A Healing Touch

At first, Elrond wasn’t entirely certain of their presence, given his recent heart pains only days before, he merely dismissed the sudden sense for wishful thinking. The aches had been increasing, and with them, he believed, so too were delusions of his ever nearing lover. He had done his best to put up a believable front, if not for his people, than for the ever persistent Erestor whom had been keeping a watchful eye on him like a mother hen since days before.

The advisor had chastised both the elf lord and the Balrog slayer when they had met in the infirmary for their stubbornness, yet in the end his lecture proved pointless and was carelessly dismissed, leaving a very annoyed major-domo. Both the loremaster and seneschal had suffered in silence, only taking comfort from each other at night.

Yet, Erestor and the twins had had enough nonsense, and together the three elves finally decided that they would get the two elves to Mirkwood at whatever cost, even if they were forced to knock both of the stubborn lords unconscious and drag them to the woodland realm. Luckily, they did not have to resort to that. Just as the advisor was contemplating on a plan to get them there as he sat at his desk, absently stroking the soft feather of his quill between his fingers, the twins had come racing in, explaining to him in an un-orderly exclamation of spouting that they had spotted a group of wood elves trailing down the paths of Imladris.

The dark haired advisor wasted no time, and swiftly ordered rooms prepared before rushing to his lord’s library. There, as he rushed into the spacious room, Elrond was lounged in a comfortable plush chair, in one hand holding an old novel, and a chalice of wine in the other, garbed in a burgundy coloured robe. He was looking far worse these days, Erestor thought to himself, noting the dark bags forming under the loremaster’s grey eyes, and the pale skin looking far slimmer than it should.

“My lord,” he asked anxiously, drawing the other elf’s eyes to his own dark orbs. Not waiting for a reply, he jumped immediately to the point. “Elrond, a group of elves approach… King Thranduil is with them.”

An un-discernable expression crossed Elrond’s wise face, and his heart wrenched in escalating hope that he dared not dwindle upon. Placing both his cordial and his book upon the table beside him, he stood before his companion, his eyes pleading desperately with him. “Thranduil? And he- is Legolas--”

“I do not know, my lord, but they bear a carriage with them, and if your sons were not mistaken, an injured elf appears to be inside it.”

Elrond seemed as if he were in silent contemplation for a short moment, his features bearing a blank expression with parted lips, but before Erestor could mutter a single word, the other elf immediately began to snap orders. “Erestor, fetch Glorfindel, have him meet me in the infirmary, I will be preparing my tools. Quickly, be swift.”

“Right away, lord Elrond,” the advisor bowed, quickly moving down the halls, his lips curling into a smile. The elf lord’s fire had returned to his heart at last. But at what cost? He could only pray that, if it was truly the elf prince who rode in the horse carriage, that they were not too late.

“Glorfindel,” he cried as he burst through the doors, jogging down the stairs and into the courtyard. He was quick to notice him with his fiery haired lover as the two danced together in combat, feet shifting while swords sang as they waved and clashed their metallic blades against one another. “Glorfindel! Narofea!”

The two elves ceased in their duel when they heard Erestor’s frantic cries. Sheathing their swords, each elf greeted the major-domo with a nod as he approached. “Greetings, Erestor.”

“What is it, love?” Narofea asked at the look of anticipation on his lover’s face. “What is amiss?”

“Thranduil,” the dark haired elf panted as he stood before his mate, clasping both his arms before glancing at the golden haired elf. “He approaches on horseback, several guards among him. They have a wounded elf with them in a carriage… I do not wish to get your hopes up, Glorfindel, but Elladan and Elrohir believe it to be Legolas.”

“Legolas…” the seneschal mumbled, his eyes growing wide, and neither elf missed the panicked, yet hopeful look upon his fair face.

“Yes. Elrond asks for your assistance in the infirmary. He wants-”

The advisor was cut short of his sentence when horse hooves quickly approached, and at the surprised looks of the two elves in front of him, he whirled around to see Thranduil and his guards before them, immediately dismounting their steeds.

“Lord Thranduil-” Glorfindel started with wide, hopeful eyes, but was quickly cut off.

“I wish there was time for a formal greeting, lord Glorfindel,” the king hurriedly explained, and if he did not know any better, the seneschal could have sworn he saw tears in his icy blue orbs. “But we do not have much time left. Legolas is dying.”

The three Imladris elves immediately directed their gazes to the wooden cart. “Dying?” Narofea repeated, his features horror-struck. “But how? Why?”

“‘Tis the bond,” Tallen said bluntly, shooting the golden haired seneschal an accusing look, one that clearly told him that the middle son of Thranduil clearly knew of their union, and though there was no animosity in his words, his eyes clearly showed his disapproval regarding the bond. “Too long has he been from his lovers.”

For a short moment, both Glorfindel and Tallen stared unflinchingly at each other, before the seneschal rushed overthe the carriage, pushing past the guards and their mounts and peered in, and his heart nearly shattered at the condition the young prince was in.

He was painfully thin, and the light was gone fros has handsome figure. His skin was unnaturally pale, and his beautiful eyes were shut from the world, his dark lashes splayed across his high cheekbones. He was slightly relieved to notice the rise and fall of his chest, but his breathing was labored, and Glorfindel was quick to realize that they had arrived barely in time.

“Legolas,” he whispered, cupping a pale cheek with his large calloused hand, tears quickly springing to his eyes. “Legolas, it is I. You are home now, penneth, you are home…” The seneschal gently scooped the young elf into his arms, holding him protectively against his chest, feeling him convulse slightly at their contact, and at the same time, he felt the pain in his own heart clutch him, but ignored it as he carried the prince up the stairs.

“Narofea, if you will, please send for the grooms to tend to the soldiers mounts,” Erestor asked, leading the king and elder prince up the stairs. “Elladan and Elrohir will be out shortly to show them to their quarters.”

“Of course, Erestor,” the redhead replied formally, watching worriedly as the seneschal carried his unconscious friend through the doors.

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“Elrond!” Glorfindel burst through the infirmary doors, clutching his charge protectively to his chest before lying him on the closest bed near him.

The elf lord’s head immediately shot up at the loud entrance, momentarily halting in chopping some healing herbs and his robes bellowed as he rushed his way over to the bed, his face the epitome of horror. He tenderly brushed the prince’s cheek with his knuckles, taking in his appearance with a pained heart.

“Oh, Legolas,” he whispered dejectedly. He glanced up as Erestor lead Thranduil and Tallen into the room, not sparing a single moment. “What happened?” he demanded, noticing the gash on the side of the young elf’s head.

“A tunnel collapsed with the both of us inside,” Thranduil hurriedly explained. “He is suffering from a concussion, but our healer is more concerned about… he is dying of grief, Elrond. Please, you must help him.”

A look of shock broke its way onto the loremaster’s face as his head shot up to gape at the Mirkwood king, his heart suddenly contracting at those very words. But before anyone had a chance to comment, he returned his gaze to the younger elf.

“He is here, now,” Elrond muttered absently, stroking back his young lover’s hair. “I will do what I can.” With difficulty, he left the princeling’s side and returned to his herbs, mixing several of them together in boiled water, speaking to the Mirkwood lord as he did so. “For how long as he been suffering?”

“We don’t know,” Thranduil replied guiltily. “He has deliberately been hiding his condition from us for quite some time.”

Elrond nodded wordlessly as he began to stir his concoction, pursing his lips together. “Judging from his appearance, he has been suffering the full effects for quite some time, seven months at the least.”

“Seven months?” repeated Erestor with a furrowed brow. “That is an awfully long time for an elf to suffer from grief. And you have not noticed his condition sooner?”

“He has hidden his condition well,” Tallen commented with a frown. “I am surprised he is not dead already. What do you suppose has kept him from Mandos Halls?”

“I do not know,” the elf lord replied as he walked over with the bowl of medicine, dipping a spoon in as Glorfindel carefully elevated the sleeping prince’s head. He slowly fed Legolas the draught, pressing slightly on his throat to manipulate his swallowing reflex. “My guess is that his love for his family is very strong, and he could not bear to leave you.”

“Or you,” Tallen muttered. Elrond raised an eyebrow at the elder prince, but nodded wordlessly with a sigh.

“Yes… It is obvious you know about the bond, prince Tallen. Tell me, do you loath us for what we have done?”

“My father has explained to me the necessities of it, and he was correct in saying that Legolas would allow no other to touch him in such a way, but that does not mean I am entirely comfortable with it.”

“I can understand that. He is your little brother and the thought of him bedding two male elves of high status who are at least three times his age must be unsettling to you. But we truly do love him, Tallen, and neither of us would ever do anything to hurt him.”

“You have risked your lives for him thus far,” Tallen commented, staring down at his crossed arms awkwardly. “I can only hope that you will save him now.”

The elf lord glanced down sadly at the unconscious elf, placing the bowl of liquidized herbs down on a nearby table before brushing an affectionate hand down his cheek. “So do I. For now, all we can do is wait. Perhaps… perhaps he would be more comfortable in his chambers.”

“Aye,” Glorfindel agreed as he moved to the prince’s side, sliding his hands beneath him. “I will take him there, then.”

“I will go with you,” Erestor said as he opened one of the large oak doors and held it for the seneschal. He had remained relatively quiet, not feeling it was his place to interfere, and had been looking for an excuse to leave the room. “You may need a hand with him.”

“I will join you both shortly.” Elrond added as he began to clear away his mess. Glorfindel nodded at the dark haired elf before gently lifting Legolas’ light body into his arms before he left the room, Erestor hot on his heels.

Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh, urging away his oncoming headache as he absently watched Elrond clear away his herbs. “Do you honestly think you can help him, Elrond?”

“It is difficult to say,” Elrond mumbled after a moment. His back was to the Mirkwood lord so he could not see his pained expression, though it was visible in his constricting voice. “I believe I can, you have not arrived too late. Has the pain begun?”

“The pain?” Thranduil asked. “Yes, he has been experiencing… something, a pain in his breast, his heart, I think. Does that have any significance?”

“It does. His heart is slowly breaking while his body wastes away. Glorfindel and I both have been experiencing it as well, but only in the past two months or so.”

“You have felt it, too?” Thranduil exclaimed, suddenly feeling anger boil in his very being. “Why have you done nothing about it, then, if you have known it to be grief? If you have felt this connection than surely you-”

“Don’t you dare blame me for this, Thranduil,” the loremaster snapped as he finally turned to face him. “You know very well the pressure of leading a people. Yes, I should have known better, and in a sense this is my fault. But like you, I did not realize how long Legolas was suffering for. Glorfindel and I are together, we thrive from the bond having each other close by, unfortunately Legolas does not have this alternative. We both could sense his pain, yes, but never did we think it ran so deep. Do you not think that if we did we would not have gone to him immediately?”

“Legolas could be dead right now!” Thranduil growled.

“Yet, he is not, and we should both be geatful for that. You do not have to waste your voice on making me feel guilty, I am ady fdy feeling remorseful for what has happened to him. Now if you please, I have work to complete.”

The golden haired lord opened his mouth to retort, but a hand on his shoulder silenced him and he glanced back at his son. Tallen merely shook his head, his eyes pleading him not to begin another argument during such a dire moment. Together they remained silent, merely standing in a corner of the room until Elrond’s twin sons came to show them to their rooms.

With their departure, Elrond leaned both his hands on the counter, letting loose a sigh as he bowed his head miserably before turning away and out the Healing Wing.

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“He’s so skinny,” Erestor shook his head sadly as Glorfindel removed the prince’s shirt, eyeing the too slim body worriedly. “Surely someone would have noticed his weight loss.”

“Aye,” Glorfindel mumbled as he, too, scanned over the pale frame. “That is, if Legolas would have allowed anyone to see him nude. You know how he is regarding such things, Erestor. But even so, Legolas could have simply used the excuse that he seldom had any exercise, being trapped in the palace when not working.”

The advisor nodded. “I doubt Thranduil even lets the boy off the grounds when not on an errand. He probably can’t even go for a ride without guards hovering about him.”

“Thranduil is just being overprotective. He means well, as any parent does. Now,” he replied, fetching a nightshirt from the closet. “Help me lift him while I put this on.”

Erestor nodded as he slid on the bed and held the prince’s back against his chest, helping the seneschal pull his arms through the sleeves as he slipped the collar over his head. When his half naked body was covered, Glorfindel then drew off his leggings, the long shirt providing him a shred of decency.

For the seneschal’s next task he moved back upwards to remove Legolas’ golden hair from the disheveled braids in order to make him more comfortable, but as Glorfindel shifted the unresponsive head to the side, he momentarily froze in disbelief, before slowly, with trembling fingers, removed the golden flower-shaped hairclip from the center braid, and for what seeme ete eternity, he simply stared at it silently.

“He kept his promise…” was all he murmured.

“Excuse me?” the dark haired elf asked confus, hi, his dark brows furrowed in bafflement.

Realizing that he was speaking to himself, the golden haired elf merely shook his head with a smile, pocketing the precious hairpiece. “Never mind… Here, help me lie him back down.”

The two elves were just readjusting him to a more comfortable position on the bed when Elrond swept by the tapestry, watching them with a blank expression. “Elrond,” Erestor greeted as Glorfindel pulled the covers over the elfling. “The child is far too skinny, you must do something.”

The elf lord glanced at his advisor wordlessly before stepping to the sun-kissed prince’s motionless side, letting his eyes roam over his pale features as he slowly probed his pale body with gentle hands. He sighed in dismay before turning back to the dark haired elf.

“Erestor, would you send for some broth, please, and some wine. Something tells me we will be here for quite some time.”

“Of course,” the major-domo bowed his head before hurriedly exiting the abundant chamber.

After he had left, Elrond and Glorfindel shared a brief gaze before shifting their focus back to the sleeping Sindar. “What are we going to do, Elrond?” the seneschal sighed. “We cannot perform any bonding ritual while he is comatose.”

“To be near him should be enough for now. But we dare not leave his side, not until he wakes. We shall both have to have our work brought here.”

“Do you reckon he knows that we are here? Can he sense our presence?” the Balrog slayer asked quietly as he passed a hand over the prince’s brow, and Elrond was surprised to hear the timidness in his ancient voice.

“I honestly do not know, Glorfindel. The bond is strong, but as his body grows weaker, so too do his senses.”

“I felt his pain,” Glorfindel suddenly said, and the elf lord looked at him questioningly with a raised eyebrow. “When I lifted him from the cart, he suddenly convulsed, a look of agony crossing his face, and my heart suddenly felt as if it were aflame. Did you not feel it?”

“I did not,” he admitted with a scowl. “If we can only sense each other’s pain in close proximity, that means the bond is weakening. We must not leave his side, Glorfindel, he will not survive otherwise. He must draw his strength from us, now.”

“I understand. Elrond, Can you not link mentally with him? Guide him back to us, perhaps?”

“I have already considered that option.”

The seneschal raised yebryebrow questioningly. “And?”

“And, it is possible, but it is also dangerous in his current state, for both of us. However, I am willing to try it, if not to try and help Legolas, than to ease my conscience.”

“Your conscience?” the seneschal repeated uncertainly. “Elrond, surely you do not blame yourself for this?” Elrond remained silent, but looked guiltily at the motionless form on the bed before him. “You could not have known! The connection waivers from so far away, you cannot be held responsible for that. Legolas could have sent word of his illness at any time, yet he did not.”

“I should have known. No elf has ever spent so much time away from their mate and survived.” The loremaster countered, and for the first in a very long time, Glorfindel was shocked to see tears glistening in his lover’s grey orbs, though he knew they would not be permitted to fall.

“Then,” the seneschal finally replied as soon as he found his voice. “I am as much at fault as you are. I, too, am bonded to you both, and thus should have foreseen this, as well.”

“No,” Elrond shook his head as he whirled around to stare at his lover. “No, Glorfindel, you are not to blame. You do not have the gift of foresight, whereas I do. It makes no sense to put the guilt on your shoulders.”

“Nor does it, yours. You cannot foresee everything, and accusing yourself will get you nowhere. I do not blame you, and I am certain that Legolas doesn’t either. He loves you, can you not see that?”

“Of course I can see that,” the monarch spat.

“Then for his sake, do not cast the blame onto yourself. He would not want that. Elrond,” Glorfindel sighed as he pulled the dark haired elf to his chest, his blue eyes gazing intensely into the elf lord’s own as he tenderly cupped his face, gently brushing his thumb over a pale cheek. “Melethron-nin, do not do this to yourself. Please, if not for Legolas, than for me.”

For what seemed like eternity, both elves merely gazed into each others eyes, their features speaking all that needed to be said. Then, with a shake of his head, Elrond finally broke the eye contact. “Very well, you win.”

The hint of a smile then quirked the seneschal’s luscious lips. “I thought I might.”

“Let us not get overly arrogant, Glorfindel.”

“Never,” he swore, followed by a chaste kiss.

They then broke apart as light footsteps could be heard marching the the hall before the tapestry was pushed open, revealing Erestor carrying a tray of soup and a bottle of wine accompanied by three chalices in his other hand.

“Am I interrupting anything?”

“That’s never stopped you before, mellon-nin,” The seneschal replied cheekily, earning a glare from the other.

The advisor feigned to ignore him as he placed the tray and glasses on the small round table occupying the center of the chamber, pouring wine into each glass. After each had had a decent sip, Elrond moved over to the bed and sat upon it as he held Legolas against his chest while Glorfindel fed him. They remained in companionable silence for a time, making the odd comment at one time or another, each occupied with their own thoughts.

After an hour or so had gone by, the elves ears had perked at the sound of a sudden ruckus at the door, and after several seconds had gone by, a figure clad in grey pushed past the tapestry while removing his hat.

“Mithrandir?” Erestor exclaimed in surprise.

“Good day, gentlemen, so sorry I haven’t arrived sooner. My mount had apparently taken a wrong turn on our way here.”