken body on the bed again. Glorfindel suspected the worst, but Elrond smiled through the tears and laughed quietly.
"Yes, little one! Very good! Breathe, breathe more… good boy, brave little Elf. Good. Breathe steadily. Like that. Don't stop. Breathe…" Elrond praised, stroking the blond hair, observing how the flat stomach raised and fell. He channeled more healing, and this time all was greedily accepted, a faint blush covering the pale cheeks under the treatment.
"Very good. That's right. Brave little leaf. So brave." Elrond smiled and wiped a few tears which escaped his eyes by his soft sleeve, putting Vilya on his left hand forefinger again.
Legolas's fëa decided to accept, to trust. And even if Elrond knew that Legolas was far too traumatized to feel the choice of his soul and trust in his mind and body, Elrond had a certainty that Legolas would survive. Now, as he decided not to fade, no threat could be too dangerous, for he wanted to live. He was safe.
Glorfindel tactfully retreated, leaving his Lord and friend alone with his thankful prayers. His heart was racing and the feeling in his throat didn't lessen even a bit; the scene he had just witnessed was all too meaningful. Not exactly knowing why, he felt like a dirty eavesdropper, touching things he shouldn't have, invading his friend's too intimate areas.
He leaned on the wall and dared to glance inside again, just to check what was happening. Elrond held the fragile hand and wetted Legolas' body with athelas water. The Elf wasn't responding, but he was breathing; evidently now, surely. Elrond's relief was almost possible to feel in the air. His elegant hands were shaking slightly.
Glorfindel moved back. He sat in the armchair, absent-mindedly looking through the papers on the table before him. They all seemed totally unimportant under the assault of thoughts in his head and he threw them away, dispirited. He tried to hear what was happening in the other room, yet no sounds escaped the small chamber.
The blond seneschal sighed and rubbed his brow tiredly. In any case, he decided to wait here and mind the doors, so that his friend would remain undisturbed; it proved to be a wise reasoning. He discarded a few royals and listened to messengers, taking responsibility of repeating the news to Elrond. He told Erestor about everything, when he came looking for the blond slave in panic. His eyes were wide as saucers when he saw the prostrate form on the bed; he sat down on the nearest stool and said nothing for a long while, covering his mouth and nose with a hand, as if afraid to breathe.
Erestor brought something for Elrond to eat, for he knew the Lord wouldn't move from his spot at Legolas's bedpost. Today's afternoon session was quickly moved to another day, all audiences and messengers excused, and Elrond's private quarters became a sacred sanctuary with no one allowed to enter.
Glorfindel still stood near the wall.
"Elrond?" he spoke quietly. His friend glanced at him. "He… got the drug from Lanewel."
A nod.
"So, he is in Mirkwood? Lanewel is in Mirkwood?" Glorfindel asked. "He is enslaved, right?"
Elrond sighed deeply. He couldn't look his friend in the eye.
"No. He's a free Elf." He choked out.
Glorfindel left.
/*/
Pitchfork up, pitchfork down. Fresh hay on the left, the dirty old one on the right for the grooms to carry out. Glorfindel devoted himself to physical work to calm his nerves. The stable boys watched speechless as the powerful Balrog Slayer robbed them of their job. Well, he was a Lord there. He could do so if he had such a fancy.
The stables were a place where Glorfindel spent many hours weekly. He liked to be here, and every day he visited his grey horse, a proud and loyal stallion which was both his friend and a fellow warrior, bearing his weight and carrying him in battles. The proud animal was devoted to his master; now and then he would push him on the back with his velvety nose or the shapely head, but today Glorfindel was unusually unresponsive and angry. The horse could feel his distress and grief, so it abandoned the try to gain attention. Today it was only about working, just to keep busy; to be somewhere only not to be somewhere else. Up, down. Up and down comes the fork.
"If Elrond says you should rest one more day, you should. It is unwise what you're doing."
Lanewel snorted openly. Glorfindel frowned; he felt a little offended by that gesture which wasn't followed even by the tiniest of looks in his direction. He was giving him a good advice, after all.
"Do you decide to ignore what your healer told you, then?" the blond Lord asked, crossing his arms on his chest. "This is not something we are used to here."
Lanewel straightened, repeated Glorfindel's pose and came to stand close enough to invade Glorfindel's personal space. His smirk was getting really unnerving.
"What are you used to here?" he asked teasingly. His eyes shone. "I do admit I have no idea about your customs. Saving strangers and giving them protection is really a forgotten, unusual tradition. But I like it."
And he smiled friendly, becomingly. Glorfindel found himself trapped.
Glorfindel smiled absent-mindedly, recalling this characteristic smirk. Pitchfork up, pitchfork down. This smile would haunt him now, be it in nightly sleeplessness or daily routine. These eyes would be shining at him from the very skies.
"This is pure… pure wonder," Lanewel breathed, staring at the magnificent sight of the waterfalls, roaring with cascades of water falling down. The sun shone through the tree branches creating long, wide rays of light, with fantastically sparkling dust in them. Lanewel stood in one of the light stains and his whole figure was given a golden glow. And these green eyes were laughing like no other Glorfindel ever met.
I agreed to show him the valley, Glorfindel recalled. We took two horses and galloped till we had no breath left in our lungs and no thought left in mind. I hadn't felt like that since Gondolin. We walked long hours, talking. I met a soul which would have been my closest friend in Middle Earth, if not this…
The fork landed on the ground, tossed with might and anger. The stallion neighed, surprised at such behaviour. Tears began to run down Glorfindel's cheeks.
"He is a free Elf" he choked out.
"You're sure you don't want even a little?" Lanewel laughed, sniffing a strange white powder he carefully gathered in a neat thin line on the top of his palm. "This isn't dangerous."
"I'm not afraid, I just don't use this," Glorfindel snorted, emptying the last bottle of delicious red wine from the oldest Imladris vineyard.
"Ah, it does no harm. It's really useful on the road. Few stop infections, other dull the pain… Nature gave us everything we need."
"You may get addicted to that."
"Don't tell me what I may get addicted to." Lanewel's eyes rested on the bare Glorfindel's neck, where the vein pulsated steadily, but fiercely. Glorfindel saw the stare. Yet it could mean nothing. They were both drunk. They couldn't possibly mind all their body parts to behave like they should.
Oh yes, Glorfindel thought, I felt like a youngster near him, even if I was so much older! The wood under Glorfindel's fingers crunched mournfully, threatening to break. He treated me differently than others, and I felt like I wanted to impress him with all my might…
"Impression? You saved my life, I saw you in battle, that leaves a huge impression, believe me… what more impression could you possibly want to make?" he suddenly heard his voice in his head, so clearly, so vividly, that his head started to spin. He turned around, yet there was only his horse near.
How did it happen? When? Suddenly there were lips on his own, certain and seeking, invading his mouth boldly like any other. Suddenly there was a warm hand on his nape, the wine bottle fell on the carpet and rolled away further, staining it with tiny droplets like bloody pearls. Suddenly there was only silence and sound of breaths mingling.
When Glorfindel opened his eyes, he realized with horror that he barely responded to the kiss; he didn't object, but he didn't participate either. He was just taken by surprise at this and too fascinated to make a sound. Lanewel must have read it differently, for he chuckled and rose.
"I am away at dawn. I would like to… catch this three hours of sleep I have left to this time. I have stolen enough of your time."
Glorfindel didn't say a word. It was too late anyway.
In the morning Lanewel readied himself to journey, when Glorfindel came to say his goodbyes.
"What is your name, actually?" he asked, amused. The blond Lord was silent for a longer while.
"Glorfindel of Gondolin." He said finally. He never suspected that Lanewel would start to laugh, and that loudly; he clamped his hand over his mouth in time not to wake anyone, but continued to chuckle for a long time.
"And really?" he asked Glorfindel. He wanted to say that it is for real, but somehow felt stupid and didn't say a thing. Lanewel arched an eyebrow at him.
"Alright, you choose something. Name me," Glorfindel said finally, feeling a little embarrassed.
"Glorfindel of Gondolin," Lanewel said without hesitation. "This is my favorite name in all the world."
Glorfindel hugged him briefly for the last time. He smelled of smoke and wet leaves still.
"Have a safe journey," he muttered. "Until next time."
"Sure thing" the Elf said only.
"Sure thing," Glorfindel sobbed. "Sure thing, until next time…"
Slowly and passively the Elf sat on the hay-covered floor and hid his face in hands.
/*/
It was damp and dark in this place. It was cold. Cold creeping to his stiff limbs, cold biting his muscles, cold attacking his exposed skin. The shiver was so intense that every spasm of his body was shattering the fragile stillness of the moment. For now he was being left in peace, alone in the rat-infested cell. He wished to use this time to gather his strength. And he couldn't, for no sleep would come and the violent tremble was ever-existent.
Please, let me sleep. Leave me alone. Let me rest.
Glorfindel, give me my pack, I will need a few things. A bustle on his left; someone hovering above him, the cold attacking with even more force, leaving him thrashing like a fish pulled out from the water on ice.
The door opened. Two guards went in and brutally yanked him on his feet. Legolas couldn't stand on his own: he fell on his knees, tearing the skin on the black, sharp gravel.
"Come on, you whore. Don't pretend you cannot walk, you had enough time to rest."
A kick in his ribs. Pain exploded in his side, aggravating the ribs, and in his head, blinding, burning, suffocating. He started coughing violently, thinking that he would spit his lungs out. The thin thread of saliva flowed down his chin as he stayed on his fours, head hung low, trying to catch a shuddering breath. The white-hot pain threatened to cleave his skull in two.
Easy, little one, easy… it's going to be alright… Take this. Here. Alright, the fit passed, I think... Something touching his lips. A cloth. Can you lift him up?
He was lifted roughly, the iron-like grip on his shoulders so primordially brutal, so obvious, so… in order. As he couldn't stand, he was dragged forward. His hip and upper thigh brushed over the gravel, then the stone, leaving a clean trail in the dust and grime. It hurt.
But pain was good. It awakened him, prepared, never allowing to slip into reverie. It reminded him that he had to be aware now. Why, he couldn't remember; but all what was happening didn't kill the basic survivor instinct yet. He needed awareness to be able to endure.
Another dark room.
Few more Elves here and the strange two Legolas has never seen before. One slave girl, so young. She still had hair. And one bony Elf, shaved and covered with bruises, but conscious, calm and still. He was sitting on a bench and chewing a piece of bread.
Bread. Food. He was seeing food, or was it just a hallucination…? No, he could smell it in the air! It had to be real!
Erestor, not now, just look at him, he will not be able to eat anything. Holy Valar… Come back in an hour or so, maybe he will feel better. Now we must fight the fever down. It's dangerous, it's much too high. Can I help somehow? No, you can't.
The guards pushed him roughly to the wall, near the dirty girl. She stared at him in fear, searching for help he could not offer. He couldn't even find the courage to give an expected, calming answer at her mute question.
One guard came closer to that Elf on a bench and ordered him to kneel. The bread disappeared as if it never was true. The Elf obediently went down on his knees and waited for the guard to tell him what to do. He met a quick, harsh order, one word. Legolas didn't hear what was it, but he saw the guard unbuckling his belt. He stood with his back to the two, but the following movements were all too obvious. To Legolas' shock, the Elf didn't struggle; he eagerly obeyed the order, using the guards belt as a support to hold upright as the guard began to make obscene, thrusting moves.
A low, pleased moan coming from the warrior made Legolas' hair stand up on his head. The girl near him whimpered and started to cry, covered her ears by hands and closed her eyes. Legolas couldn't move. He felt sick on to stomach.
It all happened quickly, surprisingly quickly. At least in the beginning.
A guard came closer to the two, grabbed Legolas by his hair and dragged him to the centre of a small group of Elves.
"Now you will receive your training, little slave. After all, you need to know how to please your new Master. Kneel before me. Come on, don't be shy," came the mocking words, and cruel laughter followed.
Please no, please no. Not this. I just cannot…
"Give him a little," one behind him laughed. "He will be easier." He tossed a full bottle and the one standing before him caught it gracefully.
"Heard this, little slut? Will you obediently drink on your own? No? Very well, you have the right to choose, of course." Rough hands grabbed Legolas and held on both sides. The one behind him held his head by the hair, forcing his jaw open. The burning liquid flowed into his mouth, the mere scent so foul and potent that Legolas wheezed, and he had no other choice than to swallow, for he would choke; the alcohol left a burning trail down his throat, took his breath away and forced tears from his eyes. He wasn't given a pause before more was poured. He tried to struggle, but only choked as it went down the wrong way and he curled on the floor, retching, vomiting. He couldn't. His stomach was empty.
"See? He has had… enough already," the voice came like from a deep well. Please, endure. Hold on, child, hold on. It's just water, only water… shush, I will give you little more. Please, you must drink it. You are dehydrated. Elrond, he does not hear you.
"Now. Open up, you cretin," the guard spoke again, trying to shove his flesh into Legolas's mouth. He clenched his teeth, turned his head away. He was positioned by the one behind and held securely. No way out. But I need to… need to…
A strange dizziness settled in his head, blurring the shapes, fading the light, washing away sound reasoning. His head was heavy, strangely sore, protesting at every move with an alien feeling. The blood was pulsing in his veins. His eyelids closed. Every beat of his heart was loud enough to deafen him. Why was it beating so fast and panicky? What was this all about, anyway…? Where was he?
"Oh, someone has had a little too much! Don't worry. We will sober you a little."
The girl. Thrashing in the guards hold. Crying.
"Take it," Legolas heard. "Suck me. Now."
Legolas recalled suddenly and the thought sent needles of revolt into his system. He just couldn't! He wanted to scream and run away, he wanted to throw up at the mere thought of… no! No, I won't, I won't, I won't… I cannot…
At the helpless shake of his head the guard took a big, metal hammer from the shelf, held it so that Legolas could see it clearly and pointed the girl. Her hand was held flat on the rough table surface, just a few steps away near the wall. Panic rose in her eyes as she begged silently for Legolas to yield, but even as he started formulating words of protest, in one fast movement the guard smashed one of the girls' fingers. A terrible scream rang in the air.
"No! Please, no, not her, me, take me, don't touch her! Let her gooo!" Legolas heard himself scream. He thrashed like a panicked animal, trying to get closer to the girl, not knowing what he could achieve by that, but still trying.
Calm down, Legolas! Here… I got him. Shush, shush… peace, little leaf, no one will hurt you! Shush… Glorfindel, this is for naught. Run to my bath chamber and fill the tube with water, but not cold, he would go into shock. Lukewarm. I will handle him! Shush… peace, little son, peace, elfling.
"Take it."
He did. The pungent scent attacked his nostrils and his mouth were oddly stretched. He didn't know what to do, trying to escape with his tongue not to touch this thing. But soon he was forced to, as the thrust came and he gagged; he moved back, but met resistance. The guard behind him held him by his hair. Having no way out he started to cough; he couldn't stop his reflexes, he couldn't fight the urge to expel that thing out of his throat, but he was given no room. And the thrusting continued. Legolas felt like vomiting with the empty air.
He needed to endure. The grimace of agony seemingly entertained the guards. He prayed for it to end. Once it started, it felt like hours. His sore muscles screamed in protest, his knees buckled. His limbs, held in an iron grip, hurt.
Something hot and very bitter, something foul hit the back of his throat and Legolas tried to bent to spit it out, yet was stopped, held by his jaw.
"Swallow."
He did. His whole mouth burned.
There were others after that one. All four. The girl screamed behind them. Legolas stopped thinking, just doing mechanically. Enduring. He didn't remember what was next.
Water again. Cold again. Silence again.
Dim light at the bigger hole near the ceiling. It must be sunrise out there in the woods.
Lifted from the water, he was dried and held in someone's protective embrace. Shush, it's over now. It's over. A strange softness. Cold again, but this time on his nape; from his hair, maybe. Few droplets fell down from the blond strands and trickled down his collarbone. Hair was gathered in a towel, put near the pillow he was laying on.
It broke. Yes. Look how still he is.
I'm back. What happened, why are you wet? What? Did it break…? …no… …I don't know, Elrond, I have just…
"Moreth…" Legolas whispered, opening his eyes. He smiled delicately, a naive smile of a silly happiness. A hand crept through the bed sheet and reached feebly for Erestor.
The head of Imladris' household froze in total shock. He cast a questioning gaze to his liege.
"You have brown hair," Elrond said quietly.
"M-oreth… please…"
Erestor crouched near the bed, took the fragile hand in his. "I'm here," he spoke. "I'm here. Rest, my friend. You can rest now. I am watching over you. Do you want to drink?"
An answer came in form of a displeased mewl. Unfocused eyes rested on Erestor.
"Can you be here…?" he asked in a broken voice, trying to answer the hold of his hand. "The… guards…"
"Yes, I can. Don't worry about me. Easy, Legolas." Erestor whispered. "Lay still. Rest. It will be over soon."
Legolas nodded trustingly, still holding onto his friend's hand.
"How is… S-silcan?" he asked feebly. "Is she… better?"
Erestor glanced up at Elrond and Glorfindel. Their faces held no knowledge about any girl named so.
"Yes, she's better," Erestor said quietly. "She will be alright. You will be alright too. Don't worry, I am watching over you, the fever is gone, you will feel better very soon…You are safe now. Be still, don't worry about anything. You are safe. Soon you will feel better. You'll see… everything is going to be alright… when you wake up tomorrow, I will give you something to eat. You are so thin. Easy, my friend, I am here…"
It took him a while to notice he was speaking to an unconscious Elf.
/*/
When Elrond came to inspect Legolas at noon, he finally saw a change. He was still fast asleep, but this time peacefully. No sounds escaped him: be it terrified whimpers or moans of pain, they were gone. Right now, this calmness was a blessing. The irregular beating of the Elf's heart was worrying Elrond all the time through the worst fever. Now it returned to normalcy. Its beating was steady again, quieter, in a well know rhythm characteristic for all the living creatures. Legolas was so still and so quiet that he looked more like dead than asleep.
Yet dead he was not, for he was burning again: not very badly, but bad enough to drain all energy and strength he had. His brow was coated with cold sweat.
The Elf Lord pulled the covers off the previous slave, reached for a cloth immersed in a bowl of water standing nearby just in case, and started to cool the young one's brow and limbs. Legolas started to tremble, feeling only cold instead of the hot blood in his veins, and made a quiet squeal of protest. Elrond could only talk to him and pray his movements are gentle enough not to cause any pain when he was lifting his limbs one by one and cooling them, pressing the cloth to his wrists, insides of the elbows and knees. Knowing fingers could feel the swelling where the wounds were, delicately probing the bandage. The skin was red and heated. The lithe frame was wreaked with chills. That fever was a particularly evil one, holding Legolas in its grasp since the day before, retreating and returning in turns.
At least they stopped the infection. Without it Legolas's state will soon improve, Elrond mused. The drug had left his system in the night and once this fever breaks, he will be on his way to recovery.
Suddenly Legolas opened his mouth like he wanted to scream, but no sound escaped his lips; he tensed and straightened strangely, then tossed his head on the pillow and lay again like dead. Elrond stopped his gentle administrations for a while and observed him vigilantly; he made no further move, but his eyes were open.
"Are you awake?" Elrond asked quietly.
Instead of an answer Legolas turned to him his wide, glowing eyes and gave him a frightened stare.
"There's no need to fear, young one," Elrond whispered, returning with the cloth to his brow. The blond flinched and trembled harder under the moist fabric. "Tell me, what's wrong? Something hurts you? Tell me where," Elrond asked. No answer came besides the trembling and the wild stare of a helpless, frightened animal. At the cautious attempt to touch him, Legolas flinched as far as possible; he curled around himself as tightly as he could, lying awkwardly for he had no strength to rearrange his body on the bed like he certainly wanted to. He pressed his face to the pillow and closed his eyes, seemingly trying to cut himself off the surrounding world. Elrond wasn't surprised. Legolas had a right to act strangely, for he barely understood what was going on around him. However, he didn't seem in a good enough shape to talk and explain.
Cooing and whispering gentle reassurances Elrond fought with the fever, trying to calm the Elf down as well. His silence worried Elrond, but he didn't ask any more questions. Now Legolas's physical well-being was a priority.
Finally the fever subsided and Elrond, thinking that the younger Elf was already asleep, covered him back and turned to the door. He glanced back to ascertain himself. Yes, Legolas was lying still and steady, deeply asleep again. Elrond left the door open in case something happened and let the young one sleep.
Only then Legolas dared to open his eyes and rise shakily on an elbow.
Who was this man? Where am I? What actually happened? – he had no answer for these questions as his mind refused to remember, and it utterly terrified him. His heart was beating harder and harder with every panicked thought, and the blood was pumping in his temples.
He looked down on the bed; the fabrics and blankets he was covered with were warm and precious, but felt strangely alien. It wasn't what he was used to. They seemed out of place. A sudden wave of heat engulfed him and he pushed the fabric off himself. He found he was naked.
His heart wanted to jump out of his chest. In total panic Legolas gathered the blanket around himself with one hand, the movement causing the cold sweat to trickle into his eyes. Why was he stripped? Why couldn't he move? Why this weakness…? Did it happen again…?
The bandages were unnerving him; they felt uncomfortable like bonds, especially those securing his ribs and the one tied on his right hand. Not thinking much about what he was doing he tore them off with shaking fingers, fighting hard, even if he had no strength. Finally he tossed at least a part of it on the ground. The broken finger protested with sharp pain, some wounds reopened the violent treatment and the blood oozed slowly from the biggest cuts, staining the sheets and the pale flesh. His ribs felt like on fire and Legolas had a hard time breathing under the feeling.
He eyed the half–filled glass with water on the stand and reached for it immediately, so thirsty he was. He did not, however, manage to drink. His hands were shaking uncontrollably and the glass broke in his hand as he squeezed too hard, tiny shards cutting his whole palm.
Legolas gasped at the sight of blood covering his hands. He sat with his eyes wide, the shattered glass on his lap; from his bloodied hand the first wave of pain came, then another, and he started to be aware of his hurting, abused body. The pain soon caused angry red dots in his vision and after a while the tears came, the dizziness became worse and all he could do was to fall back on the bed, crying so hard that his stomach threatened to rebel. Soon the cry transformed into panicked sobs and incoherent, silent screams. Even lying still hurt. What had been done to him? Why did it hurt so much?... He blinked the cold sweat from his eyes and openly screamed, wishing that by doing so the pain would recede.
Tossing on the bed he was heard by Elrond and Glorfindel, who rushed through the door at the sounds. The appearance of unknown persons near, whom he didn't remember or recognize, drove Legolas to utter desperation and he started fighting to escape. Glorfindel received the first hit, the next swiftly followed as the Elf tried to free himself from the iron-like grip of the Imladris Seneschal. Totally panicked, he screamed in fright until he was gagged by a cloth wetted with a smelly herbal substance. In seconds he went limp.
"Well done, Glorfindel," said Elrond quietly, reaching for his medical pack left near the bed just in case. He took the blankets off the bed and pushed all the pillows on the ground.
"Lay him down" he said, patting the bed's surface.
"Is he…" Glorfindel started uncertainly, observing Elrond working in silence.
"I have no idea. But I wouldn't exclude the possibility that he is indeed out of his mind." Elrond sighed tiredly, inspecting the size of the self-inflicted damage. "This may be the effect of withdrawal also. He is under unbearable stress and the drug may influence his mind, so that he sees a very frightening reality around." Elrond sighed; he eyed his bag with medicaments and Glorfindel knew that he is reconsidering the healing plan now he had a confirmation that Legolas would have to fight the addiction as well.
"We need to get him and the bed cleaned. Will you tell Erestor to send someone to do it? I will tend to Legolas," Elrond finally asked, moving to pick the boy up. Glorfindel nodded.
"Do you need any help?" Glorfindel asked. Elrond declined the offer with a shake of his head and carried Legolas' limp form out to the bathroom.
Glorfindel glanced at the soiled bed and his own clothes. Watching Elrond and the blond Elf disappear around the corner, he wondered briefly why Elrond was so utterly convinced that the boy would eventually get well again. Even if he did so physically, the wounds inflicted upon his mind would be impossible to bandage, stitch or set. And in any case, they would leave scars.
When Elrond carried Legolas back to the room wrapped loosely in a big towel, Glorfindel was waiting with medical supplies and Neremiel was hurrying to pick the last pieces of the broken glass from the floor. Elrond smiled to her.
"Thank you very much. You did excellent work," he praised her and laid the broken body on the bed. Delicately reclining him, he saw with a corner of his eye the shock on the girl's little face, when her eyes slid over the thin, famished body. It was clearly visible which ribs were whole and which were broken. His hips were so unnaturally slim, with prominent, sharp hipbones. His arms and legs were just like sticks, the chest was almost hollow. And everything was covered with bruises, cuts and burns. Even his eyes were damaged – now they were closed, but it was visible that the eyelids were swollen and a lot of puss gathered in the corners.
"My Lord… will he… survive?" the girl asked quietly. Now, when she saw the real size of the damage inflicted upon Legolas, she was utterly terrified. "Just yesterday he was… he was walking and acting as if he was all right…"
"I won't let him die, don't worry," Elrond soothed. "But don't tell anyone about what you have seen. We don't need additional fuss around him and frightened Belithravien. I have enough trouble with Erestor who would like to help but does not know how otherwise than by worrying. Not even a word!" he warned, then gave her a last father-like smile and shooed her from the room.
Glorfindel had already begun to rewrap the bandages. His voice was grim, when he spoke.
"Why did he react this way? He knows us both, he knows we won't hurt him."
"I'm not certain. We have no idea how much he remembers and if he even knows where he is. Yet that kind of attack must not happen again. The wounds will not close while reopened constantly," Elrond muttered through the clenched teeth. Glorfindel took the bandage from Elrond's pack and came closer to the bed.
"What are you doing?" Elrond asked looking at his friend, who took one slender wrist of Legolas and tied it to the bedpost.
"I'm tying him up. How do you want to prevent him from hurting himself or us? You said yourself, he won't be coherent enough to understand we want to help him. If so, he will only see those who did it to him," Glorfindel pointed countless cuts and wounds on the pale chest under the thick bandage. "That's the easiest way." He sighed, doing the other wrist.
Elrond nodded and took the bandage from his friend; he wanted to be sure the bonds were not too tight. Glorfindel was a warrior, not a healer after all. The thin hand lying on the pillow and restricted with a white gauze looked so fragile. Elrond almost couldn't imagine how it was possible to clad it in a hard and unforgivable iron without breaking that delicate structure. Elrond closed his hand over it, trying to soothe, to help. And to defend.
/*/
A strange, thick fog veiled his tired mind. He was left in a strange place, where time had no meaning, where no daylight nor evening darkness could prompt him what time of day it was now.
He wasn't oblivious, though. It was, most of the time, a quiet and exhausted sleep: without a sound and without movement. In those short moments between waking and drifting off into another reverie he could hear sounds, feel a presence of someone, recognize the wetness on his forehead as a moistened cloth, laid there to fight with any fever he had. The presence disappeared sometimes. Then he thought he would want it back. Whatever it was, it had no intention to hurt him. Let it carry him to whatever end. For end should come quickly now, shouldn't it…?
Lying in that someplace he was in he came to a misty conclusion that it was soft here. The fabric under his cheek was warm, smelled of freshness and starch; the covers he was undoubtedly tucked in shielded him from cold.
Shadows were passing under his tiredly closed eyelids, sealed with half-sleep or incoherence. The pale light seeping from the left was cold and brutal, invading his sore eyes, sending needles of awareness into him. Not that. Not awakening. Back to oblivion, please, not awaking…!
At his whimper a merciful hand adjusted the blankets, so that he could hide his head in a fold. The light disappeared. Legolas sighed.
Then the time came, when he had to wake up. He couldn't force himself back to sleep. His body could not endure lying in one position any longer, thirst and hunger reminded him of the existence of the real world and the headache was getting worse. He tried to move for a start, just a small motion, to rearrange his legs. It was painful and tiring, his limbs heavy like iron. He could move easily only with his head.
He opened his eyes, and the light invaded mercilessly. For a while he could see nothing except painful shining from the window. Then shapes appeared: misty, blurred as if unreal; something slender, moving in a hypnotic rhythm, flying, floating in the air. This couldn't be real. The view behind the big window was blurred, containing only stains of different color, all bathed in amazing, divine light which hurt his eyes, but was eternally beautiful. That huge green stain on the left must have been… a tree? Huge tree, in vivid green… What was that cloud on the left?
Smoky, strange shapes which moved steadily in a waving trail resembled eerie, living beings, moving and dancing behind the clear glass. It was impossible for his sore eyes to recognize simple leaves. The rest of the view, buildings and the whole scenery, was too fluid to see, too blurred. Yet it was beautiful, glowing with the golden rays of sun. After a while another sense awake in him and he heard chirping of the birds. It was indescribable: he felt relieved beyond measure and enchanted with this joyful sound. There was a bright, sunny world somewhere out there…!
Legolas moved his head to the right, trying to take in the sight of the room he was in. It was quite cozy; strangely for a person in his position he felt calm and safe in here, where all seemed soft and warm. His eyes wandered back to the left.
He spotted a heavy, red armchair, just near his bed. The color was so vivid that he couldn't stop looking; he caught onto that armchair. He glanced at it like he would on a friend. The armchair meant someone was coming here, someone was interested, and he wasn't left totally alone. Someone cared.
And he wasn't dead, as he previously thought.
If I am not dead, then…
His beaten body and confused mind screamed for help inwardly. Legolas tried to move more, but he had no strength and the foreign, tight feeling on his wrists prompted him to think that he was tied up. Panic stung him. He desperately wanted to do something, but was unable to, immobile, blinded and helpless. He tried to speak; to moan, at least, only to voice his distress, that would help, that would help… But he discovered he was also mute, for only a weak squeal escaped his clenched throat. He lay still, for there was nothing else to do. But he could not come back to sleep either.
He could not take that. Fear arose in him, terrible scream and tears threatened to break free and Legolas waited for the moment the panic would become stronger than his weakness, for he would at least try to fight then. But his fatigue was greater than he thought. Frustrated and exhausted, he succeeded to articulate a strained 'please', but to whom he was speaking and what he was asking for he did not know.
"Peace, child," a warm, deep voice said and the vicious sunlight was blocked by a broad person, who came to stand between him and the window.
"Are you awake?" he heard the voice asking and felt the mattress being weighted down next to him. After a while he was able to see the one who spoke. It was a dark-haired Elf in royal robes, absolutely stunning, almost glowing with his inner light and power. He laid a hand on Legolas' forehead and whispered a few words in a language Legolas didn't understand. They brought him strange relief, however, arranging his thoughts in one coherent, calm question.
"Where am I?" he breathed, looking at the stunning Elf. The hand moved from his brow and raked through his hair.
"You are in Imladris, in the Elven realm of Rivendell. You had come here with guards and envoys of your homeland, Mirkwood the Great. I am the Lord of this valley. My name is Elrond." The Elf spoke softly and in an inviting tone. It had a calming effect, offered some knowledge. The soothing gestures held a secret promise of rest to come. Legolas was too tired and too resigned to fight now. The fear crawled unused into the corners of his mind, ready to spring free, but waiting for now, as if uncertain whether to strike or not. Imladris, he said…? Oh yes. That sunny place. The guards…? Moreth? What… what time it is, I would want to know…
Elrond's fingers moved on his neck and pressed the vein delicately. The Elf was taking his pulse.
"Do you remember me, Legolas?" he asked.
Legolas nodded. He thought he would have no strength to speak, but somehow he managed. "I do," he whispered, "My Master."
Elrond wanted to correct him now very badly, telling him he was no Master and his slavery was also past. But the Elf would not understand. There is no sense to mess in his head, Elrond thought, measuring the pulse finally. There will be time when he's better, stronger. Not now.
"Are you thirsty?" he asked instead. Legolas nodded tiredly.
Elrond took a glass of water from a tray somewhere out of Legolas' field of vision. He dipped his two fingers into it and delicately smeared the substance over his lips. Legolas licked the moisture greedily, feeling it spread sweetly on his tongue. It was not enough though and he left his mouth slightly opened, hoping for more water to come.
Elrond repeated the operation and felt Legolas' lips tentatively close over his fingers, catching the tiny droplets. Few more repetitions and Elrond stopped this painstaking way of watering the Elf. Legolas did not dare to ask for more, but his desperate look spoke volumes.
"Are you alright?" Elrond asked soberly. "No nausea?"
That question surprised Legolas. Why would this Lord care? He shook his head no and at that Elrond took a spoon. More of the precious liquid flowed past his teeth, but little enough to swallow without problem.
"Careful. Do not hurry and try not to choke. You will get as much water as you need, don't be afraid. Only be calm and swallow slowly, else it may come back up."
Elrond's words were steady and fierce, but did not sound like typical orders for Legolas' slave-trained ears. He obeyed naturally, pleasantly surprised at the kind speech and delicate movements. Slowly his throat stopped burning and he started to feel a bit better. He licked his dry lips once more; some water slipped unchecked to wet his cheek, but Elrond wiped it out. Finally the glass was put away; Legolas would want more, but seemingly the strange Master knew better.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, concern in his eyes. Legolas just stared for a while. He couldn't see well, so he blamed his eyes; he couldn't be seeing the frown of worry. He opened his mouth to give an answer, but he really didn't know what to say.
"I see," Elrond sighed. His hand returned to the blond head and rested there, playing with matted, knotted strands. Legolas felt he needed to know more, what was going on, why was he so weak. He knew he was overstepping his place, the long and blunt needles of fear were reminding him of that, but he had to know.
"What… why am I… how…" he sounded, trying to keep the conversation as long as he could, but no reasonable question came. Elrond spoke nevertheless.
"You are very ill, young one," he told him, stroking his head. "You were abused in Mirkwood. The road exhausted you furthermore. And this drug Moreth gave you – those brown leaves – it has ended and you couldn't endure any longer. You need help, Legolas," Elrond said slowly, looking his patient in the eye, checking if he understood. "I am a healer. I will help you. Everything is going to be alright."
Legolas closed his eyes and bit his lip. These news, even if only very general, must have sounded serious. Elrond wanted to tell Legolas what really was happening with him now, but knew this would cause a fit of panic dangerous even for his life. After all what happened Elrond was afraid that the poor heart, beating so unsteady at times, would not handle another shock.
Legolas must have sensed that the Lord was not telling him everything, but he just nodded in feigned understanding. His head came up again and he gloomily stared at the bonds on his wrist. Elrond noticed the glance.
"You are tied up not because of ill intentions. You were hurting yourself, so we had to prevent you from doing any lasting harm. I cannot untie you just yet. I cannot be sure you won't start to panic." Elrond's voice was gentle, but Legolas stiffened anyway. Was it so bad…? The enormity of this situation finally made it's way to his head and he felt his calmness draining out of him rapidly. He squirmed, feeling the upcoming tears, desperate not to cry, but failing.
"You're not going to die," Elrond said fiercely. "You are going to get well again. I am here with you. There is nothing to fear. I know it hurts, but endure a moment longer; there was a painkiller in the water. Just try to get back to sleep, Distract yourself. Everything will be alright, I promise. Tomorrow you will feel better." He laid a hand on his brow again and reached for a moistened cloth. He laid the compress on Legolas' forehead and delicately stroked the unhealthy white face. "Sleep. You need much rest."
Obediently, swallowing the tears, Legolas laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. The hand rested on the top of his head with an appealing coolness, clearing the thoughts and allowing him a moment of peace. He felt the sleep coming, as if seeping from that merciful hand. Lord Elrond's soft whispers and the cooling allowed him to slip into inviting darkness again.