Hesitantly, my trembling hands hover over his body but without touching it yet. So many wounds, so much damage done. I swallow. For a moment longer, I have to gather my courage before I press two fingers next to his throat. A pulse, faint, but it is there. I almost sag with relief.
My pack is lost, and his - together with his weapons - as well. The weapons do not matter. Surely right now no orc or warg will come here, into the area of destruction. Just minutes ago, quite suddenly, part of the hill came down, and Legolas with it. I had stayed behind for a moment of private business, while Legolas had begun to cross a stony slope, and so I have escaped his fate. But in this moment I am not sure if I should be grateful for my bladder’s timing or rather feel miserable because Legolas is in such a dire state while I have not a single scratch on me.
Again I curse the hill that dared sliding away while Legolas was on it and my bodily needs. Athelas and other herbs from my pack would be useful right now, that much is certain. But, alas, I have them not, and there is no time to go searching for the lost items. At least I still have my hands, and my knowledge about the healing arts.
While I assess Legolas’ body, taking note of the injuries that can wait, and the ones that need instant care, I send a silent prayer to the Valar. But then, in my thoughts, I turn to another source of strength. ‘Elrond,’ I speak in my mind, ‘aid me now. Let your wisdom guide my hands. Legolas is in need, and I don’t know if…’
No. I will not even think it. He shall not die. Sometimes I hate the meaning of my elven name because of the pressure it puts on me, but now I cling to it. Hope. I will not give up as long as he still breathes, as long as his heart still beats.
I can almost hear Elrond’s answer, so often has he spoken the words to me in the past… ‘Disconnect yourself from your emotions, my son. They only confound your judgement, and you need a clear head to heal. Trust in the blood that flows in your veins, trust in the knowledge you have. And most importantly: never lose control, or you shall be lost, drawn into the abyss by the one you seek to aid.’
Legolas’ clothes are in shreds, and his skin is torn and bruised. An injury on his side bleeds heavily. The left arm looks broken; it is twisted, but at least it is not an open break. Grateful for small mercies, I press my hand against his bleeding side while I stare at his most unsettling wound: a huge bump forms on his scalp. Head injuries are dangerous, so dangerous…
‘Control… Adar! How do you expect me to stay in control, when…’
‘You did it before! It is not the first time that you heal Legolas.’
Maybe I also was hit on the head. Having a conversation with Elrond in my mind, while trying to save my friend’s life, surely is not normal. Control, he says, you did it before… A nervous chuckle escapes me. ‘Oh, Ada, if only you knew.’
I remember the first time I healed on my own, when I was 15. Yes, I have healed Legolas before, a few times in fact over the last years, and the first time certainly was the easiest in measure of severity of the wound. But in control I was not…
~<>~<>~<>~<>~
It was the first hunting trip Legolas and Estel were on together. Estel was still very nervous around the proud son of the king of Mirkwood, and that made him clumsy sometimes. Legolas was friendly and had not scolded him when his stumbling had alerted an intended prey into flight earlier that day. Estel even thought he could see a hidden smile on the elven fair face. But Legolas was so very difficult to read for the young human, despite the fact that he had grown up among the firstborn. Imladris elves he was more familiar with, but wood-elves were far different, and Estel was reminded of the diversities time and again. Hierarchy was held in much higher regard here than in the Last Homely House, and the memory of his one encounter with the stern King of the wood-elves still made him duck his head.
Estel feared that he was accepted only on behalf of Elrond and could not expect more than the surface courtesy every guest had a right to. But he had observed the young elf – young by comparison to almost any other elf, that was; Legolas was about a thousand years old – and seen how he laughed and joked with his friends, and wished nothing more than to be part of a friendship like that himself. Estel loved his mother dearly, and had been gifted with the most loving foster family, and the best tutors and mentors a human raised in an elven dwelling could ever ask for, but a friend, someone to turn to no matter what, an equal, a companion in mischief and fun, such a person was missing from his life. How would it feel to sneak out at night like thieves to go swimming in the moonlit river? Or how would Thranduil’s face look when he realized that his son had conspired with the human guest to play a prank on him?
With a sigh Estel once more suppressed his fantasies and focused on what was happening before his eyes. And with fright he realized that he must have dwelt in his dreams for too long already. The lone warg they were hunting was almost upon Legolas, and the elf seemed not even aware of it, if his relaxed stance and the knife still in its sheath was any indication. A panicked cry escaped Estel, and Legolas’ head whipped around, towards him and away from the danger.
“No!” Again Estel cried out, but too late. The warg was already attacking.
All Estel could see was a mix of a heavy brown body colliding with the elf, fast moving lithe arms and legs, and flashing steel. And then the warg crashed down. Estel took a shuddering breath, the first since the short fight had started.
A moment later, Legolas was before him. “Are you well?”
Surprised Estel stared at the elf. Was *he* well? Why would Legolas think… and then he remembered, and a deep shame filled him. He had cried out as if in danger. Legolas, who had expected him to stay silent, to observe and learn, must have thought he was under attack, at least.
Head held low, too ashamed to look into Legolas’ eyes, he mumbled, “I am well. I… it was… nothing, really...”
A hesitant glance through his hair showed him that Legolas frowned, and Estel blurted out, “I apologize, Legolas. Truly, I only meant to warn you! I was afraid he would catch you unawares.”
Again Estel went silent. What must the elf now think of him! Elladan had taught him to not distract someone in a dangerous situation without dire need. And he had repeatedly told him to never call out something as uninformative as a simple ‘no’ in warning. With hot cheeks, Estel remembered how he proudly had told Legolas about the experience he had, to convince the wood-elf to take him along on this hunt. And now he had acted like a child. Like a frightened irresponsible human child.
“I am relieved to hear that no harm has come to you,” was the only thing Legolas said, and Estel wished the elf would have shouted at him, or at least reprimanded him properly. Head still low, red face hidden behind dark unruly hair, Estel fought tears born of frustration and self-crimination. He would not sink as low as to cry now in front of the elf!
When he felt in sufficient control of his emotions again, Estel helped Legolas to bury the warg, for the carcass had to be hidden to not draw unwanted attention to them. Only then Estel saw the gashes on Legolas’ arm.
“You are bleeding!” he exclaimed.
“It is but a scratch-“
Agitated, Estel interrupted the elf, “That definitely is not a scratch. It's bleeding heavily, and wounds from such a beast can get infected, even on an elf!"
Now that he felt on safe ground, Estel was steadfast in his stance. Elrond had taught him well, about herb-lore, how to bind wounds and set bones, how to differentiate between poisoning and other ailments, and Legolas knew that. What Legolas did not know was that Estel, like Elrond, had the gift of healing with his hands. But he could not reveal his gift, for Elrond had made him swear not to speak of it to anyone outside Imladris.
Nevertheless, Estel glared at Legolas like he had seen Elrond glare at unwilling patients – like him for example, on more occasions than he cared to remember now – but Legolas seemed unimpressed. He just said, “It is not dangerous. But if the sight concerns you, I shall bind it.”
With these words Legolas was gone, up into a tree where the human could not follow, and Estel stood stupefied where he had been left, wondering if he should feel insulted, worried, or plain and simply amused. He was not brainless, after all. The wound certainly was not life-threatening in itself, but it needed to be taken proper care of, and of the two of them, he was the one better suited to do that, if only for the simple fact that he could use both hands for the task. Well, let the foolish elf deal with it on his own, one-handed, with all the clumsiness that came with that, even for an elf. But in the next moment his caring nature emerged again, and with it concern for Legolas’ well-being.
And then he thought he knew the reason why Legolas had retreated. The elf did not trust him to treat his wound properly. Not after the mistakes he had made today. And perhaps Legolas was right. With wooden movements and a heavy heart Estel continued the work of burying the warg and did not comment when, after a while, Legolas came down again. His arm was covered in a bandage, and he also said nothing more of the incident. In silence, they finished their grim task.
They stayed out in the wood for another night, for it was evening already and the journey to the palace would take more hours than they had light. Their evening meal was taken in uncomfortable silence. Estel sneaked glances towards Legolas whenever he thought he could do so undetected, and what he saw disturbed him. Legolas showed signs of pain and rising fever. But Estel did not dare to broach the topic again; instead he quietly offered, “I can stand guard this night.”
“Are you sure? We can not risk a fire. It will be dark.”
So Legolas was considering it. Estel’s worry deepened, even while his heart soared for a moment in pride. Last night Legolas had refused his offer, stating that human senses were not good enough to provide safety. Estel feared the dark and eerily silent Mirkwood at night, but he would not back down now. Legolas obviously needed the rest. “I am sure, Legolas. I am not tired and could not sleep anyway. And if something is amiss, I shall wake you.”
“Very well, then.” With these words Legolas moved next to an ancient tree to curl up, facing away from Estel. For half an hour Estel quietly stood guard, and his unease grew. The oppressive darkness, together with his fears for Legolas’ health, made his mind run wild. Finally, he could keep back no longer and, confronting one of his fears, he slowly crept closer to Legolas and peered into his face.
Even the little he could see in the weak starlight disturbed him deeply. Sweat covered Legolas’ brow, and he had his hand dug deeply into the wounded arm, directly below the bandage. To the still inexperienced Estel, the slightly shivering and white-faced Legolas looked very ill. But at least he was deeply asleep now. Slowly Estel moved his hand over Legolas’ already almost closed eyes, to send him into an even deeper sleep, grateful that Elrond had taught him this simple technique, for he did not want the elf to wake. Then he laid both his hands on Legolas’ arm next to the wound.
Elrond had only recently told him about his unique abilities and cautioned him to not use it yet. But this was an emergency in Estel’s eyes, and he felt confident that he could do it. The danger was that if he entered a healing trance too deeply, he would deplete his own strength too much, and it might be difficult for him to come out of it by himself. Still, he could not sit idly by and do nothing, while Legolas suffered, especially since he felt responsible for Legolas’ hurts. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and then he entered the trance…
~<>~<>~<>~<>~
While my mind wanders, my hands rip off a piece of my shirt, and I press it down on the bleeding gash at Legolas’ side. Minutes pass. I anxiously watch my friend’s face for any reaction. But his eyes stay closed, he does not utter a sound, nor does he move, despite the pain I surely am inflicting now.
I use the time to channel my strength, to concentrate on what I will have to do next. It is his head injury that has me worried most. There I will need my special healing abilities, and there also lies the greatest danger. But first I must stop the bleeding at his side.
While my hands go through the routine motions, a few more memories surface…
~<>~<>~<>~<>~
After a while Estel knew nothing more, but then he was abruptly brought back to reality. He was still kneeling next to where Legolas had been, but the elf had moved into a crouching position a few feet away and stared at him. “Is something the matter? You are supposed to stand guard.”
Weak and disoriented, Estel did not answer. He was still trying to sort out what had happened, when Legolas stood and vanished between the trees, probably to make sure they were safe. Then Estel remembered. He took a deep breath and shook his head slightly, to wake up further. He had done it. He indeed had healed with his hands. Legolas was fine again. But the elf seemed to be either unaware of what Estel had done or angry because of it. Also, Elrond’s warning had come true. If Legolas had not ended the trance with his abrupt movement, Estel might have failed not only the elf, but fallen into darkness himself.
When Legolas came back, he once more asked Estel if anything unusual had happened during his watch, but Estel just said everything had been quiet. He would not tell Legolas what he had done. For one, he had not been keeping watch like he should have and did not feel like admitting that, so that it would be added to the growing list of his failures in Legolas’ eyes. But more importantly, he had given his word to Elrond. He could not speak of his special ability.
The ride home was torture for Estel, but he fought hard not to show the pain and weakness he experienced. He was so tired of always being reminded that his endurance was less than elven, and that he could not take pain or stress like they could. He would neither ask for a break, nor say anything of his pain and dizziness, no matter what. Luckily, Legolas set a slow pace and the horse knew the way home on its own.
Estel managed the silent ride back and went to the room he had been given as guest quarters without raising suspicion that something was amiss. Once inside, he did not make it to the bed or even a chair. He merely sank down next to the door with a barely suppressed groan, his back to the wall. He was so exhausted, and so frustrated with his inability to do right…
~<>~<>~<>~<>~
Control. I am no longer a boy. I have seen much during the last years, healed a lot of wounds. I am confident in my abilities, and I can detach my emotions from the actions I have to take.
The wound on Legolas’ side no longer bleeds. Now it is time to care for the head injury. Gently, I lay my hands on the ever growing lump on his scalp. The bump itself is not my concern, but the danger of internal swelling is.
Elrond never has been able to explain how our special healing ability works. All he knows, through lore and own experience, is that it works. And he knows about the techniques the gifted ones can use to channel the energy that aids the healing process. The depletion of the strength of the one who does the healing is one drawback; another is that only a person who still wants to return to the living can be healed this way. At least there lies no danger. Legolas’ will to live is strong; I am sure of that. Slowly, controlled, I focus my energy into my hands.
Minutes later I have to admit defeat. I am still in control. But I can not reach him. The wound is too severe. I feel not the usual tingle that indicates that something broken is mending. I can not even feel his life essence, though he still breathes. Sweat is pouring down my face, and my concentration is breaking. I bite my lip and hear a warning in my head.
‘Stay in control. No matter who it is you heal, Estel, always stay in control.’
No, Adar, not this time. I shall not lose my friend. I give up control, let myself go. My hands are still on Legolas’ head, and then I know no more.
~0~
A feathery light touch on my face…, a whisper almost too low to understand…
I open my eyes. My face is inches from Legolas’, and what I feel is his breath on my cheeks. He again speaks, or rather breathes out, my name. His eyes are closed and his face is dirty and bruised. Memory hits me: the slide, his injuries… Abruptly, I sit up, and almost instantly sag down again with a groan.
Wrong move. Slower this time, I again sit up, push back my exhaustion and the pain that threatens to consume my whole body. My shaking fingers travel to his head, and then to his face. Almost unbelieving, barely daring to trust what my senses tell me, I whisper, “Legolas…, can you hear me? Can you understand me?”
“Aye…”
He says no more, and does not try to move or open his eyes, a sure sign that he is in tremendous pain and deadly exhausted. The next minutes are only a blur to me, but I am in control again. I act with swift motions now, checking Legolas’ pupils and a few reflexes for sign of brain damage, ripping more strips from my shirt to bind his less severe cuts and to stabilize the broken arm. Then I test if other limbs are broken, or if there is sign of internal damage. The whole time I calmly speak to him, trying to bind him to the world of consciousness through my will and my words alone. He answers not, but I know he is still awake and aware.
When I am finally finished doing all I can do for now, I crouch down next to him, softly touch his cheek again, and say, “Legolas, open your eyes, please.”
His eyelids flutter, and I almost sob in relief. Now that I no longer can do something, all the worries I suppressed earlier hit me full force.
“I know you are tired, but I need you to stay awake for a while.” My almost breaking voice betrays all I feel, and for a moment I inwardly chide myself. But then I give it no more mind, for he always can read me like a book. It would make no difference even if my voice sounded sure and controlled right now. He will know in any case that I still fear for his life. And indeed, his brows furrow slightly. Then he checks me over as best as he can without moving his head and murmurs, with a slight curl of his lips, not a smile yet, but at least a sign that his sense of humour still works, “I must look even worse than I feel.”
A nervous laugh escapes me, but I answer him not. Instead I ask, “Can you remember where we are?”
Frowning in concentration, he says, “I know where I was before the hill came down.”
He answers two more of the questions I ask of him to determine if his brain is damaged, before he says, slightly annoyed, “Aragorn, stop this. I am fine…”
I snort, but stubbornly he continues, “… as fine as can be expected under the circumstances. You saved me, my friend. Do not worry. Help will come soon enough.”
He is right. We are only a few hours away from the Last Homely House; and Elrond will send out someone to find us when we fail to return in time for the evening meal. Legolas is conscious again and seems to have sustained no permanent damage. The cuts and the break will heal soon enough. Another wave of exhaustion hits me, a sure sign that I overdid it with the healing.
Since there is nothing I can do, for I will not leave Legolas alone, I lie down next to him, on my back, and close my eyes in exhaustion. And then I frown in surprise. Does he realize that I used my healing abilities on him? His wording suggests it. Now is not the time to further address this issue, but since talking will help him to stay awake and me to cope with the events of the last horrible hour, I teasingly say, “Well, at least you can not hide from me in the trees.”
I can hear the humour in his still weak voice, when he softly counters, “Perhaps I should, so that you could stand guard properly.”
Suspecting that his thoughts have travelled the same path as mine, I ask, “Legolas, do you remember the time when we went to hunt that warg, back when I was visiting Mirkwood for the first time…?”
“Aye,” he says, “I remember…”…
~<>~<>~<>~<>~
Legolas was worried for Estel, but the young human had refused to admit to any troubles, so in the end Legolas had kept quiet and simply made sure they reached home as fast as possible.
On the ride back, his thoughts strayed again to the moment when he had woken. He was still not sure what Estel had been doing so close to him. His first, and still best, guess was that Estel had become afraid while he was supposed to keep a watchful eye and ear open. Possibly Estel then had sought out Legolas’ closeness in his fright.
If only he had stood guard himself, instead of accepting Estel’s offer. True, he had felt very tired, and slightly dizzy. The wound had affected him more than he had admitted to the young human, for he had not wanted to unnecessarily frighten him.
But in the end his decision to care for the gashes on his own had been the right one, for by now they were barely a hindrance. Once more, Legolas reflected on his difficulty to gauge Estel’s weaknesses and strengths properly. Often the human seemed almost elf-like, calm, collected, able to move swiftly and silently. And the next moment he did something stupid, as only a young elfling might do. Legolas’ experience with younger elves was very limited though, not only due to his rather protected upbringing as a member of the royal family, but also because very few elves had been born after him. And his experience with humans did not surpass that of handling young ones much. Humans rarely came to the palace of Thranduil, situated deep in Mirkwood as it was, and Legolas had seldom left his beloved woodland, and then only for short journeys.
Legolas let his concerns about the confusing awakening go, like he had done on previous occasions when incidents involving Estel puzzled him. He had no wish to embarrass Estel, or anger him by giving unwanted – and perhaps unwarranted – advice or rebuke. The silence that grew between them did not bother Legolas. Time was an elf’s ally; time would give them further opportunities to get to know each other, to learn if they would get along well together or were better off ignoring each other. A wrongly spoken word could do harm where silence left openings for future possibilities, in Legolas’ experience.
~0~
Once they were home, Legolas made sure that Estel reached his room, and then he went to his father to give his report and receive new orders. But first Thranduil asked, “How went it with Estel?”
“He knows many things already. Lord Elrond raised him well, and often in Estel's words the voices of Elladan, Elrohir or Glorfindel shine through. He has learned much from them. But he is young also, too eager perhaps, and passion sometimes rules where patience might serve him better.”
Legolas knew his father had wanted him to assess the human, for they were not sure why Lord Elrond had sent his ward to them. A few weeks before Estel had been escorted to Mirkwood, a messenger had brought a letter from Elrond in which the Lord of Imladris had asked if Estel could stay for a while, to receive the best possible archery training. Graciously, Thranduil allowed it and arranged for his best instructor to give the young human private lessons.
But both, the king and his son, felt that could not have been the sole reason why Elrond had sent the human here. Especially now that the dark forces thickened their tightly spun net around Mirkwood, the elven realm was not a good place for a human, for any human. In Imladris humans dwelled more often, Legolas knew, but there things were different. Less worrisome, with more time to study lore and enjoy arts. Also Elrond himself was half human, so he had reason to care for the secondborn, while for many of Legolas’ kin humans only represented weakness and failure, especially for everyone who had been in the Battle of Dagorlad, or had lost loved ones there.
Legolas himself felt neither hate nor love for the race of men, but he was curious by nature, so he had gladly accepted the duty to go hunting with Estel. And he would do so again, given the opportunity. On their first day together, Legolas had shown Estel a few sacred places. And Estel had won Legolas’ heart with the open wonder in his eyes and awe in his voice, when he encountered the hidden beauties Mirkwood still offered.
But of these details Legolas did not speak now, nor of the few mistakes the human had made. And his father seemed satisfied enough with the answer he had given, for Thranduil said, “It is well, then. You can return to your normal duties. How does a short patrol to the West sound, to see if all is in order there?”
Legolas flashed his father the expected warm smile. He loved to go on patrol. To be out in the woods, and patrolling west, promised a relatively relaxing trip with time to enjoy conversations with trees and swims in the river, but a small voice inside of him whispered that it might be even more enjoyable with that young human at his side.
~0~
The next morning, Estel had regained his strength and went to the big feasting hall to get some food. There he saw Legolas. The elf seemed well again and was about to leave with a few of his kin. They looked like elves prepared to go on patrol. Joking, they left the hall at the opposite from Estel, so he simply stayed back, hidden behind a heavy curtain, until they had gone.
True, in the beginning he had hoped to become friends with Legolas and would not have let the opportunity to greet him slip by. He still felt a longing when he saw the young archer, but he had lost hope for friendship between them. He was sure by now that Legolas did not – could not – care for his company. Not only had Estel failed Legolas repeatedly, also the elf’s silences said more than harsh words might have in Estel’s eyes.
Not that the other elves here treated him any differently. Most were polite but distant, and generally that was fine with Estel. He knew that for an elf, human life-span was short, time had another meaning and dimension, and formation of bonds was handled differently. He knew all that intellectually – and yet it hit a nerve. In a way, the barely hidden hostility some elves had expressed on occasion hurt less, because his resulting anger did not pain him as much as the feelings of rejection.
Legolas’ affable curiosity during the first days had helped him deal with loneliness and nervousness that came along with staying alone in a strange place, and led to his hopes for more. But generally, he felt uneasy among the Mirkwood elves. So Estel had resolved during the last night to keep more to himself from now on. The thought of having to endure this unwelcoming place for so many more weeks was a heavy weight on him, though. He missed Rivendell and the people there so very much. But Elrond had asked him to stay two months, and only three weeks were gone by. He felt despair eat at his heart, but he would do as he was asked, for he knew Elrond had his reasons.
In fact one of the reasons was that Estel was supposed to have archery lessons here in Mirkwood. Wood-elves were famous for their skill with the bow, and Legolas was considered to be among the best, but even the one who had so far been teaching him was better than anyone in Rivendell. Unfortunately his instructor, Borainar, was out on a patrol currently, and he had told his pupil to just train with the younger elves on the training grounds as often as possible.
While the archery teacher was not overly friendly, at least he was not hostile either, and Estel was worried what would happen if he went out there alone. Resolving to give it a try at least, he went back to his room, got the training bow and his quiver, and went to the range. Quietly he observed a while, and when it became obvious that the others would take no notice of him, he approached the group of the elves who looked least experienced and politely asked if he could join them. Exchanging a few looks Estel did not like, they agreed, but as he had feared, they mostly taunted him and made fun of his lack of archery skills.
Estel did his best to not react and the mocking increased. Biting his lips to neither insult them back nor scream at them that he was not as worthless as they tried to make him feel, he concentrated on his shooting. But with all the pressure he was under, he did even worse than usual. Resigned, he gave up after a while and left with the feeling of having been defeated. Knowing that he needed a break, he went to the river and dejectedly sat down on the riverbank
~0~
During the next week, things went from strained to terrible. No matter what Estel did, everything went wrong. The horse he was allowed to ride went lame, so he could not escape into the woods. Archery exercise, even when he trained on his own, worsened with every passing day, almost to the point that he hardly dared to try any longer, for he now sometimes failed to hit the biggest practice target. When he was in the hall to eat, it felt as if talking around him ceased, and sometimes he could overhear impolite comments about himself or humans in general, mostly coming from the group of elves who had also taunted him on the training field.
So he stayed in his room most of the time, barely leaving to even grab something to eat, and his only joy were lengthy walks along the river. They were long enough to escape prying eyes, for he felt observed at every place he went within the palace grounds. Only rarely he would allow himself that relief though, for he had been asked to stay in or near the palace for safety reasons, and he knew enough about Mirkwood to take the matter seriously.
Then, one day, he lost it. While he was walking through the palace someone made a comment about human failures, just loud enough for him to overhear. He did not even stop to consider if the words had been meant for his ears. Reacting without thinking he growled that not all humans were as incompetent as they were made out to be up here. When challenged to say what good he could do, he angrily stated that he was good at healing, for his skills with tracking and with the sword might be considered well amongst humans but not amongst elves. The one confronting him laughed and asked for proof, and in his angry agitation Estel almost blurted out that he had healed one of their royal family. At the last moment he remembered that his special kind of healing had to be kept secret. Estel shut his already opened mouth, turned on his heels and left.
He knew he looked a fool now, but he would not betray Elrond’s trust in him. Also he suspected that Legolas had told nobody about this wound, and Estel did not want to be the one who gave it away, for he was like Legolas in that regard. He also always tried to hide any injuries he had. And it was likely that Legolas did not know what Estel had done. The elf had never addressed the issue after all, and if Estel said something, and Legolas called him a liar, when later asked to confirm it, things would be even worse.
By now Estel was not even sure any longer if indeed he had healed Legolas. Chances were he just had done something wrong and lost consciousness in an ill-fated attempt at healing that had done no good. He had no way to know, for to gain that information he would have to ask Legolas, and that he could never do. He could not, and he would not.
Again Estel searched for a quiet place at the river. Briefly checking that no one was near, he sat down, back against a tree and knees drawn to his chest. And only then he let the tears fall. Never before had he felt so useless, and so lonely.
~0~
Legolas, who had returned from his patrol, by chance heard the short exchange between Estel and Soranthian, one of the guards. He also witnessed Estel’s sudden flight and was concerned. The joke might not have been appropriate, but it also was not made with the aim of hurting as much as it obviously had. Soranthian was not overly fond of humans, and often his unguarded tongue had been cause for trouble with mortal visitors in the past.
Legolas resolved to reprimand Soranthian later though. First he needed to look after Estel, for not only the young human’s reaction alarmed Legolas. Worse was how Estel looked. He seemed gaunt, and all youthful excitement was gone from the hunched figure.
It took Legolas only a few well-placed questions to learn about Estel's series of bad luck. The untold rest he could guess easily enough. He went to search for Estel and finally found him down at the river. The human was sitting with his back against a tree, knees drawn and hands and head on top of them. Quietly Legolas sat in front of him, content to wait until Estel noticed him.
Only moments later, Estel lifted his head. After a stare that at first showed surprise, then anger, and at last resignation, the young human let his head drop down on his hands again.
“Are you also going to mock me now? Go ahead then, I have no pride left.”
The muffled words stunned Legolas, but even more stunned was he by the tear tracks he had seen on the human’s face. The elf suddenly was deeply ashamed at how inconsiderate he and his kind had been, however unwittingly it was in his case at least. How could it have come to this? Choked by his own emotions, he was at a loss what to say.
Estel started to get up. That brought Legolas out of his frozen state, and he made a hasty hand motion, aimed to keep the human back. Estel could not leave like that. The human jumped as if afraid, but at least he looked at him now.
Still unsure how to continue, Legolas said the first thing that came to mind, “Why would you think that I intend to mock you?”
“I gave you reason enough to do so,” murmured Estel.
Then he again moved to stand up, and this time Legolas did not keep him back. With one last glance at the elf, Estel walked towards the palace. Legolas stayed where he was, to think about what had happened.
~<>~<>~<>~<>~
We both are lost in memory for a while, and the silence between us is peaceful. But when I see that Legolas’ eyes slowly close, worry hits me again. Turning towards him, I gently stroke his forehead while I whisper his name. He reacts not and instantly alert I sit up again. The world spins for a moment, but stubbornly I focus on Legolas. Is there need for more healing to be done? Did I perhaps miss something when I assessed his injuries earlier?
I check him over once more and come to the same conclusion as before. The head wound is the most severe of all, the only one really posing a threat. Hesitantly, my hands hover over the swollen bump again. I know it is too soon. My strength has not returned. It is a mercy that I was not lost during my last healing attempt. My hands probably have fallen off Legolas’ head when I went unconscious earlier, and that broke the connection just at the right time, and most likely saved both our lives. I could not again trust fate to intervene in such a way. But if he is in need…
“No…”
Surprised, I stare into his face. His eyes are barely open, and he slightly moves his hand. I grab it and gently squeeze. Before I can get words beyond the lump in my throat, he speaks again, “... patience, Aragorn… you have done enough… things are in motion, I feel it. It takes just time now, as it takes time to learn to shoot an arrow straight…”
I snort. Legolas knows perfectly well that I hate it when he talks like that, like a teacher to a pupil, especially when it is on a topic I know more about than he does, rare as that is, given the fact that he is that much older than I am. I do know that it takes time for all the effects of the healing to take place. And now that he is awake again, I gladly lie down also, to prove to him – and to myself – that I have all the patience that is needed. Well, and to stop my spinning head from making me even more nauseous. Grateful even for his twisted way of showing me that he is as well as he can be under the circumstances, and also relieved that he is back with me, I again squeeze his hand, and gently he squeezes back with the ghost of a smile on his face.
And then I chuckle, for his reference to shooting evokes more memories from the first weeks of our acquaintance, and I say, “Legolas, my friend, for all the trouble you put me through, you’ll have to lend me your bow again.”
As I had hoped, he rolls his eyes in a show of annoyance and answers in kind, “Oh no, Aragorn. Do not even dare to hope. That treat has to be truly earned. Just having that kingly blood of yours and putting your hands on my head for a while shall not gain you that favour. That is for very special occasions only…”
I grin at him. Only Legolas would tease me about my heritage in a situation like this. But his words confirm my earlier guess. This time he is aware of what I did. Our gazes are still locked, and I think back to the time when he lent me his bow…
~<>~<>~<>~<>~
Estel went straight to his room after his encounter with Legolas at the river. For today he had enough. If he were forced to face one other elf, to interact with one more elf right now, he surely would lose it. Luckily no one spoke to him, and soon he was alone in his room, angrily pacing. He was not sure how he felt about Legolas now. The elf had sounded sincerely confused, but how could that be? Surely a being as old and wise as this elf knew what his aloof manner and his continued silence did to Estel.
But then Estel got a hold of himself. He had been through this with Elrond, many times. With his tendency to hide hurts of all kinds, Estel was not exactly asking for aid and support. Elves tended to accept things at face value, even if they knew better. For them it was a show of respect, not necessarily a sign that they did not care.
If he had not held out hope for more than a distant contact with the famous young archer, Estel might not have been overly bothered by Legolas’ behaviour. And besides, Legolas had sought him out today, and it was only Estel’s foolishness that kept him from knowing why Legolas had come to him.
With a groan, Estel fell onto the bed. Whatever he did here, he made things worse. Perhaps he should just spend more time in his room, even under the risk of going hungry more often than he already did. Or perhaps he should leave and face the perilous journey home alone, without waiting for Elladan and Elrohir to accompany him, before his inexperience and clumsiness seriously endangered an already strained relationship between two elven realms.
He would decide tomorrow, but whatever he decided, he had to apologize to Legolas first. Not today though. Today he was spent.
~0~
Next morning, slightly nauseous from hunger and tension, he left for the training grounds. He had not dared to eat in the halls, for he knew his self-control was weak, and he would not risk another fight.
But this training lesson he could not avoid. In the morning, before he had decided how to continue, Borainar had knocked at his door and told him he was back and they would resume the training. Estel’s already low spirits sank even lower when he arrived at the range and saw who was standing next to Borainar, bow in hand, quiver strapped to the back. Legolas. Fighting not to let his feelings of frustration and trepidation show, Estel politely greeted them both and waited for instructions.
Borainar said, “Legolas has asked to be allowed to join today’s lessons. We shall start with five arrows each. Shoot at free will.”
With typical elven grace and in one swift movement Legolas notched an arrow, took aim and released his first arrow. As expected, it hit the centre of the target. Deciding to no longer watch, but instead start shooting himself, Estel focused on the target and his position.
But it was a struggle to draw the heavy elven training bow he had been given, weak as he felt from lack of food and a sleepless night spent with worrying and thinking in circles. He tried his best, and now with the neutral archery teacher back at his side, he did not do as bad as he had during the last days. Still, his first hit was worse than Borainar had ever seen him shoot.
Estel shot the next arrow and this time missed the target completely. Biting his lips, not looking left or right, he took the third arrow and drew the bow again. But his arm trembled by now, and suddenly someone pushed his bow down before he could release the arrow. Surprised, he turned his head. Concerned blue eyes locked with his, and with a start Estel realized it was not Borainar who had stopped him, but Legolas.
Before Estel could recover from his surprise, Legolas quietly said, “Borainar, would you please excuse us? We shall be back later if that is well with you. Estel, please come with me.”
With that the elf grabbed a small bundle that had been lying nearby and walked towards the river. Stunned, Estel stared after him, until Borainar gave him a small shove and said, “Go with him.”
Hesitantly, Estel followed Legolas, who went to the tree where Estel had sat the day before. There Legolas stopped, laid the bundle down and whispered to Estel, “Wait for me, I shall make sure we are alone and will not be disturbed.”
With that Legolas vanished into the trees, and Estel sat down, too surprised and too confused to even think straight. A few minutes later, the elf was back and sat down next to Estel. Then Legolas opened the bundle. Inside were lembas bread and dried fruits. The elf also loosened a water flask from his belt and handed it to Estel.
Surprised, the young human took it. What did Legolas want? Why had he sought him out? For it was obvious to Estel that the whole situation was a planned setup. But he felt no threat from the elf, only concern. Confused, he resolved not to make assumptions this time; instead he would follow Legolas’ lead. For the same reason he held back the urge to apologize. The opportunity would come, and then he would take it, but right now he would wait for Legolas to speak.
When Legolas made no further move, nor said anything, Estel reasoned that he as well could use the opportunity and took a piece of bread. Not able to hide the shaking of his hand, he hungrily ate it and then consumed some fruits and water. Legolas still said nothing, nor did he eat himself, he just gave a small nod of approval and then looked at the river, giving Estel a bit of privacy that way.
~0~
Legolas saw the trembling hands and noticed how hastily the food was eaten, and once more worry and also deep respect for how well Estel coped under the circumstances made his heart clench for a moment. He deeply regretted now that he had been away for the last days. Surely things would have developed better for Estel if he had been here. But the past was the past, and now he could only change the future. At the moment the best thing he felt he could do was to project as much calmness as he was able to, and to avoid anything that might put more pressure onto the human.
So, as soon as Estel had finished eating, Legolas took his bow with slow motions and started to talk about how he had learned to use it. He spoke of his first bad attempts, about how he had improved, how he had learned to adapt his stance over time, and that most of the quality of a good shoot had not so much to do with bodily skills, but with the set of mind one was in. He kept his voice low and soft, aimed to give as much useful information as possible without sounding superior.
Estel seemed to relax, and while he still spoke, Legolas started to do some of the things he was talking about with the bow he had in his hand. Once he was sure he had the human’s full attention, he handed Estel the bow while he continued to talk softly.
After a second’s hesitation, Estel took the weapon carefully and let his fingers run over its smooth surface in awe. Legolas’ bow was famous after all; not many elves could claim to have been allowed to lay hands on it, and Estel obviously either knew or guessed that. And only after Legolas encouraged him with a hand motion, and with quiet explanations on how to handle a bow with love and not with thoughts filled with death or hate, Estel got bolder and dared to experimentally draw it.
With a satisfied smile, Legolas allowed himself to relax. He seemed to have chosen an approach that reached the brave, but stubborn young human. Legolas caught Estel’s eyes and smiled. Estel tentatively smiled back. With a pointed glance towards his bow, Legolas asked, “Ready for another try with archery?”
Estel caressed the wooden part of the beautiful weapon once more, nodded, and carefully laid the bow next to his owner. Then he rose. Legolas also got to his feet, and took the bundle he had brought with him earlier, and also his bow, but while he kept the bundle with the rest of the food, he held the bow towards Estel and said, “For today you shall use this bow, and I shall take yours.”
Stunned, Estel stared at him, but then he carefully took the weapon. Satisfied, Legolas started walking to the training grounds, but when he became aware that the human was not following him, he went back to Estel, and softly asked, “What is the matter?”
“Why?”
Not quite sure what the barely whispered question was exactly referring to, Legolas took a moment to think before he answered with a smile, trying to lighten the mood and choosing as general an answer as the question had been, “You have earned it.”
For a moment a smile lit Estel's face, but then he shuddered, and suddenly wheeled around, facing the river now, and no longer Legolas. And before the surprised elf could react, Estel brokenly whispered, “No, I have not. Is this a game to you…? I don’t know what to think… what to make of this… and I could not take it now if…”
Estel broke off with a choked back sob, never finishing the statement, but it was not necessary. Legolas knew well enough what had been left unsaid. Estel feared rejection, if not now, then later. Finally, Legolas had the opening he needed. Last night he had thought long and hard about what time meant to humans, compared to elves. How a silence, aimed to protect another’s feelings and pride, could be taken for disinterest or worse.
Also he had realized that, as the only human amongst elves, Estel was constantly reminded of all his inferiority. It was nothing any elf would even have to reinforce on purpose; it was a simple fact. He had not given thought to it before, but now Legolas understood that Estel still fought against these natural constraints, seeing them as personal flaws.
Legolas laid his hand on the human’s shoulder. When Estel tensed and shrank away, he followed the movement and increased his grip slightly, not to hurt, just to indicate that he would not let go, and quietly he said, “You have earned it, Estel, and I failed to tell you before. Also I seem to have hurt you, and for that I ask your forgiveness. My only excuse is that it was not done on purpose, but by ignorance. You are honourable, brave, and caring. And you are enjoyable as well as valuable company to have around. I realize you might not want to befriend me, but I would ask you to allow me for the rest of your visit to be the proper host I should have been from the beginning.”
The last sentence said, Legolas slowly took his hand away from Estel’s shoulder and waited for the human’s reaction. But Estel did not move, said not a word. Legolas waited a minute, and another, in calm silence.
Finally, Estel took a deep breath and slowly turned around. He was staring at the bow in his hands, and it took a while until he lifted his eyes. Legolas could see unshed tears in them, but there was also a slight twinkle. Estel answered, while slightly lifting the bow to make sure Legolas knew what he was referring to, “How could I refuse an offer like that?”
Not sure if the human was just teasing him now or was serious, Legolas hesitated, but then Estel chuckled and said with quiet intensity that even more than his words showed that he meant what he said, “Legolas, it is well. I thank you for your kindness, and your offer. It means a lot to me, more than I can express with mere words. I gladly accept your hospitality, and your friendship, but only if you have my apologies, for I wronged you, in my thoughts, and with my accusations as well.”
And almost as an afterthought, but with unmistakable excitement, he finished, “And if you still will let me, I also would love to try out your bow.”…
~<>~<>~<>~<>~
Again I squeeze Legolas’ hand. My hopes, rekindled in those minutes at the river, have become true. Over the years we have built a very close friendship indeed. And Elrond’s wish, that my stay in Mirkwood would not only increase my skill with bow and arrow, but also aid in forming a new bond between the elven realms, and men, had been fulfilled.
Slight movement next to me instantly brings my attention to Legolas again. For the last minutes we have not spoken, but his colour improved, and the grip of his hand is stronger than before. His eyes are open, and his tongue flickers over his dry, cracked lips. With regret, I again remember my missing pack, which contains our water. Legolas has lost a lot of blood and even while he says nothing, I know he must be thirsty.
“I am sorry, Legolas. The water is gone, together with the rest of our stuff.”
With a surprised frown he again checks me over, as he already did when he first woke. He is looking for injuries, worried that I also am wounded and withhold it from him. He knows me too well, but this time I truly have nothing to hide.
Suppressing a grimace, I explain, “You had my pack with you when you fell.”
“I had your pack?”
“Aye, I gave it to you when…, don’t you remember?”
For a moment Legolas stares at me, uncomprehending. But then I can see a smile tugging at is lips. He remembers. Alas, I almost wish he would not.
“Truly, Aragorn, that weak bladder of yours is one day going to cause serious trouble!”
I groan. Of the many differences between elves and men, this is amongst the ones I hate being teased about most, and Legolas knows it well. But since he is the wounded one, I tolerate it this time and merely tease gently back, “Even more serious than the trouble you are currently in, just because you couldn’t keep your footing on a bit of a slide? Hard to imagine, my friend.”
~0~
A few hours have gone by, and it is already dark when finally we are found. As we expected, Elrond sent Elladan and Elrohir the moment it was clear we would not make it for dinner, and this one time I do not grumble about over-protective elven family-members.
Finally, we are in the Last Homely House and alone again. After a bit of fuss over both of us, and a lot of treatment given to Legolas, they leave. I am ever grateful for their help, especially for Elrond’s help when it comes to healing, but it never is easy for me to accept it in the first place. And since Elrond and I had not only the talk about my heritage but also the one about Arwen, and I went away for a while, our relationship is somewhat strained. Still, for the last few years at least, I again turn to him in times of dire need, and he gives his aid freely.
I have won the fight about where I am going to spend this night. Of course, Elrond and his sons think that the stool next to Legolas’ bed is not a good place to rest for an exhausted human. And they are right. By now I am no longer on that stool but on Legolas’ bed, though. The bed is huge enough that we both can peacefully sleep in it without disturbing the other’s rest. I listen to Legolas’ breathing while my thoughts drift back to today’s events.
When I realize he is still awake, I murmur, “I was worried.”
An amused soft sound is my only answer at first, and I open one eye to look at him. In the pale starlight I can only see his slightly glowing shape, but before my inner eye his face flashes clearly, and a smile is on it, a smile he does not allow to fully develop. Legolas senses my mood and answers in earnest, and no longer in the teasing tone we used to cope with the events earlier, “I also. About you among other things.”
“How so? I was not the wounded one.”
“When I woke, I recognized it instantly. Aragorn, I have been healed countless times in my long life. By the healers in Mirkwood. By Elrond. And by you. Only two of these times felt different. And only today I realized at all that there can be a difference.”
He says no more. I have my suspicions, but I want to be sure. We have driven out the ghosts of the past long ago, but this is something we just somehow never before spoke of. The need for secrecy no longer applies, for it was meant only to hide my true identity, and which Legolas now knows. So perhaps now is the time to broach the subject. I softly ask, “What do you mean?”
“I recognized it not as side-effects of healing back then, after that warg hunt, and gave it not much mind. But when I woke, back then in Mirkwood, with your arms still on me, my whole body and soul were tingling with energy. You know how healing normally feels to me: the sensations are localized.”
He makes a pause, and I also say nothing.
“When I regained consciousness today, I instantly knew I was injured. My head, my side, my arm…, it all hurt. Hurt terribly. But I tingled again. And you did not answer at first. I knew you were near, but you were so quiet…”
Should I explain it to him? Can I? I hesitate. To admit to any kind of loss of control comes not easy to me. That I feel his gaze on me, curious perhaps, but without judgement, helps me to admit, “I don’t know what happens then, Legolas. Normally, I… I am in control when I heal; my mind directs my actions. But not…”
His quiet gasp makes me stop, but he says nothing. Tense, I continue, “I was still inexperienced when I healed you that first time. Never before had I done it alone, without Elrond to guide me. I learned only later how to command it myself. But, Legolas…, I could not reach you today…, you were gone…, not dead, but out of grasp somehow… I could not-”
For a long time there is only silence. There is no need for further explanation. He understands. I am grateful for all the things he does not voice right now. How dangerous it is what I have done. How little his life would mean to him, if I had thrown mine away to save it. In the end, he only says, “You truly have healing hands, my friend.”
I take a deep breath and relax. Exhaustion washes over me again, but I manage to murmur, “And you, my friend, you can heal with your words, and your actions.”
The last words I hear, before I finally drift off to sleep, are slightly amused, “And with my bow, if I remember correctly…”