Chapter Ten
It was Higa who brought the news that Aragorn was on his way, riding hell bent for leather, pushing Brego to his limit. The horse might break his heart for his rider, but Aragorn would be there before nightfall. Actually, the signals had been Gondor, Royal, Arrival, Nightfall, but Eomer understood Aragorn.
Eomer shut the door behind Higa and stopped to stroke Hroth, who lay in front of the fire. He thought about going back to sleep for a while, but decided against it. Malwyn had woken him when Higa arrived, and had gone to see about breakfast.
The elf shifted from sleep to wakefulness in that sudden manner that always startled the man. The first time it had happened, he'd been propped up on his elbow, contentedly gazing at the elf.
Legolas was sleeping with his hair rumpled on the pillow, the light sheet covering his hips. The eyes opened and the elf smiled.
"Morning, 'Mer," he'd said, the intense look in the blue eyes causing the man to shiver.
"Don't do that, you'll scare the life out of me!" Eomer replied, clutching at his chest. The elf laughed and playfully pulled the man's head down to kiss the scolding lips...
Eomer sighed and pulled clean clothes out of the press, began dressing. He was doing up the toggles on his tunic when Legolas' voice came from somewhere in the mountain of bedclothes.
"I can't see a bloody thing, 'Mer!"
Rushing to the side of the bed, he discovered the elf had not moved after his episode and the pile of blankets blocked his view of the rest of the room. The bruised eyes looked at him, appreciatively. Eomer smoothed the offending blankets, a scowl on his face.
"Stop that! I thought you'd gone blind on top of everything else, love!" Eomer said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What's to see in here anyway?"
"You," the elf said, smiling. Then he winced as he tried to pull himself up in the bed.
"Lay still, Legolas. You had a bit of a rough night." Eomer said, carefully. He reached under the blankets for the elf's hand, gave it a gentle squeeze. Legolas squeezed back and did not let it go.
"Don't see how, when I can't move." He looked closely at the man, his eyes narrowing. "What happened to your lip?" he asked, noticing the cut.
"Nothing, had a little accident, that's all." Eomer said, not sure about what he should tell him.
"Looks like someone hit you," the elf said, still staring at him. "You start a fight?"
"No, it's nothing. How are you feeling this morning?"
"Sore all over. Hungry. Sad."
"All that? Well, let's get you some food, then see what we can do about the rest."
"'Mer?" the elf asked, looking worried. "Gimli's dead, isn't he."
"Yes, love. I'm so sorry." Eomer gently put his arm around Legolas, ready for the fresh outbreak of grief. To his surprise, it didn't come. Instead there was a worrying shadow in the elf's eyes as he looked at him.
"Why can't I remember what happened? Did I hit my head?"
"You will when you're ready to." Eomer said, startled. "Offa says your mind is too busy with healing your body. It can't handle everything all at once."
"I don't think I want to remember," the elf said, quietly.
"That might happen, too." Eomer told him, patting his hand gently. "Right now it doesn't matter. You getting well is what matters. Now, how about breakfast for you?" He left the bed, opened the door, and spoke to the boy who'd been waiting. The lad sped down the hall, shoes slipping as he rounded the corner.
"Aragorn should be here tonight," Eomer continued, opening the drapes and letting the morning sunshine flood the room. "No rain today, so he should make good time." Hroth moved from the fire to the puddle of light on the rug in front of the window. He turned a few times and settled back down. Eomer grinned and ruffled the big head.
There was a flash of panic in the blue eyes. "Aragorn?"
"I sent for him as soon as I could. I hoped he'd be able to help us."
"Help us," the elf whispered, lips suddenly dry.
Eomer looked up from the dog, staring at the elf. With his head unbandaged, the swelling around his eye lessened, it was somehow harder to look at him. The ruin of his hair, the wound on his cheek, but no, there was something in the eyes, fear, doubt?
Eomer stepped back over to the bed and sat down beside the elf. Legolas looked at him, then away, as if he were shamed. Eomer reached over, and gently turned the face back to him, careful of the broken jaw.
"What is it, love?" he asked, concern changing his face. "Are you hurting? Should I get Offa?"
"'Mer," the elf began, then he stopped, closing his eyes.
"Look at me, love, what is it? What can I do?" He gently stroked the head. Legolas stiffened.
"Don't!" he hissed. Eomer pulled his hand back, as if bitten.
"Did I hurt you?" Eomer asked, confused at the change in the elf, the anger in the voice.
"For Eru's sake, 'Mer, look at me! Look at me, honestly, and tell me what you see."
Eomer sighed. "Fine. Here's the truth. Your hair is gone. You are missing part of your ear. You are going to have terrible scars, on your back, your face. You may even have a limp. But your eyes are still the most brilliant blue and your smile would bring the Valar themselves from the sky. You're going to be in bed for the better part of the winter, and even then, you'll need to take things slowly. But when you laugh, Legolas, the stars themselves rejoice."
"I'm going to be ugly. Forever."
"You couldn't be ugly on a bet." Eomer grinned at him, surprising the elf. "You haven't got it in you. It's never been your looks that make you beautiful. Don't you know that?"
Legolas looked at him, tears of frustration building in his eyes. "People are going to run and hide when they see me coming. I'm an elf, for Eru's sake! One of the Fair Folk!" He ran his good hand over his stubble. "And without this...", he looked down again. "I don't want Aragorn to see me! I don't want anyone to see me!"
"I know what it meant to you..." Eomer began, but Legolas cut him off, almost spitting the words.
"I was a warrior! People knew that as soon as they saw me! Now, nothing! I have my pride, 'Mer."
Eomer pulled back a bit. "We are not going to have the pride fight again! Not now, not ever. I don't care if you've lost your hair, I wouldn't care if you'd lost your leg or an eye. Anyone who thinks you're not a warrior still is a fool, and that includes you. Yes, you!" His hazel eyes were smouldering as he looked at Legolas. "The last time we fought about pride, yours, mine, you left. I hated living without you. I hate the thought of it now. But you're here, Legolas. You're alive! You're here, with me, in our bed."
"So why are you sleeping in a cot?" Legolas asked, his humiliation chasing reason out the window.
Eomer laughed grimly. "I haven't slept in this bed since you went away."
The elf looked puzzled. "Why ever not? It's one of the most comfortable I've ever been in."
"Not when you're not in it." Eomer told him, tears beginning to brim in his own eyes. "There wasn't enough room with all the memories."
Legolas reached up to brush away the tears in the man's eyes. "You don't have to sleep in the cot, now." Eomer groaned in the back of his throat.
"Malwyn would skin me alive! Besides I might hurt you, roll over and jostle you."
"I knew it!" the elf snapped. "I'm ugly! I'm bald and ugly!"
Eomer's laugh cut right through his self pity. "You've got broken ribs, love. You've got splints. Your own thrashing in your sleep can still injure you! If you weren't hurt, do you think I'd have been out of this bed at all in the past few days? Here," he took the elf's hand, placing it on himself, letting the elf feel the hardness beneath the fabric, "that's how ugly I think you are. If you weren't so banged up, I'd take you right now."
Legolas smiled, a twisted grin that pulled the stitches. "Not if I took you first, 'Mer," he said, moving his hand to Eomer's neck and pulling the man's head down to his. He kissed him gently, revelling in the feel of the beard against his smooth skin, the taste of the man. Eomer moaned, then leaned in, gently tracing the elf's lips with his tongue.
"Too long," he breathed, as he pulled away. The elf closed his eyes, hand still cupping Eomer's cheek.
"Much too long. And longer still, I think.'
"I can wait." Eomer said, stroking the elf's neck. "I'm just glad your back in your bed."
"You really can sleep in here with me." Legolas said, smiling up at him.
"No, I don't think I can." Eomer told him, a wicked grin spreading over his face, fire in his hazel eyes.
There was a knock at the door and Malwyn herself came bustling in, carrying the heavy tray.
"Brought some for you as well, Eomer, and you'll not give me a hard time about it. You can eat now with our lad, while I get things ready for Aragorn King, excuse me, King Aragorn," she tripped on the unfamiliar term. "Don't know why they have to get everything backwards in Gondor anyway. I'll be back in a bit to sit with our Lord Prince, while you and he get the kinging out of the way."
Legolas snickered at her description. "Kinging. I like that." Malwyn looked at him, then at Eomer, who shook his head unobtrusively. She put the tray on the table and began to arrange pillows behind the elf's head, propping him up.
"I don't get to get up today?" he asked her, looking crestfallen.
"Not today, my lad. And you're to tell him," she nodded at Eomer, "when the pain gets bad. No heroics, even if the King of Gondor is here. Offa's going to try you on a different medicine, one that won't make you sleep all the time. It may make you want to talk, though."
The elf brightened at that. He remembered troubling dreams, but no more than that. It would be good to spend a day awake. He ate most of what Malwyn brought him, looking over enviously at Eomer's steaming coffee.
"I suppose hot coffee is not good for injured elves?" he asked with a mock pout. Eomer laughed at him, pouring him some, sugaring it well. Legolas drank it with satisfaction, even when it burned at his cheek.
"Don't you dare tell on me," Eomer said, kissing the elf's forehead as he removed the tray. He put it on the table, waiting for Malwyn's return. He turned around to look at Legolas. The elf patted the space beside him invitingly.
Eomer settled himself comfortably on the bed, stretching out his long legs. "Well, I'll not give you your draught till Offa comes to check you. So you can stay awake with me. Have you been talking too much this morning? How's your jaw feeling?" He laced his fingers through the elf's. Legolas pulled their hands up together, and looked at Eomer's.
"You've still got your ring?" he asked, in a soft voice, looking at the worn silver band Eomer wore on his first finger.
"Do you want it back?" he asked, looking at their hands, afraid of the answer.
"I, I don't know where mine is," the elf said, looking up at him sadly.
Eomer laughed quietly. "You're a rotten liar, love. When you threw it back at me, it fell through the cracks in the floorboards. Took a lot of digging, but I got it out. It's with my things. Do you want it back?"
"Can't wear it yet, but yes," the elf told him.
"What happens now?" Legolas asked, looking off into the corners of the room. He pushed down the sadness, feeling safe here, the great bulk of Eomer's body beside him, the comforting scent of horses and leather that always surrounded the man.
"Whatever you want. You can stay here, or when you're well you can travel. I understand what you we're trying to tell me, before."
"Before." The blackness pushed itself forward, Legolas fought it back. "I don't know if I want to travel." He heard the screams in the distance, the roar of the fire, the crashing of branches. Something terrible flickered across his face, and Eomer gently reached around to cradle him.
"It's over," he said quietly. "You're here, and I'll keep you safe. But I won't cage you. Whatever you want, I'll give you."
"Gimli" the elf whispered, the blackness overtaking him. He started to shake, losing his battle. He pushed the terror away, clung to the sadness, holding it with his heart, using it to keep away the madness.
"He's gone to his ancestors, love," Eomer told him, tears in his eyes. "Go ahead, grieve, I'm here to help you." It was a long time before the elf stopped sobbing.