Chapter 48: Healing
Chapter Text
Thanks to my very wonderful beta reader, Anarithilien, who just reassures, supports, questions, and corrects my mistakes
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Chapter 48: Healing
The next morning dawned over a very quiet city. Detritus of the celebrations were strewn about the gardens, the Palace, the streets, inns, squares. But no one seemed to mind even though there were very many sore heads the next day.
Pippin and Merry were probably worse than Gimli, he thought as he rose, groaning, from his bed. But the ice-cold water he poured over his head and thick-set body woke him, and carefully he made his way down the stairs to find Sam making breakfast and Legolas feedings bits of sausage to Azaghâl. Although the Elf insisted on calling the little cat Glaurung, thought Gimli irritably.
'Glaurung is a silly name for a cat,' he said. And he heard Sam sigh as sausages sizzled and bacon spat in the pan. It was not the first time the Hobbit had heard this argument.
'It is not as silly as Azaghâl,' replied Legolas annoyingly. He seemed no worse for wear at all. He had a bright and silly grin on his face as he surveyed Gimli's delicacy.
'Legolas, there are some nice bread rolls in the oven if you wouldn't mind,' called Sam and Gimli made a face at Legolas, considering that he had had the last word. 'Then if you would make the tea that would be helpful.'
'And Gimli, if you wouldn't mind getting the marmalade and jam out, the butter is in the pantry.'
Legolas threw a smug grin back at Gimli as if HE thought HE had won, Gimli growled to himself. His head was still a bit sore. Like lots of irritating little Woodelves had taken up residence in his head and were all banging little pots and pans in there.
'Did you stay up all night?' he grumbled at Legolas as he carefully opened the pantry door and searched for marmalade. How could the Elf appear so chirpy when he had not slept at all? 'Singing to the stars and the moon I expect.' He put the conserves quietly down on the table and winced at even the slight noise.
'I did.' Legolas smiled, putting the hot rolls in a basket and placing them beside the conserves. 'I am excited by our trip and I remembered that when we were in Imladris, I was told to learn to play the fiddle properly.' He stroked a hand over Azaghâl little head and she prruped in happiness.
Gimli had a nasty feeling about Legolas' cheeky grin. He groaned as Legolas produced a fiddle from behind the back of a chair.
'I went out and found one this morning.' Legolas tucked it under his chin with a mischievous air. 'I can take it with us and play lullabies.'
'That will give Azaghâl something to sing along to,' Gimli said grumpily and pulled the bench up to the long table where Sam was sliding the sausages into a dish alongside bacon and mushrooms, eggs. There was already ham, tomatoes, bread, butter, cheese on the table alongside the marmalade and jam, and a big brown china teapot with fragrant steam curling up from the spout.
Frodo came in quite jauntily and sat down with Gimli. 'Is that a fiddle, Legolas?' he asked cheerily.
Legolas grinned and zipped the bow across the strings. A horrible scraping sound was torn from the fiddle and Frodo winced visibly. Azaghâl jumped down from bench and sat by the door, looking reproachfully at Legolas.
Gimli ground his teeth. 'Look what you have done. You've upset Azaghâl. Very well, Legolas, you win! I will beg you not to play that damned thing now.'
'Say good morning to Glaurung.' Legolas' eyes were merry and bright and for that alone, Gimli would have done more than call the cat Glaurung. The little cat licked her paw and swiped it over her head, oblivious.
'Good morning, Glaurung,' he said wryly and Legolas laughed triumphantly.
'Go and call Merry and Pippin down, Legolas,' said Sam and Legolas bounced off with a wide grin at Gimli.
'He seems more himself,' observed Frodo quietly, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Legolas had gone.
'Hm,' grunted Gimli and Sam made a similar sound.
'Too bright,' said Sam.
'Too cheerful,' agreed Gimli.
'Still not eating meat?' Frodo asked, and Sam gave a quick, alarmed glance towards the door. 'Oh come, Sam, do you think you were the only one who noticed?'
They heard Legolas returning for he was whistling, a high-pitched irritating hiss through the teeth that Gimli swore was designed specifically to go through the head of a hungover Dwarf. Frodo and Sam started talking at once, too loudly but Legolas did not seem to notice and Azaghâl leapt onto Gimli's lap and flexed her sharp little claws on his thigh, purring and lifting her head up to him, she seemed to smile and Gimli was convinced there was a conspiracy between cat and Elf.
Merry and Pippin emerged later, much later, disheveled and wincing delicately in the sunlight. Neither of them spoke very much but both consumed bacon and eggs and sausages and ham and cheese and toast and fried potatoes and tomatoes and mushrooms and were still looking hungry when Sam asked Legolas where he and Gimli were going.
'We are going to fetch Arod,' Legolas said and there was such joy in his voice that Gimli wished he had thought of it sooner. 'Gimli is missing riding about like a lord and is grumpy having to go everywhere on his own two feet. Though I think Arod might not be so happy in this city of stone.' He looked down at his plate and Gimli frowned; perhaps it was not just Arod who might feel unhappy in the city? Perhaps Legolas would be better in the woods with other Elves. Not Haldir, he thought quickly. But perhaps they should have more than just one night away? He wondered why Legolas had not suggested that Elrohir come with them, or say that he and Elrohir were going out hunting, riding, whatever it was that he needed to say. But he was happy not to have Elrohir along. Gimli didn't fancy being a gooseberry.
'What a good idea!' Sam said happily to the general agreement of the Hobbits.
'Yes, sleeping on the ground with stones in your back and no Second Breakfast,' murmured Merry with one eye shut and the other squinting at Gimli. 'Sounds wonderful.'
'You, my dear Brandybuck,' said Frodo mischievously, 'have become soft!'
There was good-natured outrage on Merry's behalf so delighted was everyone that Frodo had made such a jibe at Merry's expense.
After breakfast, Merry announced that he was going to see Eowyn and that he would take Legolas' good wishes to her and arrange for the two of them to meet up on Legolas' return.
Legolas leaned his head back on the oak settle and a smile slipped over his face and Gimli was so pleased at the sight that he forgave Legolas everything and accidently called the cat Glaurung.
0o0o
It was still quite early when they left the House of the Fellowship; most of the citizens were still abed for it was a holiday today after the King's wedding. Early morning mist draped like a skein of silk over the fields and ruined orchards of Pelennor, hiding the devastation. Above them the mountain towered, its head touched with snow. Legolas breathed in and Gimli noticed that the air was warm and soft, the lightest salt on the breeze. He glanced at Legolas cautiously, but the Elf did not seem bothered by the faint smell of the Sea.
At the gatehouse of the fifth level, Gimli paused, sticking his hands in his belt. 'This is where I have set up a forge,' he told Legolas, a little proudly he knew. But it had been an accomplishment, given the lack of iron and steel in the aftermath of War, and the woeful state of the forge. In truth it had been a farrier's forge, a blacksmith rather than a craft forge, but Gimli had persuaded Men to help and now it was properly industrious.
'What is that you are making?' Legolas asked for the umpteenth time. His curious eyes travelled the narrow alley to the forge and he tilted his head as if he might see inside it.
'I have told you, Legolas. It is a commission for Gandalf and if he wants to tell you about it, he will, and if he doesn't he won't. Don't ask me anymore. My guild forbids it.' Gimli stood squarely, arms crossed and beard bristling like an angry cat.
Legolas laughed slightly. 'Then I will not press you further,' he said. 'I will wait for you at the Palace Gatehouse as we arranged, around midday.' Then he went on his way, his step lighter certainly than it had been in the days before. Gimli watched him for a while and then turned and went into the comforting heat of the forge.
The clanging of metal, hammering, and the wheeze of bellows greeted him, for his fellow smiths and craftsmen were already hard at work as if there had been no wedding or celebration the night before. These were hardy folk and used to early rises, noise and clatter. In the War, so much had been damaged that there was a great demand for everything from pots and pans to swords and armour, to horseshoes to ploughshares. The smiths greeted him cheerfully, respectfully, for Gimli was a renowned smith. They had seen him at work, smoothing steel as if it were silk, tempering blades like a lover, singing softly and murmuring under his breath so they said that dwarves did indeed cast spells of binding and strengthening over their work.
Dírheal, the master smith, came towards Gimli, wiping his hands on a cloth and flicking it over his shoulder. He wore a thick leather apron as did all the smiths. 'All is ready, master. The iron is bound and it just waits for you to agree it.'
Gimli took a similar apron down from a peg and tied it round his waist. He reached up and smoothed his own wiry hair into one long braid and tied it with a leather thong. 'Good,' he said approvingly. He liked Dírheal. He had already shown him some of the secrets of the Iron-Masters and was thinking of swearing him into the Rites so he could improve the skills of these Men.
Gimli followed Dírheal into the back of the workshop into a quieter space, where the light was dimmer and the sounds of hammering and shouting receded. What light there was gleamed on a casket, taller than a Man and wider, very plain. The iron had been cast and folded rather than welded, as if the smith did not want any chance of whatever the casket was to hold, to leak out or escape. There was another, an exact replica, standing in the shadowy corner.
'Thrice bound iron as you said.' Dírhael smoothed a hand over the polished surface. It was flawless. Absolutely plain and unremarkable but for the method of its making. 'We have used the lock and seal system you designed, master. Each layer has a double deadbolt cylinder only unlockable from the outside. Nothing can get out. No leakage is possible. I have tested it myself.'
Gimli nodded seriously. 'Thank you master Dírhael. I think Mithrandir will be pleased. We will deliver this one to him today and start on the second if he is pleased with this.' He paused thoughtfully. 'If you would send someone to tell him, we will meet him at the Rath Dínen within the hour. I will need your bravest men.'
He stood looking at the casket and thought of what would be placed within. He had burned with the desire to unlock its secret, to explore its mechanisms. But now, after he had heard what had happened to Legolas, Gimli Gloinsson simply wanted to lock the Glass away in the casket he had made and forget it had ever been. He hoped Gandalf knew what he was doing.
o0o0o
Legolas made his way to the Houses of Healing. He had not found Elrohir though he had been to his rooms, but he could not find Elladan either and so he had left a note with Aradhel who was delighted to hear that Legolas was going to Lebinnin. As Legolas made his way to the House of Healing, he admitted to himself that he was as disappointed as he might be at not finding Elrohir. And last night Erestor had reminded him that he could take his time. Not everything had to be done at breakneck speed. He could take his time. And had not Elrohir said the very same earlier that evening? Elrohir had also said, 'I want to be with you forever. I love you.'
But it did not make Legolas' heart soar. Instead he frowned and sighed, skirted around what really plagued him and nibbled away at him obliquely; there was a creeping shadow that stalked him, as if something hid behind the curtains, or crouched in the corners watching.
He entered the Houses of Healing, and stopped the first brown-robed healer he encountered, a younger woman with light brown hair and hazel eyes who stared at him in excited awe. He had to ask three times before she came to her senses and took him to where Elrond was staying.
She ushered him into a small room filled with chairs and a bench under the window. He did not sit but stood looking out over a small courtyard. He thought that perhaps the rooms Elrond had must look over the now familiar garden. A blackbird sang. Morning sunshine filled the courtyard and the lime trees that edged it, cast a friendly shade over a small fountain that splashed into a pool. Remembering that he had sat there sometimes, he watched the blackbird pick over the leaves and small stones in the soil in short jerky movements.
I am nervous, he realised. It was not only the shyness of meeting Elrohir's father, he admitted, it was also that he did not know what Elrond might find, or perceive. After all, the Ghoul had not only cut him, it had bitten him too. A little bit of Legolas was afraid he might be infected with whatever had transformed Bearos into the Ghoul. Might he become one of those blood-sucking creatures they whispered about in the Wood, a child of Thuringwethil; he had seen one once in the south, climbing up the side of an old guard tower towards him, but Laersul had arrived just in time. Once bitten by such a thing it was said, and you became as they. Maybe it was that in him that made him flee from Elrohir, that Elrohir might perceive it? Maybe it was a shadow upon him that made him think there were shadows crowding about him, about Elrohir?
He moved restlessly about the room, picking up small objects without looking at them, putting them down, moving them. He needed to move, he realised. He was not really made for stillness. Unless it was scouting or hiding.
There was noise from the next room. Elrond must be in there already, he thought and chewed his lip, wishing he had not come.
At that moment, the door opened and Elrond's kindly, noble face smiled at him. He was dressed simply, in breeches and shirt with a serviceable tunic of wool belted over it.
'Legolas! I am pleased you came. Come in.'
'My lord.' Legolas bowed his head respectfully.
'Elrond, please,' murmured Elrond, beckoning Legolas forward.
The room was comfortable, not grand at all. In fact, it reminded Legolas of nothing so much as his own father's study and a sudden longing seized him for the Wood.
'I did not want to stay in the Palace,' Elrond was saying, as if he read Legolas' thoughts. 'The chance to learn from Healers here and to teach them in return is too great an opportunity, and I like being busy. Sitting about a Palace all day with nothing to do is torment!' Elrond gestured to a comfortable armchair near the window, which was open and Legolas realised that the noise he had heard must have been Elrond dragging it to the window. Another chair stood opposite and Elrond sat in that one and rested his elbows on the arms, steepling his fingers. 'I have usually climbed to the top of the Valley and back by now when I am at home,' he said conversationally. 'And then I ride a patrol before I can even sit down and start any business for the day.' He smiled at Legolas' surprise that the Lord of Imladris was such a restless soul.
'And how is Master Gimli this morning,' Elrond asked unexpectedly, 'and our friends, Master Merry and Pippin?' He smiled a little mischievously and Legolas was astonished. Elrond was nothing like he expected.
'They are a little delicate,' he answered, bemused.
Elrond leapt to his feet and busied himself at a bureau, there was a clinking of glass and he held up a small glass bottle and swirled it. 'Here. Give them this. It will make them feel much better. It has always worked for any number of my foster sons.' He held it out to Legolas. 'And my own sons,' he added a little more quietly.
Legolas found Elrond's eyes upon him, searching his face lightly, but he felt something else brush tentatively against him. Something that subtly pressed against his thoughts and heart. But not intrusively. Just…concern; a fatherly concern that reminded him again of Thranduil. He tugged a little thread on his sleeve and then stopped for they were so tightly sewn he could not find one to pull. He recognised Gimli's hand in this and was mildly exasperated by the Dwarf's kindly over-concern.
Elrond threw himself back in his chair with the same easy grace as Elrohir and crossed one leg, ankle on the knee, hands dangled over the arms of the chair in the same manner as Elrohir and Legolas had to blink for they were so alike in manner and look.
Elrond moved his head slightly. 'I have a tea of athelas and all-heal. I hope you don't mind. There is camomile and a little thyme in it as well.'
Legolas hoped it didn't taste as disgusting as Aragorn's tea usually did. After all, he must have got the recipe from Elrond. He smiled politely and thought he that if he could cope with Galion's rabbit pie, he could probably force down a cup of Elrond's tea.
'There is honey in it,' Elrond added with a lift of his eyebrow, as if he had heard Legolas' thoughts. He poured a light golden tea from a china pot.
Shit, thought Legolas. He's like Galadriel. He shot a quick look at Elrond and found the Lord's grey eyes upon him, amused.
'I am pleased that you and Gimli have become such friends,' Elrond said, sparing Legolas any further embarrassment and handing him a cup. The steam that rose from the tea smelled fragrant. Legolas sipped it gingerly, expecting it to scald and taste like willowbark. But it was sweet and it was the camomile he could taste, so the honey made it bearable.
Elrond was saying, 'Gandalf is impossibly smug about it although I always thought you would. Dwarves are very easy to get on with. My father always said so and I have found that to be true.'
Legolas couldn't remember who Elrond's father was; wasn't he something to do with the North Star or Fëanor? Maybe it was Gil-Galad? He had never really attended to his lessons and Galion was indulgent and filled his head with tales of the Wood and Sindarin heroes instead of the boring Noldor. He knew of course about Doriath, the great battles of the First Age and the heroes like Fingon who had fought alongside the great Sindar against Morgoth. But he had no interest in their genealogy, and nor did Thranduil.
'My father has a rather different view about dwarves,' Legolas said, smiling. 'But my brother, Laersul, likes them. He is the envoy to Erebor and spends quite a lot of time there. He knew them before the dragon.'
'Ah, the dragon.' Elrond's eyes kindled with interest. 'You never forget them once seen.'
'You have seen Smaug?' asked Legolas quietly, for he had never forgotten the sight of the dragon, soaring on the wind with fire lighting its golden scales.
'Not Smaug.' Elrond was serious now. 'But there were firedrakes that escaped at the end of the First Age. There were some that ravaged the Ered Luin. It's the silence you can't forget, and then the fire.' He looked at Legolas and his grey eyes were kind. 'Shall we take our tea and go and walk in the garden? It seems a shame to be inside.'
The garden was in full bloom now, Legolas realised. Blossom on the lime trees scented the air sweetly. The sun was gentle under their shady leaves and the garden soothed him. And once he became used to the flavour, the tea was not unpleasant. He felt himself relaxing as they walked under the limes, drinking tea and Elrond was an easy companion. He pointed out the medicinal herbs and spoke of their properties, and at last, they came to the same stone bench that he had sat upon with Elrohir before. Elrond gestured to the bench, inviting Legolas to sit. 'If you are happy to, let us sit here. I shall listen.'
He spread his hands wide so that Legolas saw the ring on his finger and how it glowed softly. It sang to him, lilac and diamond light, soothing him, finding the tangled notes of his own Song, and unravelling, smoothing them out.
Swallows swooped and darted over the garden. It was restful and he appreciated the lengths whoever had designed the garden had gone to in order to make a healing and soothing place in these houses.
'I usually start with a patient by just talking through how they feel,' Elrond said matter-of-factly. 'Just the physical symptoms. We do not usually talk about how they come to have those symptoms, just what they are.' He shrugged. 'I have found that is the most effective way for a spiritual healing as well as physical,' he said calmly and his apparent unconcern made Legolas feel more relaxed, as if it did not really matter if it was spiritual or physical healing he needed, for Elrond was used to healing the fëa as well as the hröa. He made it feel easy.
'I actually feel much better,' he began. 'Though my muscles are weakened and I cannot draw a bow fully. My shoulders are recovering.' He rolled his shoulders for the acknowledgement of pain reminded him of his injury. 'My skin is healed well. The cuts were superficial though, mainly.'
Elrond nodded, his face still and Legolas wondered if he already knew.
'My hand is sore.' He flexed his hand carefully for the Ghoul had broken it when it had bashed his hand against the stone to loosen his knife. 'But the bones are knitting. The knife was clean though, I think, and there is no infection.'
Legolas stopped, his gaze skipping away from Elrond's kind concern. He did not want to articulate where some of those cuts had been. He was not ready for that yet.
But Elrond did not press him. He merely turned slightly towards Legolas and nodded in agreement. 'Good. You are clear about injuries. You move well enough considering, and you walk smoothly. Are you in any pain?'
'Not much. At least, not more than I can easily bear and it gets better every day.' He was relieved that Elrond did not press him but seemed happy enough with what he had said, and content to sit here in the sun. Elrond sat easily beside Legolas, relaxed, hands spread on the bench seat and feet a little apart, leaning back and face slightly tipped up to the sun. Legolas lifted his own face up likewise and realised that the light was intense, warm, he felt bathed in it. He felt he was leaning into the light, he did not quite have the words but he knew somehow that Elrond would not let him fall into darkness and pain.
He found himself thinking how the sky was clear and blue above him, the earth beneath his feet firm and solid. The wind was simply air that moved over the mountains, the deserts, the Sea…
Legolas hardly knew when he had begun telling Elrond of his deeper hurts; he told about the black web, and then how Gandalf and he had found the Mirror in Minas Morgul, that Ioralas had gone missing and he felt somehow responsible, and then the Ghoul. He told Elrond how foolish he had felt until Erestor had spoken to him and eased that sense, but how beholden and grateful he was to those who had to risk their lives for him. When he came to describe the horror of his captivity, he closed his eyes and the words seemed unnecessary. Instead he remembered, the images rolling through his memory one after another.
Legolas was afraid, at first, that the memories alone would plunge him deep into the past, into the fear and terror of being trapped, the Ghoul creeping closer and closer, its hot breath on his thigh, its clawed fingers scrabbling and grasping at him, clawing at his thigh, his groin, digging and piercing the skin, the horrid tongue on him, lapping at his blood with its snuffling and yaffling, its sniggers and twitches. And the grey silk of the Mirror closing over him, suffocating him, the Nazgul like trapped crows flapping towards him, their shrieks and bites. The fear…
But instead a soft light caressed him, warded him so he stood looking at if at a distance and he thought Elrond stood beside him while he, Legolas, showed Elrond what had happened. Not all. Not everything for he could not bear to. Look how stupid I am, he said covering his face, but instead of agreement, a warmth crept through him, reassurance. What if I am infected and become as they?
No. Courage. Look.
He opened carefully other memories, as if peering into a casket together and Legolas saw himself standing with Rhawion, with Gimli against the Balrog. Slowly, one by one, some of the events of the Past were uncovered again, and he shyly revealed things to Elrond at his quiet encouragement. There was the Sea…its rush and sough, the soaring gulls…Elrond paused over that and then moved on quickly. Show me the Siege, he pushed gently. And so Legolas remembered what he had done, culminating in his leaping over the wall after the Ghoul, remembered that he had to stop it so it did not threaten those he loved, and the city that was recovering from the trauma of War…He showed Elrond how Elrohir had rescued him, but Elrond also uncovered how Legolas had tried to prevent Elrohir from finding him, how Legolas had protected Elrohir, and stood above the Ghoul and stabbed it with Elrohir's sentient and knowing sword …
He was aware that Elrond was still beside him and their breathing had come together. Gently. Not panicked, not fearful. He could look at the memory without cringing and shying away. And he could remember what else he had done, saw himself as others saw him perhaps a little. As Erestor too had said.
Not a fool. Not a victim. He was more than his imprisonment, more than just a bloody feast for the Nazgûl and their slave.
Vilya showed Legolas how his heart was weighed down by the deadening experience of War and deep, unspent grief for those he had lost. His Song too would forever be wound about with those other threads: the darkness of the Nazgûl's touch, the faint rush and sough of the Sea. Smaug. But now, Vilya showed him how his deeds, his hurts, his experiences added layers and harmonies, textures that made his own Song more complex, richer now than when he left the Wood. And there was the strong melody that wound about his own sweet forest song, a song that was clear and strong, reminiscent of the snow-clad mountains where the eagle cried.
That is Elrohir, he told Elrond, smiling.
Vilya smoothed Legolas' own Song of sunlight on the green buds of the beech trees, green-gold, the forest river rushing over granite boulders worn smooth, pooling in deep green bowls where ferns and moss reflected in the silent water, butterflies fluttering at the tops of oak trees… The Ring of Air untangled the knotted notes of his pain and hurt, his shame and hiding. It showed him that he was still Legolas Thranduillion. Captain of the East Bite. A Companion of the Ringbearer. And always a Woodelf.
He saw that it would take time, for his fea had been savagely pulled from his hroa and he had bled out his light. But it had been caught by Elrohir first, and then Gimli, and Gandalf.
Give yourself time, Elrond said quietly. Let your fea knit back into your hroa for it is still a little loose, it can still be shaken from your bones.
At last Elrond drew back slowly and Legolas felt a great sigh escape him as if he had been holding his breath and did not know. A rush of air and light surged into him and the Ring on Elrond's hand was shot with light. Legolas bowed his head in awe and gratitude.
He could not speak for a long while and only when Elrond stirred did he see that the sun was now high in the sky and that the morning was passing.
'Here, drink this.' Elrond pushed a small pewter flask into his hand and he took it gratefully. 'Only a few sips mind. It is powerful.'
Miruvor. Its sweetness and flavour flooded his mouth and his head cleared.
Thank you my lord,' he said humbly and made no move to leave. He was no vampire. No crouching beast lurked in his blood waiting for him to succumb. He breathed deeply. He would do as he was told; let his fea knit back with his bones, pull it all back so his spirit could not be so easily shaken free again.
'Do you go to Elrohir now?' Elrond asked gently. He turned his head towards Legolas and his eyes were anxious, enquiring, but it was for his son, Legolas realised.
His own love for Elrohir rushed through him and he smiled, his eyes clear. It did not matter that he had not found Elrohir earlier for he felt Elrohir's love caress him, cradle him and shelter him. 'My heart knows its course.' He smiled again, and felt his whole being ignite. Elrond's eyes widened a little and his lips parted. It made him eerily alike to Elrohir and Legolas shook his head slightly, laughing. 'I will go to him tomorrow evening on my return from the Lebinnin where I go to fetch my good friend, Arod, with my other good friend, Gimli.' Legolas rose to his feet and bowed sincerely to Elrond. 'I thank you again, my lord,' he said ignoring Elrond's weak protest at the title. 'It is a title well-bestowed.' He stretched his arms up over his head and laughed at the sensation of muscles sliding under his skin, his sinews that had been so pulled and abused, elastic. 'I can feel my body healing. And I know where my heart lies.'
0o0o
