Dark Leaf

by JastaElf

Dark Leaf 15: Release From Little Things

"Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace.
The soul that knows it not, knows no release
From little things;
Knows not the livid loneliness of fear,
Nor mountain heights where bitter joy can hear
The sound of wings."
Amelia Earhart,
"Courage"

**********

"How does it look over there?"

"This one is off-centre," Elrond breathed, briefly closing his eyes to fight the creeping weariness that ever threatened to take over his being. "The point--it went through the scapular bone."

Glancing over his shoulder, Mithrandir made a 'tsk-ing' sound. "The bone is crazed all about with small fractures. That will be long in healing."

"Alas, yes." Elrond's weary gaze flicked to Glorfindel, working on the other side. "Yours?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Not quite so bad here," he murmured, cutting with exquisite care to avoid a tendon. He dabbed at the welling blood with a deft and delicate touch. "They skirted the edge of the bone ridge--one small crack, nothing worse."

"I think you are on his dominant side," Mithrandir said softly to the Lord of Gondolin. None of them were quite certain why they were being quiet; Legolas was completely unconscious, and there were no others about from whom anything needed to be kept. Nevertheless, the three who labored over the broken youngster were carefully keeping their voices down. "If I recall aright, our Elfling is ambidextrous--but favours his right ever so slightly."

"Well, that is a small parcel of good news at least." Glorfindel glanced sidelong at Elrond. "What of the bleeding?"

"Hmm." Elrond took a deep breath, finding it difficult to speak through this level of healing trance. "Not bad, all things considered."

His voice was laced with weariness. Murmuring his concern, Mithrandir moved to stand behind the Lord of Imladris for a long, silent span of moments; then the Elven-lord gave a low grunt of pleased surprise and straightened his shoulders.

"Hannon le, nín mellon."

"I am grateful for any opportunity to assist." Gnarled-looking fingers gently brushed over the marble-cold forehead of the unconscious Elfling. In stark contrast to the grim looks of his elders, young Legolas wore a startlingly peaceful expression on his sweet face. His lips were almost smiling, and no hint of his previous agony marred the calm of his brow. Mithrandir suspected some of what transpired below the mercy of the healing trance, and so found himself smiling gently as he watched Glorfindel carefully slide the blackened Orc metal out of Legolas's shoulder. He took the object from the Elven-lord's hand and deftly pocketed it, narrowing his eyes at the blood Glorfindel mopped up before he added an herbal paste to the wound and set to work stitching closed the torn bloodways. Satisfied that the bleeding was nowhere near as dangerous as before, the Maia moved back to Elrond's side and patiently waited.

Earlier, Mithrandir had used his powers to manipulate the dread-inspiring hooks from their young patient, bending the iron to his will such that it became somewhat malleable. He had twisted off the worst weight of them, removed the barbed ends; then he had stroked the exposed remaining bits of metal until they thinned and lengthened, straightening somewhat and bearing far less impact on the bruised, broken flesh through which they had so cruelly passed.

That had been nearly three-quarters of an hour ago. Since then, labouring with great skill and care honed over centuries of use, Elrond and Glorfindel had worked to free the metal without unleashing another vast expenditure of blood that the child could not spare.

"I wonder how fares Thranduil?" Glorfindel murmured at last, tying off the final suture and cutting the delicate silken thread. Mithrandir smiled vacantly and would not look at him.

"I daresay Celeborn has kept him occupied," was all he was willing to comment. Elrond cocked one eyebrow.

"Vandal root?" he asked ironically. "Or perhaps lemon balm and catmint?"

"Knowing Celeborn, all three--delivered in a metal jar by way of a blow to the jaw," Glorfindel retorted, easing Legolas's shoulder up a fraction so he could bind the herbal paste over the wound both front and back with clean linen bandages. Mithrandir chuckled appreciatively, coming to assist.

"Celeborn would never be so unsubtle," he demurred. "Nay, Elrond, he used your own recipe for a calmative--and a lot of it, too, for 't was needful. Thranduil was a tad--riled."

"Worry?"

Mithrandir shook his grey head. "Rage." At Elrond's look of surprise, the Maia shrugged. "He went to speak to the Laketown Man, Aldor."

"Oh dear," Glorfindel muttered, his eyes taking on a hard glint. "I wish I had been there."

"Celeborn will have stopped him."

"Ah." Glorfindel reached for another roll of bandages. "I would not have."

There was an extended silence, calm for all its tension; not a one of the three of them could fail to either understand or empathize. Elrond was himself a father, and for all his care of Ennor over the centuries, Mithrandir might as well have been one. Glorfindel had not yet found a mate, if indeed he was searching at all--but one with enough compassion to die for a people as he had done, then to come back and so often put himself between others and danger, could certainly place himself in the shoes of Thranduil without much imagination.

Elrond said nothing, but simply kept working until he was able to gingerly draw forth the second hook from young Legolas, and close up, then bind the wounds the Orcs had caused. He sank back into deep rapport with the battered young Elf, sending healing wheresoever seemed most needful, until he was content that all was as well as they could make it for now. Heartbeat steadied, breathing much easier than it had been, Legolas lay peacefully and deeply unconscious in a state of merciful unknowing--and to Elrond's way of thinking, that was the best way things could be, short of miracles.

We've had a few of those in these past days, he thought wearily as he bobbed back up to full awareness. We should be grateful for small favours!

"Come now," Glorfindel said softly, steadying his lord and friend as Elrond staggered. "You have done all that you can here; his worst is over after eighteen years, and so now is yours. I would see you have a good night's sleep for a change!"

"But--there are doubtless others--"

"Yes. Others who can heal, others who can soothe those injured besides." Glorfindel would brook no argument; he gave Elrond a bottle of his own sedative and dragged him off elsewhere to sleep in peace for once. Mithrandir waved them both away as the Lord of Gondolin asked with his eyes:

"Yes, yes, Glorfindel, all is well. I will watch guard over the Elfling."

Silence descended gently at their departure. With a light sigh, Mithrandir slipped the other hook remnant away into one of his many voluminous pockets; he sat back and pulled out his pipe, sucking thoughtfully on it as he gazed upon the face of young Legolas.

"Well, tithen emlin, what a business this has been!" he whispered, shaking his head. "So far have you come, endured so much. So far still to go before seagulls cry in your heart!"

There was, of course, no reply that any ears other than his could have heard. Mithrandir gave a patient smile, and touched his lips gently to the pale forehead.

"Never mind though," he chuckled. "Valar willing, I will be right there with you."

**********

The better part of the next day saw the Elves resting from their labours. Some went hunting, knowing there would be a need for fresh meat in Lórien with so many extra mouths to feed. Others searched for various herbs and plants with which to replenish both healing and cooking supplies, as both would be needed. Still others looked after fellow Elves, horses, tack, and supplies as needed--but many simply slept, so that later they would be awake to relieve the toil of those now too wrought up to relax.

At length, however, all was nearing readiness for the leisurely return to Lórien. As the afternoon waned and sweet nightfall approached, Elrond awakened to find a mercy that had been infrequent over the past few centuries: he had absolutely nothing to do. No one wanted his ear or attention; so far as he knew, Legolas still slept deeply, and other skilled hands had seen to the changing of the child's bandages. No one wanted words of advice or instruction, and all was apparently as well with the world as it could be at the moment. It was a rare treat, and one that Elrond was determined to savor.

He allowed himself to awaken slowly, listening to the sounds of life all around him. Beloved voices were everywhere. Elladan and Elrohir were nearby, sometimes jesting, sometimes bickering, nearly always completing each other's sentences in their closeness as twins will. The gravelly bass of Mithrandir's voice wove in and out of their discussion, as did the wonderful calm of Celeborn's soothing quietness. Elrond smiled to hear an occasional yawn punctuate the drawling leisure of remarks from Glorfindel.

It took several heartbeats to realize, though, who owned the sweet musical voice that occasionally weighed in with some soft commentary. The accent was difficult to place; sometimes it sounded quite Noldor, though the word choice was curiously Silvan interlaced with a uniquely Sindarin word order. It was a factor of Elrond's own weariness that he could not place the voice's owner until he heard a request for the one thing likely no other in all that force would have requested:

"B-but where is my Ada?"

Legolas. Elrond rolled over, alarm ricocheting through his being. Before he could do much more than that, however, he was stopped by a hand on his arm.

"Rest easy, nín adar," Elrohir breathed softly in his ear. "The youngster is fine, and there is naught you need do. All is well."

"But--"

"No, I speak truly. All is well." His son was smiling as he assisted Elrond to sit up. Somewhat surprised to discover he had actually slept on a camp bed within the healing tent, Elrond allowed Elrohir to care for him: to bring water, and prepare a plate for him from the food that had been made ready. It all felt a little disorienting, and for once, Elrond let himself simply go with the flow.

He glanced over to see a glad, welcome sight, one he had not witnessed in some time. Celeborn sat at the head of another camp bed, resting his back against one of the beautifully painted support poles that held up the large tent. He looked supremely relaxed, which was no great surprise; only very rarely did anything dislodge the encompassing calm of the silver-haired Lord of Lórien. Beside him, so close as to be nearly in his arms, was his rescued kinsman Legolas. Propped up on mounds of pillows, tucked in under several blankets, the young Elf appeared a very great deal better than when Elrond had seen him last--though given how thoroughly ill he still looked, that was to say lamentably little.

Legolas's head was resting lopsidedly against Celeborn's shoulder; indeed, that worthy Lord had his left arm about the slender, much-padded shoulders of the Elfling. His own arms, padded and bandaged almost as heavily as his hook-wounds, were splinted with great care and anchored crosswise athwart the too-thin chest. So completely covered was he in carefully wrapped linen, Legolas appeared swaddled. If Elrond was any judge of facial expressions, the child was none too happy about this fact, either.

However, he was also quite thoroughly medicated in the bargain, so it was all for the best that he be secure. Even across the tent, with the bright afternoon sun diffused uncertainly through the canvas, Elrond could see the dilation of Legolas's blue eyes and a certain slackness to the youthful features.

"Is Ada all right?" the child asked, and in the soft melody of his tone Elrond could hear many things: exhaustion, pain, a great deal of uncertainty. Celeborn nodded gently, his expression all compassion, though there was a certain glint in his eyes. If Legolas missed it, Elrond did not, and was intrigued.

"Of course he is, tithen min. I simply gave orders for him to rest, and saw to it he did so."

"You drugged him," the youngster guessed flatly. Celeborn chuckled.

"I did indeed--but I am allowed," he assured Legolas. The child eyed him with a muzzily owlish look of pure skepticism that made the others sitting nearby--the twins, Glorfindel, and Mithrandir--laugh heartily. Celeborn gave them all a look of affectionate disdain.

"Well, I am," he informed them loftily. "Moreover, I daresay Thranduil would be the first to agree with me."

"I want my Ada," Legolas breathed plaintively, barely audible, as he closed his eyes and tried to hang on. Tears leaked from beneath eyelids so dark they appeared bruised with exhaustion.

"Soon, nín hên," Celeborn reassured him just as softly, and gentled a hand over the long glossy gold of the child's hair. "Soon, I swear to you."

Elrond squeezed his own son's arm and signed that he wished assistance to rise. He nodded politely to the group, thanking Elladan for the chair his elder son set in place on the other side of Legolas's bed.

"Thranduilion," he murmured kindly, and with infinite gentleness. "I rejoice to meet you again at last, face to face in freedom."

The child gave a weary, murmuring sort of whimper and nuzzled closer to Celeborn. "What?" he whispered.

"Who, more belike," Celeborn replied, and briefly rested his cheek against Legolas's hair. "Does the voice of Elrond sound so very different, heard with the ear rather than the heart and mind?"

The unfocussed eyes snapped open. Unerringly, Legolas looked right at the Lord of Imladris; his expression was that of a startled deer, innocent, curious, frightened--and wild.

"Hello, Legolas," Elrond said, using the same sort of beckoning, soothing tone he might use toward a wounded animal in the forest. "I am Elrond. How is it with you?"

There was a long moment of silence. Wide-eyed and fighting sleep, Legolas stared at him, blinking often. Then he gave a bright, rather brittle smile.

"I feel terrible," the child announced, and bizarrely, he giggled. "But I am glad not to be in the Tower any more. Can you still be inside my head, my lord?"

Elrond felt rather than saw the look of quiet dismay shared between his own sons. Smiling faintly, he nodded.

"Yes, I suppose I could be if there were need. But now you are free, and we may speak as we do now."

Another protracted silence, then:

"It will get lonely in there."

Elrond stared back in some small confusion. "Lonely--where?"

"Inside my head."

The Lord of Imladris fought any other reaction, and made himself simply nod as if this odd conversation were the merest of commonplaces. He hoped it was only that the exhausted, battered and horribly injured youth was under the influence of the herbal potions Elrond himself had mixed. Indeed, with almost every word and breath, Legolas was slipping closer to sleep; his soft voice, already quite quiet, was nearly inaudible save to Elven ears. Smiling sadly, Elrond knelt beside the bed and began a calm, tentative check of Legolas's vital signs.

"There will be plenty of time to ponder the inside of your head, pen-neth, when you are well and whole once more," he said soothingly, reaching within himself until he felt the reassuring stir of his refreshed healing senses. Elrond exerted light control over the youngster--little was needed at this point--and with a barely-breathed sigh of relief, the son of Thranduil parted company once more with waking consciousness.

"That was kindly said," Mithrandir told him, when Elrond surfaced at last from trance. The Elven-lord raised both eyebrows in an expression of resigned concurrence.

"We shall needs must be very kind in all our dealings with him, I suspect for many a year," he sighed, bringing up one hand to brush back a stray lock of hair from Legolas's forehead. "Not only with him, but with Thranduil as well, and Brethilas--likely other family and loved ones too. Fragile will not begin to describe much of what goes on here." He caught up the long pony's tail of hair that flowed down over one shoulder to pool on the bed beside Legolas. "Hmm. That wants trimming."

"Nearly as long as the Elfling is tall," Elladan drawled laconically, and lifted one eyebrow at his sire's amused look.

"Where is Thranduil?" Elrond asked, setting aside all of the many other things he might have said, choosing instead to glance at Celeborn in silent request. The elder gave a faintly quirked smile and carefully gathered Legolas off the mounded pillows to assist in settling him flat for a good long sleep.

"Saeros has him. He is quite thoroughly resting, I assure you."

"I can imagine."

They left enough pillows that Legolas was resting on a slight incline, tucking some of the spare bedclothes under the Elfling's upper arms and elbows in order to support the maimed arms and wounded shoulders. Glorfindel placed more pillows under Legolas's knees to take pressure off the narrow hips; Elrohir shook out the blankets and helped to spread them.

"When we're ready to depart," Glorfindel said, "we'll lift the bed up and simply take the legs off--just place him, bed and all, into the wagon."

"Excellent. Best we disturb him as little as possible." Elrond glanced at Celeborn. "Was it quite awful?"

Celeborn shrugged fractionally. "Bad enough. He nearly killed the Man--not that I can bring myself to blame him."

"But he stopped?"

"No."

"He did not kill--"

"He was stopped."

Elrond's eyes widened a bit; he gave a frowning smile. "I would almost have enjoyed seeing that, for the sake of what I know Legolas suffered at Aldor's hands," he purred. Beside him, Glorfindel gave a concurring huff. Celeborn closed his eyes and sighed.

"At trial you will share that and much more," he warned in a light murmur. "Those that do not know all--have not shared it--may wish they could regain their ignorance by the time the Aphadon is sent to meet his fate."

When he opened his eyes again, he pinned Elrond to the spot with the quicksilver weight of his gaze. "Those who have shared the child's experience may wish they were given less wealth of added detail," he said significantly. "There is much even you do not know, nín ion."

Chastened but not bowed, Elrond inclined his head respectfully.

"I hear you, hír nín," he replied, far more calmly than he felt. "Yet will I dare it to see this child's abuser brought to book."

"One of his abusers, at any rate--the one insufficiently fortunate to die in battle." Celeborn placed a fatherly kiss on Legolas's cheek and straightened. "Mithrandir, if you would accompany me, I wish to see how Thranduil does this afternoon. We depart at dawn for Lórien, and I wish all to be in readiness."

Mithrandir stirred himself from his comfortable spot and rose. "Of course. I've been wondering how he is in any case."

They moved to depart, but Celeborn paused briefly in the opening to the tent.

"Mark my words, all of you," he rebuked gently. "There is far more afoot here than even the great deal that appears on the surface--and this is not over yet."

He gazed sadly at his young kinsman, and shook his head. "Not over by a long shot," he added, and disappeared into the summer afternoon, followed by an indulgent and curiously quiet Mithrandir. There was an uncomfortable silence in their wake for several long minutes, then Elrohir cleared his throat.

"I thought that went well," he jested brightly. His brother snorted, and swatted him in the back of the head.

"Grounded," he reminded him. "For the remainder of this Age, if we are fortunate!"

"Better than that he should turn us over to Grand-naneth," Elrohir retorted.

Elrond and Glorfindel shared a confused look; the Lord of Gondolin chuckled, shaking his head.

"I do not believe I want to know," he said adamantly. "Elrond--clean your plate. Did you think healing energy came from the ground? You need to replenish your strength!"

To those listening, the sound of Elrond's laughter was sweet music indeed, the moreso for not having been heard in far too long. Yet even as he settled back down to obediently slake an appetite he suddenly realized he actually did possess, Elrond could not shake a sense of foreboding at Celeborn's parting words.