CHAPTER THREE
Brushing out the hood of his cloak, Legolas discarded the inch of snow that had settled on the cloth over the past two hours. Replacing the hood, he watched as Mithrandir shivered in the storm, still searching as he had since nightfall for the hidden path leading into the steep ford before them. Imladris was somewhere down there, safely hidden in the snow. The cold didn't affect the Elf, but he was starting to be concerned for the wizard.
"We could make camp here," he suggested. "The trees offer some shelter. We could begin a fire, and you could sleep until dawn and try again then. When you are somewhat more awake, perhaps?"
"No!"
"Stubborn old wizard."
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am." Whirling, Mithrandir nearly slipped. "Each time I come here, it's a bother to find this path. I swear that Elrond changes it with every season. He's entirely capable of doing so, you know?"
"Is he?" Pulling off his cloak, the Elf offered it to his companion. "Put this on, please? The cold will not bother me, and you need the extra layer of protection."
Mithrandir sputtered a protest, but Legolas ignored it. Pulling the rough-spun dampened cloak from the wizard's shoulders, he bundled Mithrandir up in the less-damp scarf and Legolas's own cloak. Layering the dampened cloak over it all for insulation, Legolas fastened the layers with his own broach. Pulling the smaller hood up over the wizard's head, he crammed the gray, pointed hat atop it and then yanked the hood of Mithrandir's own cloak atop that to make the old man as warm as he could. Satisfied that Mithrandir wouldn't freeze to death in the next couple of hours, regardless the wizard had very little peripheral vision, Legolas set to searching the ford's edge himsElf in an exact pattern with the ease of one familiar with tracking through the wood in all weather.
"What, exactly, are we looking for?" the Elf asked.
"A space large enough for two horses to move abreast," said the wizard, "protected by brambles and Elbereth knows what else."
"Like this?" Legolas shook a gorse bush free of snow and used his bow to shove back the thorny branches. The bush yielded easily, untangling from its companions to reveal a bare track which led steeply down the side of the gorge. "The track is more narrow than you describe, but--"
"Ah, you've found it and Lord Elrond *did* change it, the wretch! I was here but weeks ago, and I swear to you that it was wider and certainly more obvious. Mount up, young one, we're nearly there. There shall be mulled wine to warm us and soft beds to cradle us. You'll soon learn that Lord Elrond is no stingy host."
Less than an hour later, they crossed the bridge over the River Bruinen and entered Imladris's courtyard. The snow was still falling and no one appeared to greet them or to take the horses, but the twinkling lights were a welcome sight all the same.
"I've not known Elrond to be this inattentive to those arriving at his borders," Mithrandir observed, glancing about the courtyard from his now-stationary horse. "I wonder what occupies everyone?"
"The sky is glowing," said Legolas, helping the wizard off of the animal.
"Hmm? Glowing?" Turning as Legolas gestured, the wizard looked over the tall spires of the Last Homely House this side of the Grey Havens, where a bright and shifting orange light suffused the snowflakes falling through the night.
"It looks like the forge is on fire." Looking more than a little alarmed, the wizard gathered his robe and hurried along the stone wall bordering the gathering of dwellings.
Leaving the horses unattended in the courtyard, Legolas followed his companion, who soon gained entrance to a garden. Well-kept paths and groomed terraces lay in winter silence, dormant until spring, but Elven hearing could pick up the sounds of panicked shouting beyond the stillness. Breaking into a trot, Legolas left Mithrandir and the garden behind. Within seconds, he had crossed a small stream and was traversing an expansive lawn that served as a break between the main house and the forge.
The forge was intact, but the stable beyond it was not. Smoke billowed from the gabled roof, flames licked at the snowy sky, and Legolas was close enough now to hear the screams of the terrified horses trapped within. He skidded to a halt in the snow not far from where three Elves were struggling to hold back a fourth.
"Let go!"
"You can't go in there, Elrond!" another Elf called from where he stood, close by the stable entrance. Pulling back his long golden hair, he quickly secured it with a clasp. "You'd go up like a paper candle in those robes, and you're too valuable to lose."
"They are my friends, Glorfindel, part of my family for years." It was a voice Legolas knew had commanded armies, but in this moment, Lord Elrond sounded more vulnerable than the Elf had ever imagined an Elven warrior could sound.
"You know as well as I do that there's no way to put out this fire or to save the stable--"
"You can't expect me to stand here and watch them burn!"
"I most certainly do not. I will see to the horses while you organize watering down the roofs and walls of Imladris. There is more at risk than the stable."
"Glorfindel, you cannot go in there alone."
"We're wasting time." Ignoring the Elf-lord, Glorfindel stalked up to a group of Elves who stood trembling and chattering in disorganized fear nearby.
"You four, help Lord Elrond!" he snapped, grabbing the sleeve of a paralyzed bystander and shoving him toward the Elven lord. The others leaped into motion at his heels. "You -- prepare to open the stable door and slam it after me. And you--" Glorfindel pointed at another Elf who even now was inching away from bright, falling embers, as if he was fearful they would set him aflame. "Stand with your friend at the other door and do not move until you hear my shout from within. I'll have your liver if a horse we send out can't run free because you've deserted your post. Close the door behind each horse as we release it, so its instincts can't lead it right back inside."
Buried in the crowd of Elves now hustling him along, a miserable-looking Elrond was being forced to head for the main house. Having caught up with Legolas at last, Mithrandir laid a hand on his shoulder.
"There's nothing to be done to stop the fire," he murmured as the Elf threw his bow aside in the snow.
"I know. The flames are too hot, too overwhelming." Kneeling, the Elf sorted through the layers of cloak Mithrandir wore. Pulling a small knife from his boot, Legolas cut a large square of cloth and tied it securely over his nose and mouth.
"Just what do you think you are doing, young one?"
"At least I'm doing something, unlike the rest of that useless lot. Is that the best Imladris has to offer? I'd expected better." Unbuckling his quiver, Legolas tossed it and the knives in their protective sheathes aside before striding toward the stable..
A broad hand caught his elbow. "You can't be thinking of going in there. At least wet the cloth on your face!"
"Glorfindel will need help, and cloth heats more slowly if it's dry." He shivered as another equine scream of fear and pain reached over the noise of the flames, then brushed away the fingers holding him. "I've done this before, Mithrandir. Don't fret."
"Have you any idea what your father will do if something happens to you?"
"I have to try." Grey eyes locked into blue, but Legolas did not waver.
Heaving a great sigh, the wizard nodded his acceptance. "My powers cannot stop this fire, but I will help as I can. You have about eight minutes to get everyone out, including yourself."
Legolas moved forward and pushed up on Glorfindel as he slipped through the tall door. Heat surrounded them as the door slammed closed behind them, and the older Elf spared the newcomer a startled glance as if to say, 'who are you?'
"Mithrandir says we have eight minutes!" Legolas shouted over the roar of the flames, which suddenly seemed to pull back, away from the Elves and up into the rafters of the huge old stable. A result of the wizard's seldom seen but still formidable magic, Legolas assumed. He thought it was a pity that Mithrandir couldn't pull away the smoke and heat as well.
"Best we don't waste time!" Glorfindel shouted back. "The foals are in a round paddock at the back of the barn. Stallion stalls line the west wall, while the mares and geldings are housed to the east." He gestured, illustrating. "They're separated by the tack room, which has a door on each side, and this fire is closest to the stallions. Start with them and work your way around to the mares. I'll release the foals out the back, then head for the ladies. We'll send them all out the front."
[Better to send the stallions and the mares out onto the lawn than mix big horses with the foals and let them be trampled.] Nodding his understanding, Legolas dared to ask, "How long has it been burning?"
"Best guess is about five minutes. Lantern tipped and broken in the tackroom," he added as they moved through the smoky aisle.
It was a five-minute headstart, but Mithrandir had gifted them another eight. Stripping off his soft leather tunic and bundling it in one hand, Legolas moved away from Glorfindel and headed for the first stall. He quickly lost sight of the other Elf in the smoke and knew that they had less than seven minutes now to rescue whoever would allow it. After that, smoke inhalation could end each horse's life, no matter anyone's efforts to save it.
Flames poured out of the door of what Legolas assumed was the tack room. Using that room as a corridor to reach the mares was already an impossibility. Ignoring that problem for the moment, Legolas obeyed Glorfindel's instructions and headed for the first stall on his left.
He didn't run, nor did he fling open the stall door, as to do so was the surest way to further terrify the stallion within. Legolas had seen others try to hurry during smaller fires, had seen precious seconds lost by their chasing the horse around its stall. Unlatching the stall door, the Elf projected calm and control to the animal standing at the rear of the small box with its head held high and its dark eyes wild.
Smoke billowed in from above, and the roar of the flames was deafening. Legolas could see that the stallion was already panicked. Running to the rear of the stall where safety usually waited, the animal had tried to climb the wall in an effort to get out of the smoke. His hooves had only scraping futilely on the smooth wooden boards lining his stall, and his head was up in the thickest smoke, as it probably had been for long minutes already. The stallion came down on the smoldering bedding, only to rear once again.
[His lungs are surely damaged,] Legolas thought, despairing of being able to save this one, even if he managed to get him outside.
Murmuring calm words of assurance, the Elf used his tunic as a blindfold, tying the sleeves below the animal's throat and letting the body of the garment fall to cover his muzzle as well. Now blind to the terror around him, the horse could only focus on the Elf at his side.
"Tolo," Legolas ordered firmly. 'Come,' but the trembling horse resisted all of the Elf's efforts to make him move forward. Legolas pushed him sideways to break his stance, then tugged on the ends of the tunic wrapped tight around his chin to lead him forward. "Tolo," he ordered again.
Much to Legolas's relief, the horse stepped up. Leading him swiftly from the stall, the Elf pounded on the stable door. It swung open immediately, and Legolas yanked his improvised blindfold from the stallion's head and released him into the night. The door thumped shut behind him as he headed for the next stall.
He had only a moment of satisfaction at the first horse's release from the inferno. [One down, how many to go?] Legolas wondered as he dove back into the rapidly thickening smoke. He worked his way systematically down the aisle with some horses cooperating and some not, and he skipped the blindfold with any horse that did more than jerk its head away. Some greeted this stranger with aggression borne of panic as Legolas slipped into the stall. He had to leave those who reared to strike or whirled to kick him: there just wasn't time to argue the point, and if he were injured, Legolas knew that he couldn't save any others, much less himself.
Large embers were floating on the smoke now, and the rafters were beginning to crack and moan. Time was growing short, and Legolas realized that he wouldn't make it across the stable to the mares or the geldings on the other side. He only hoped that Glorfindel would.
The heat was heavier, the smoke was thicker, and even through the protective cloth both were attacking Legolas's own lungs. Some of the more aggressive stallions were trying to bite him out of fear, were lungeing at the stranger who had emerged out of the smoke without warning. The result meant that Legolas had to be even more careful when he wanted to do was hurry a bit more. The Elf's arms were still covered by his outer tunic, so that many of the bites snatched at the shining blue undergarment and not at him. A few stallions allowed him to blindfold them once they'd tasted the cloth, but others would not stop fighting, so that Legolas had to leave them in their stalls, no matter he knew he was leaving them to die.
If an animal fought, Legolas simply had to move on to the next which might not fight at all. It mattered not that he wanted to save all of them, that he felt as if his heart was breaking every time he backed out of a stall and left its occupant behind. He knew all too well that these war-horses were the heart and soul of Lord Elrond's breeding program; to own one was to be owned by the finest and fiercest Middle-earth had to offer. Their reputation to protect and defend their riders spanned millenia, and Legolas had never thought to be so close to one in his lifetime, much less to have to abandon so many to terror and flame.
[I came in here knowing we wouldn't save every one,] he thought. [If I get the chance, I'll come back. Once they've seen others led out, they might cooperate.] In any case, Legolas left the stall doors open, to leave room for them to change their minds. More than once he was gratified to find a shadowy form waiting at the door, but not often enough. The screaming in the stalls was intensifying as the drifting embers caught in the straw bedding.
[Mithrandir,] he begged silently, [Don't let them burn, please don't let them burn--]
Smoke was pouring out from the stalls themselves and into the wide center aisle by the time Legolas reached the last box. The seal of the House of Elrond graced the door of this stall and the cheekpiece of the halter hanging on a hook beside it, all well out of reach of the eager teeth of the stallion within. The halter itself was an ominous sign that other Elves could not handle the beast within without resorting to the tack used by Men.
Legolas pushed the thought aside and ignored the halter, which was already cracked and charred; using it was probably an impossibility, but no matter the risk this horse still deserved a chance at life. Legolas knew that the stallion he was about to meet was probably Elrond's foundation sire, housed in what was supposed to be the safest and most secure stall in the entire barn. The smoke was so black by now that the halter seal was one of the last things Legolas saw clearly.
Unlatching the door by touch rather than sight, the Elf snatched back his hand and sucked in his breath as Elrond's seal burned the palm of his hand. Cradling his damaged hand, he entered the stall to see flames licking over the tops of the walls and felt smoke singe his lungs.
A huge white stallion stood to the right of the door, his head lowered and ears flattened at the hot, roaring threat. Swinging his great head, he eyed Legolas almost angrily, bared his teeth, and drove a hoof into the bedding.
"I'm not responsible for this," Legolas murmured. "I've come to take you safely out of here if you'll let me."
Rafters groaned and cracked somewhere close above, making both Elf and horse start at the sound, and Legolas knew without looking that his eight minutes were up.
[So this is how my life will end,] he thought, strangely at peace with his fate. Still, he had to at least try to save the majestic creature before him. Raising his uninjured hand, he showed the stallion his tunic and tried to slide it over the top of the horse's head.
"Will you let me do this?" he rasped through a throat made raw by the heat.
The stallion threw his head, snapping at the cloth as he spun past him and circling the stall: the answer was no. Wheeling around, he shoved at the stall door just as a burning beam fell heavily in the middle of the aisle. Sparks shot out, attacking the horse. Screaming, he reared and struck at the door as part of another rafter fell. The door swung back violently, struck the stall wall with a sharp bang. The stallion had a clear path if he'd only take it.
"Go!" Legolas yelled, swinging the tunic to slap him on the rump. Flames licked close to the stallion's forelegs and he trembled, but he also refused to move. Snorting and coughing in the smoke, he canted an ear and an eye toward Legolas. The flames crept closer, starting to devour the stall wall itself and crept across the ceiling above their heads. Sparks showered down, tiny stinging pinpricks landing on unprotected skin and hide..
Legolas knew that his own means of escape was in doubt as the stable died around them. And still the stallion waitedfor what? For some word? Some unknown command? From a stranger? Perhaps from a rider?
"Let's get out of here," Legolas muttered.
Legolas knew that the stallion might fight and even kill him in this effort to escape, but he also knew that he had nothing to lose by trying. Grabbing a handful of mane with his good hand, the Elf leaped onto the horse's back. Muscles bunched beneath him, and Legolas tightened his own thigh muscles. Gathering himself, the stallion leaped over a flaming beam to land further down the aisle. Stretching his long neck, he cantered defiantly toward the unseen stable door.
"Open the doors!" Legolas shouted, lying almost flat on the horse's neck in an effort to avoid the black smoke billowing around them. "Open the doors!"
His voice was so hoarse, so raspy from the smoke that he wasn't sure anyone could hear him. The fire roared its anger at their attempted escape, surely drowning out his shouts. Legolas could feel the determination of the stallion beneath him and knew better than to interfere. Elrond's finest would never yield to the fire; the stallion would fight until the flames claimed his dying breath and take the Elf with him.
[That's just fine with me,] Legolas thought as he recognized the selflessness and courage of a great horse that would give its all. [I will die in good company, should it come to that. I only wish I had reached you sooner.]
Whole wooden beams were falling now, smashing into the stalls and tumbling around them. The sound of hooves on stone told him that other horses were clattering down the stone aisle behind them -- others were following the stallion out. The horses remaining in the collapsing stalls screamed in anguish, but the stallion beneath Legolas did not flinch. Reaching the back doors, he pulled up and screamed a warning at the solid wood. When it did not yield, he circled once to gain his position, reared, and struck with his front hooves. Dropping down as the door did not open, the stallion reared again, laid on with his weight and slammed back both doors as easily as he'd slammed back the stall door.
Grooms shouted in the snow and scrambled out of the way. Legolas had a brief image of Glorfindel standing to the side and staring as they streaked by. Holding tightly onto the mane with both the sound and the burned hand, Legolas didn't try to do anything else; the stallion was plainly in control and, given the fact that he'd just rescued his rescuer, Legolas was contented to have it so. Wincing as the cold night air hit his badly singed lungs, Legolas wondered briefly how much smoke the stallion had inhaled, and if this grand escape was all for nothing.
[One miracle at a time,] he reflected as the animal singled out one Elf in the night and came to a sudden stop before him. Someone's hands were in the horse's mane, groped over Legolas's own. Someone else's hand was sliding up Legolas's thigh, and he heard Mithrandir's voice.
"That was certainly amazing. Are you hurt?"
"I don't think so."
Sliding off of the horse, Legolas gasped and leaned against the wizard. Yanking off the cloth protecting his face and shaking strands of damp hair from his face, the Elf stepped back as someone invaded his private space, stood almost on his toes. The stallion and Mithrandir's solid chest prevented Legolas from going too far. Looking up, he met the smoldering gray eyes of the austere-looking Elf he'd heard addressed earlier as Lord Elrond.
The Elf-lord opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. With his high brow furrowed in seeming confusion, he absentmindedly stroked the mane and chest of the stallion who stood quietly beside him, his long fingers futilely trying to soothe the blackened spots in the white hair where the embers had burned. Snowflakes peppered Elrond's Elf's long black hair which flowed wildly across his shoulders. The wind whipped the stallion's long white mane across it, joined it in stark contrast.
"How did you...." Elrond finally managed.
"He came to find you," Legolas said simply, trying to get the words out before the urge to cough became overwhelming, "and he was kind enough to take me along for the ride. I hope Glorfindel managed to save the foals and some of the mares and geldings; I couldn't reach them in time."
"Glorfindel saved all of the foals. As for the others..." He gestured shortly at a makeshift paddock nearby, where the animals circled restlessly, endlessly as the fire continued to burn. The screaming within the stable had stopped now.
Legolas nodded and stifled a cough. "That is well."
The wheezing was becoming more pronounced, and his hand stung unbearably. It was time to end this conversation. Turning away from Elrond, Legolas found himself enfolded in Mithrandir's protective embrace.
"You reek of smoke," said the wizard, starting to lead his charge away from the crowd. "A bath is in order, and then I think a long rest."
"You are a stranger here, are you not?" Elrond interrupted their departure. Off of Legolas's brief nod, the Elf-lord continued, "Why, then, did you risk your life for my horses?"
"I like horses," Legolas replied quietly before Mithrandir led him away.
CHAPTER FOUR
Legolas started awake, tearing himself from yet another nightmare of burning stalls and screaming horses only to discover he was struggling against an unseen foe. Happily, the foe was only his own hair, which had wrapped around his throat, and a blanket, which seemed determined to cocoon him.
Coming fully awake, he calmed to find himself lying haphazadly across a broad bed in an unfamiliar chamber. Leaf-shadowed sunlight streamed through windows open to all of Imladris, and a slight breeze caressed the Elf as he coughed spasmodically. Neither the coughing nor the repulsive black phlegm he expelled eased the heaviness in his chest or the pain throbbing in his head. Wheezing, he thought that the acrid smell of smoke surrounding him had to be carried on his own foul breath. Reason returned a moment later to argue that the stench was only an unhappy part of his hair and clothes.
Legolas remembered Mithrandir suggesting a bath the night before, but the Elf had been too exhausted to comply. He had a vague memory of the wizard steering him toward a bed and pushing him down onto it. Still dressed, except for his boots, Legolas now found his physical condition replusive.
[I'm getting very tired of getting dirty through no fault of my own,] he reflected. [First my father's dungeons, and now this? A bath is definitely in order this morning, but where are my weapons?]
Sitting up, he shoved the hair from his eyes and looked about. There his things were, resting haphazardly nearby along with the packs he'd brought from Mirkwood. From the way the bow had been piled on top of the quiver rather than propped respectfully in the corner, Legolas thought that Mithrandir had to have seen to them.
[At least they weren't just left abandoned in the snow.] Legolas had known the wizard all of his life, but it was the first time he could recollect Mithrandir's cleaning up after him.
Moving stiffly from the bed, Legolas sorted through the packs for a change of clothing and gathered his boots before leaving the chamber.
"Could you tell me which way to the baths?" he asked after stopping an official-looking Elf in the corridor.
The Elf sniffed in disgust at the smelly visitor before directing him down a narrow flight of stone stairs set in a corner of the corridor. Following them until their end, Legolas took the right archway as he'd been instructed, which led into the underground hot springs sectioned off for the male citizens of and visitors to Imladris. Entering the steamy chamber, he set aside his boots and bundle of clean clothing before stripping down.
Water lapped gently at the edges of the pool, and Elrond considered purring as its warmth soaked into his very bones. The night had been long and the struggle to save his beloved horses was only just beginning. Still, the Elf-lord was determined to start the battle as relaxed as was possible after snatching only a few hours of sleep. Stretching his arms out over the stone terrace, he rested the back of his head on the stone and basked in the privacy and warmth.
The sound of bare feet moving quietly over damp stone reached his ears, and Elrond half-slitted his eyes open to see who dared to invade his reverie. The invader wouldn't dare be Erestor, as he'd ordered his majordomo to stop hovering like any mortal nanny and disappear until mid-day meal.
Erestor it was not. Instead, Elrond found himself recognizing the strange Elf who had appeared the night before. Moving stiffly and looking much the worse for the damage of the fire, the mussed blonde elf set about undressing.
The process went slowly as he tried to use his left hand, which appeared to be injured. Even at a distance, Elrond could see that the burn to his palm was swollen and livid red, surely sending knifeshards of pain throughout the hand whenever thumb or fingers were shifted. Thonged lacings fought the Elf's efforts without compassion, so that he hissed in a breath only to cough uncontrollably on the exhale.
"You're not well," Elrond murmured, and the cavernous room amplified his voice fivefold. "Your lungs have been singed by smoke and that hand needs tended."
"I am well enough." The Elf's voice was raspier than Elrond remembered from the night before. It was impossible to tell what he had sounded like before the fire had burned his airways.
Elrond watched as sheer determination eventually conquered the scorched clothing, which the Elf then tossed disdainfully into the discard basket sitting at the door. Turning, he avoided meeting his host's gaze and stepped down into the water. A natural elegance and pride etched every move this Elf made, so much so that Elrond thought if this one had been a stallion the Elf-lord would have sought to add him to the herd.
[Nice lines,] he thought. [Very nice lines.]
Elrond had scant time to note the long legs of his guest, the well-formed chest and muscular shoulders before the water embraced him. The injured hand, Elrond noted, was held well above the water's surface. Settling into a niche across from his companion, the stranger mournfully eyed the floating tray of soap as well as the stack of washing clothes that were well within reach at the edge of the pool.
"You know," Elrond said conversationally, "there are times after a battle when no matter how much you want to, bathing is simply too much of an effort. It would be a bit of repayment for your efforts last night to let me help you this morning, would it not?"
The Elf considered the question for what seemed an inordinately long time. Finally, albeit reluctantly, he nodded. [Do we hate being vulnerable?] Elrond wondered. [Who among us does not?] Elrond observed, sliding up beside the Elf and reaching for the soap as it floated by. Wary blue eyes regarded him. Imperceptible to anyone but another warrior-trained, the Elf tensed.
[Doesn't he like being touched?] Elrond wondered.
"Let's start with your hair, shall we?" He used his most casual tone, the one which many years ago had been reserved for his children. "Wet it for me, please?"
Consent came in the form of wet hair, but the thin lips were now pursed tight and the jaw was locked so tightly that the Elf's cheekbones were set into sharp relief.
"Relax," Elrond murmured, liberally lathering the tarnished golden strands. "There is no dishonor in needing help occasionally."
The Elf's breathing accelerated to the point that he began coughing again. Resting a hand on his back, Elrond listened to the wet sound with growing concern.
"You've inhaled as much smoke as some of the horses you saved," he commented when the fit had passed.
"I am fine."
"Your lungs are not fine, and that hand is not fine." Authority weighted the Elf-Lord's words. "Neither injury will heal without aid - aid which I can provide if you will allow it. Or would you rather suffer?"
The Elf wheezed painfully, obviously against his will. "Your skill as a healer is well-known, Lord Elrond."
"And?"
"I do not wish to suffer...unduly."
[Unduly?] Elrond thought, [As if he expects some suffering to be unavoidable or even appropriate at my hands? Most Elves would welcome my help; why does this one react so strangely?] "If you will accompany me to my chambers after this bath, I will make every effort to ease your suffering."
A short nod, reluctant in the extreme, but yielding nonetheless as if the Elf had no real choice in the matter. Soaping the cloth, Elrond moved to clean rigid shoulders and a tension-ridden back, as well as the Elf's right side before handing the cloth over to its owner.
"You can tend other places yourself?"
"Yes." Almost strangled, that agreement.
Growing frustrated with his own bewilderment and inability to reassure his patient-to-be, Elrond departed the pool abruptly. Padding across the wet stones, he rung out his hair before gathering the long strands into a towel and using another to dry himself off. When he turned, he found the stranger's eyes upon him once more.
"Do you wish help drying off?" Elrond asked.
"No. And...yes." The revelation came so softly, it was all but lost in the chamber.
Elrond took full advantage of the opportunity to watch the strange Elf exit the pool. More curious than he would have admitted about this one who had indebted its owner so completely the night before, Elrond assessed the lithe body with an experienced warrior's gaze.
[He has an archer's shoulders and back,] the Elf-lord noted. [And then there are the braids.]
The Elf came to stand before him, and Elrond reached up to finger the ragged braid at the stranger's temple. To give the younger Elf credit, he flinched but did not move away.
[Are you afraid of me?] Elrond wondered. Aloud, he commented, "These will need repaired."
"They are not necessary at the moment." Deftly and despite the hand injury, the Elf undid both braids. He then motioned as if to gather and pull back the front hair, but abandoned the effort as if only just remembering he would need both hands to do so.
"Once it dries, I will pull it back for you, if you wish," Elrond offered.
Another tight nod of acquiescence.
Laying a hand on the Elf's shoulder, Elrond waited until reluctant blue eyes once again met his. "I can sense how much you hate the situation. Think of me only as a healer, and I will be as quick and impersonal as possible each time I touch you."
A look of stupified confusion met that attempt at reassurance, as if such consideration from the Lord of Imladris was the last thing this Elf expected. Reaching with careful gentleness, Elrond retrieved a fresh towel and began drying his charge. To his gratification, the lithe body did not tense further. Neither, however, did it relax.
[He startles as easily as a new fawn. He also seems to think that he must obey me against his will or that I will seek to dominate or control him in some way. Most Elves trust me, so something is terribly amiss here,] Elrond thought. [I do not know what, and I fear prying to discern what it is will only make him flee my presence.]
Elrond's gaze followed his hands, and he was unable to avoid assessing the conformation of the body beneath them as he was unable to avoid assessing any stallion's conformation when it stood before him. A glance at the long fingers still busy with the braids confirmed Elrond's first assessment; the heavy callouses of an expert archer were easily visible on his fingertips. Nodding to himself, Elrond continued his visual inspection.
[Here are the long, elegant legs of a runner. And here are the firm calf and thigh muscles of an experienced rider. Perhaps he is a scout. Given his reactions - so obvious and easily read - I would say that he cannot be more than two hundred years old.]
"You are as beautiful as Sereg'wethrin," Elrond commented softly, wicking the towel down the long back and letting his hand glide around and over a hip one last time.
Long fingers clenched, the damp head turned. If those eyes had held wariness before, they held downright hostility now. Quickly dampened, their expression still held smoldering resentment.
"Sereg'wethrin? The assassin?" the Elf asked. Turning to his clean clothing, he pulled on tunic and leggings, yanked on his boots with a speed that belied the wound to his hand.
"Assassin, my foundation sire whom you saved last night."
"Why do you call him that?"
"Because he protects those he loves and respects, and tries to kill all others whom he considers a threat."
"I... see." For some reason, the resentment in the Elf's gaze had softened into thoughtfulness.
"Would you like to accompany me for an update on the horses once we tend that cough and your hand?"
"Yes, Lord Elrond." No hesitation there, at least.
Shrugging into his robes, the older Elf led the way from the baths, shortened his stride to accommodate his companion's injured lungs, and waited for him to pace him in the corridors.
"It took me a long time to rest last night," Elrond confided. "Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the stable in flames, my friends dying."
"The same dream woke me up," came the quiet confession. "Such nightmares will probably continue for some time." The Elf glanced up at his taller companion. "I don't wish to be critical, my lord, but building a stable that close to a forge seems the height of folly."
"I agree, which is why its replacement is being build some distance away on the opposite side of the fields. You realize that this fire was probably set deliberately?"
"Deliberately? Glorfindel said that someone was careless with a lantern in the tack room."
Elrond nodded. "Many races pass through Imladris. By a very old tradition based on the value of the horses we breed, only Elves are allowed inside the stable, which includes the tack room. Elven sight has no need of lanterns in the dark, so tell me why a lantern would be needed within last night?"
Pausing in the corridor, Elrond regarded the Elf at his side. "I would welcome any help in discovering the who and how of the fire. Given your role in saving my friends last night, there are visitors in Imladris who might be encouraged to speak to you as they would not to others."
The Elf gave a slight bow. "I will seek information as I can, my lord."
Legolas followed Elrond through what appeared to be a very large library and up a staircase leading onto a narrow balcony. He had little time to study the life-size sculptures and wall murals before they reached an arched doorway graced with delicate carvings at the end of the balcony. Following Elrond through the archway, Legolas found himself in an antechamber to what appeared to be the elf- lord's private chambers.
Setting aside parchment and pen, a tall, blonde Elf turned to greet them. "Ah, so you haven't drowned. I had given up and was writing you a note."
"Glorfindel. Have you been waiting long?" asked Elrond.
"Long enough. Erestor said you were bathing. I understand now why it so long to finish the job." He raked Legolas with a critical gaze, then arched an eyebrow and smirked.
Regardless he could feel the tips of his ears growing red, Legolas refused to look away. [I should become accustomed to such innuendo,] he thought. [Am I not, after all, here to become Elrond's consort?]
"It is not as you think it, Glorfindel," Elrond murmured.
"Of course it's not."
"Have you forgotten that we're expecting Thranduil's son to arrive any minute?"
"Of course not."
The words were respectful, but the tone was not. For a long moment, no one spoke, and Legolas wondered with some confusion if Glorfindel had managed to render Elrond speechless.
A heavy hand descended on Legolas's shoulder and squeezed briefly in what might have been meant as reassurance. "Glorfindel means no disrespect to either your king or your prince. Would you mind waiting here while I address his...impertinence?"
"Of course not... erm, no, my lord," Legolas amended. Glorfindel was smirking again.
The bigger Elf slipped past Legolas before he could move away. Raven-black hair caressed his cheek and Elrond's barrel chest brushed against him, offering a brief warmth and strange comfort.
"Come inside, Glorfindel, and tell me what you want, other than to embarrass me and my guest."
The two lords moved into the next chamber, where their conversation was no less clear to Legolas for the distance. Taking a deep breath, he discreetly moved into the winter shadows at the far corner of the antechamber. Here, he could see the entire room without immediately being seen. Standing with his arms folded over his chest and guarding his hurt hand, he tried to master his inner agitation.
Elrond's words from the bath echoed as loudly in Legolas's mind now as they had when the elf-lord had originally uttered them: 'I can sense how much you hate the situation. Think of me only as a healer, and I will be as quick and impersonal as possible each time I touch you.'
[Think of him only as a healer, when I am bound to become his bonded lover? How, in the name of the Valar, am I supposed to do that when his hands touch me... as he will touch me? Our brief contact has been considerate and caring, but I do not desire him as a lover. How do I conceal this from him when the time comes?] [I have promised to accept him and I will. But I cannot feel what I do not feel, and the time of pretending will be over quickly. What will happen between us then, bound as we will be for all time?]
Legolas's shoulder still felt warm from where Elrond had touched him. Idly, he rubbed it. [Impersonal, he is not. He has been kind to me - so far, any road. I don't understand why, unless it is because I tried to save his horses.]
Glorfindel was speaking within. "So where is Thranduil's son?"
"How should I know?" Elrond sounded exasperated. "I thought he would arrive with Mithrandir."
"Perhaps you should ask the wizard."
"I've not seen the wizard this morning to ask him anything."
"It was an eventful night for all of us, Elrond. No doubt he's sleeping in - something I sometimes wish we Elves could do as Mithrandir seems to enjoy the decadence of it so much. And what of the fire sprite standing in your antechamber? Perhaps he knows, as I'd say he's from Mirkwood. Who is he?"
"I can only assume he's an advance scout sent with Mithrandir to assure all is in order," said Elrond. "I doubt he knows much of Thranduilion's actions. He's obviously not of Thranduil's court. Firstly, he's not dressed for it and secondly, none of them would risk their life for any among us, much less an animal. I can only assume that Legolas Thranduilion and his blissful entourage will arrive soon, with all of the pageantry and splendor demanded by a spoiled prince of Mirkwood."
Glorfindel chuckled. "You are looking forward to his arrival, aren't you? So what were you doing down in the baths with the scout?"
"Bathing!" Elrond spat. "You know me far too well to think I'd be doing anything else, except work long and hard to coax that one into joining me here so that I might tend his injured lungs and hand. Which I will do as soon as you leave."
[He doesn't know who I am,] Legolas thought with some elation. Breathing easier regardless the pain of his lungs, he dared to relax just a little. [I send you all my gratitude, Elbereth, for this is a respite I would never have dared hope for. He will find out soon enough, I expect. But for now... it is a bit of latitude I never expected.]
"You are always so grumpy in the morning," said Glorfindel.
"I am not grumpy. I am irritated. The prince of Mirkwood will more than likely arrive today and require my undivided attention, when I wish my sole focus to be Assassin and his fellows. How are they, by the way?"
"I was heading for the stable to find out when you arrived. Was scribbling a note saying you could find me there when you wanted an update."
"Very well. I shall tend our guest's injuries and join you there."
"As you wish. And I still say you're grumpy." Exiting the inner chamber, Glorfindel winked at Legolas as he moved past. "It's your turn."
With some reluctance, but no where near the level he had felt a few minutes before, Legolas joined Lord Elrond in his most private lair.
"Have a seat, please, while I prepare a few things."
Legolas settled at a round table where books and scrolls had been stacked and moved aside to clear a space. The chair was broad and comfortable, made as it had been for a larger frame - as had all of the furnishings within this room, Legolas noted. Even the bed in the next room looked larger than any Legolas had seen before.
[Mithrandir is probably not the only one enjoying his creature comforts,] thought Legolas.
Moving to a multi-drawered wooden cabinet, Elrond gathered a selection of bandages and bottles before settling opposite his patient, who was now looking around the chamber without bothering to hide his curiosity.
In one corner stood a suit of Second-Age armor, battle- scarred and much worn, while mounted on the wall behind was its companion - an Elven longsword that had seen much use in latter days.
"I've never seen armor of that sort before," he commented. "Mirkwood's own was unique, and my... king did not preserve any specimens of it."
"I'm not surprised. Our last battle at Mount Orodruin holds no happy memories for Thranduil. He lost many from Mirkwood, his father among them. Imladris and Lothlorian tried to offer comfort afterward; your kind would have none of it."
"You were there as well, were you not?"
Elrond nodded. "With Gil-Galad and many others that day. The Dark Lord was defeated though not entirely destroyed. A watchful peace ensued, the fruits of which we are still enjoying though some believe Sauron is gathering strength while his shadow creeps forth once more."
"Dol Goldur has reawakened," Legolas offered camly.
Elrond gave him a sharp look. "When issues regarding the horses are no longer pressing and we have more time, you must tell me what Mirkwood has learned of that. Imladris has not yet been touched by the Shadow, but some among us have foreseen it."
[He has the gift of foresight,] Legolas remembered and was suddenly reminded that he was in the presence of one of the most powerful elf-lords ever to walk Middle-Earth.
[Gil-Galad raised him, trained him three thousand years ago,] Legolas thought. [He's a master of lore and the architect, ruler and guardian of Imladris. He breeds magnificent horses and my father wants him to help guard Mirkwood. Well he could, and I'm nothing but a child to him. My meager skills are those of an infant next to his, so why would he ever desire me as a mate?]
[No wonder Father believes that I can be of use, but what use can I be to Elrond? There is much he could teach me, much I would learn if he would be willing to teach me, but I fail to see why he would wish my company.]
"Give me your hand."
Legolas didn't think to protest but offered it freely, only to find his entire hand was being immersed in a bowl of some clear, viscous liquid that smelled like a flower.
"What is this?"
"Oil of lavender. Leave you hand within until I take it out."
[I am willing to learn from him if he would allow it. I would be honored to be with him, were it not for...] Legolas shivered inwardly to remember how, exactly, he was to secure the alliance between Mirkwood and Imladris.
"Is it what you expected?" Elrond asked as he poured some potions into a crucible. Stirring it, he then poured it carefully out into a smaller bottle and searched for a stopper.
Legolas jerked his attention back to his host. "Pardon me?"
"Few are allowed to see these rooms. I've always wondered what is seen by those who do."
"It is an elegant sanctuary within Imladris's own," Legolas offered slowly, uncertain what the elf wanted to hear. "It speaks of your own ancient heritage, of the battles you've fought--"
"And lost--" inserted Elrond.
"And won," Legolas pressed. "After all, we sit within Imladris itself. A waterfall flows peacefully out there--" He nodded toward the open window. "It is reassuring in its music, telling that no matter the events in the lives of the people nearby, it will flow on as it has for hundreds of years. It is warm within these walls and the fire on your hearth is another welcome companion, no matter the snow falling outside. Rivendell itself is a battle won, is it not?"
"If so, it was won out of sheer desperation." Elrond's smile was grim. "When I served at Gil-Galad's side in endless battles and my dreams became filled with blood, I fled to this dell and begged Elbereth to grant me peace. She told me in another dream that such peace could not be granted, I had to build it. Imladris was the result of that dream, and it was a very long time before my king forgave me for leaving him."
"But the fact remains that he did forgive you. The two of you went on to defeat the Dark Lord and to forge the Watchful Peace."
"He died at Sauron's hand."
"As did my grandfather and many others, as you reminded me earlier." Legolas cocked his head thoughtfully as Elrond removed his hand from the oil of lavender. Much of the pain had gone.
"We have all lost loved ones to the Darkness," said Elrond, wrapping the injured hand carefully. "We may again."
"In the meantime, are not these rooms more peaceful than, say, a dungeon cell beneath King Thranduil's keep?" Legolas asked.
[They will become the site of my ruin shortly,] he reflected, calmly meeting Elrond's startled gaze. [Here, he will claim me, body and mind. Here we will bond and my freedom will be forfeit. But Mirkwood will be served, and my father will be pleased.]
Elrond tied off the bandage and sat back. "Have you seen those dungeons?"
"Far more closely than I would care to again." Experimentally, Legolas flexed his hand. "I would not have a problem firing a bow with this bandage."
"I would not advise you to try until the skin beneath has a chance to heal properly. You are an archer, then?"
"I have some skill with a bow. And my hand feels much better."
"It may feel better, but it is not healed. The oil has soothed the wound and begun its work, but it will be slow, fragile work for some days. You must leave the hand wrapped so that the oil does not evaporate. You may unwrap it at night if you wish, but more oil and a moisturizer must be added daily so that the skin heals properly. We must wrap it daily to protect it, and you must be careful to keep the bandages clean."
"Yes, Lord Elrond."
The elf-lord frowned. "That wound is very deep. So deep that I can do nothing to keep it from scarring permanently. I'm deeply sorry."
Shrugging, Legolas set about pulling back the hair that was now dry and getting into his eyes. "It doesn't matter."
[How appropriate that it would scar, given that I'm to belong to him.] "You've been very kind."
"Kind? That is not a word most would use to describe me. Tending your wounds is the least I can do. You were, after all, injured in my own stable's fire."
Finger-combing his hair, Legolas gathered it awkwardly together. Rising from the table, Elrond took a leather thong from an overflowing jarful sitting on a nearby bookshelf.
"Allow me to help." Going to stand behind the Elf, Elrond ignored Legolas's protests and pulled his hands away. The golden hair fell in disarray, only to be gathered up once more to be secured comfortably by the thong. "There is no shame in needing help."
Legolas grit his teeth. "So you said before, but it annoys me."
"It annoys each of us when it happens to us, but it won't last forever. Time and patience heal all wounds."
[Will it heal the treachery of my father?] Legolas wanted to ask, feeling a wrenching pain and a thrumming wrath deep within whenever he thought of how he had come to be in Imladris. [Will it heal my dreams and comfort either of us when you take me and learn just how unwilling Thranduil's son is?]
"Thank you," Legolas said aloud.
"Now, as to your cough." Leaning over, Elrond retrieved a long phial and handed it to him. "This tincture contains a mixture of herbs to encourage your lungs to expel the sickness created by the smoke. Drink half of it now with this."
He handed the Elf an apple from the bowl half-hidden by scrolls. "Drink the other half after noon-meal and I will make more for you tonight. The cough should clear by tomorrow night."
Nodding, Legolas drank as he'd been told, only to grimace and gasp. Never before had he tasted anything so vile. "It's..."
"Yes?"
He searched for words that would not offend. "Very bitter."
Elrond smiled. "You're very diplomatic. When I gave Glorfindel his last night, he said it tasted like balrog piss."
"He should know," Legolas rasped and glowered at the rest of the liquid in the phial.
Elrond laughed outright. "But you will notice that his voice is restored this morning. Yours will be by nightfall if all goes well. Don't forget to eat the apple, you need something in your stomach. And now, I must join Glorfindel at what remains of the stable to check on our friends. Do you still wish to accompany me?"
"Yes."
[You're not at all what I expected,] Legolas thought at Elrond's back as he followed him from the chamber. [Not after Mith's warning and my father's disrespect. Are you this nice to all of your guests, or only those from Mirkwood? And what will you do when you find out that I've deceived you - let you go on thinking that I'm a scout when I'm actually your consort? Will you think I've come to spy on you, to carry tales back to my father? Will you fly into a rage and cancel the alliance, send me straight back to Mirkwood in disgrace?]
[Probably,] Legolas decided. [This season of grace can't last. More than likely, my father's wrath will be visited upon me, and this disobedient son will see the dungeons of Mirkwood again all too soon.]
