A Healing Touch

“Are you ready?” Gandalf asked as he pushed his way through the tapestry of Legolas’ chambers.

Elrond stood slowly from the woolen rug on the floor, his eyes blinking in rapid succession to clear themselves. “Yes,” he replied as he walked with Mithrandir in pace over to the bed.

When the two approached the bed, Glorfindel glanced up from his book and was quick to stand to the side of the window, watching as both Elrond and Mithrandir took their positions on the bed’s edge.

“Now before we begin, Elrond, understand this; what we are about to do may be very dangerous, there is a chance that you could both suffer brain damage, and there is no guarantee that we will be able to bring Legolas back. It depends on his will alone.”

“I understand,” the loremaster nodded.

“Very well. You must reach into Legolas’ mind with your own, I will act as a beacon, a tether, if you will, to hold you both together and bring you back. Glorfindel,” the wizard turned his attention to the Balrog slayer, whom gave him his full attention. “It may help if you return to your previous position. Hold Legolas’ hand, let him know you are here with us, give him your strength.”

The seneschal quickly did as he was told, perching himself on the other side of the bed and taking the prince’s hand in his own, while Gandalf pressed one hand against Elrond’s back, and the other over Legolas’ left breast. “Proceed, Elrond.”

Carefully with slow movement, Elrond pressed his hands to each side of Legolas’ head, eyeosedosed, and pressing his brow against the younger elf’s own, he muttered firm, yet incoherent words in elvish.

As Elrond’s senses began to drift, he soon found his unconscious mind entering Legolas’ own, and as his bodiless form swiftly traveled through a blur of colours, he caught distinct glimpses of the prince’s past as if they were aligned on walls to each side of him, from the elf’s most recent experiences to his earliest memories.

In one scene, he saw a tunnel collapse with two en hen haired figures inside, and was quick to realize the pair to be Legolas and Thraduil. This had been how Legolas had been injured, he realized, and was now lying unconscious on the very bed they were sitting on. He saw the rubble come down and block their path, he saw Thranduil shield Legolas from the onslaught, and he saw an individual stone strike the prince’s head, hard enough for him to lose consciousness.

He was pulled into another memory. This one he recognized very well. It had been the last night the three had spent together before their departure back to Rivendell. His transparent form watched with the hint of a smile as the memory of him, Legolas and Glorfindel splashed around mirthfully in the cool lake under the stars, jumping at each other and tackling their bodies into the blue glimmering sheet. His smile grew as he watched his seneschal jog up to a small outcropping rock, before diving off it in all his naked glory, the moonlight caressing his fair flesh, intent on showing off for the young prince, and resurfacing the water moments later with a pompous grin on his handsome face. He then felt his mouth go dry as the threesome climbed up onto the shore, and made deliberately slow love to each other in the soft grass.

The next scene he did not recognize, but very well knew it for what it was. He watched in trepidation as Legolas hauled himself onto Ungoliant’s back after escaping the orcs grasp. He watched as the giant spider bucked and reared in anger, before the elf mounted on her, unsheathed his two long knives and scissored off her head, and seconds later watched as her body keeled over, her long, skinny legs curling up beneath her.

Again, the image shifted, and he felt his blood run cold at this cruel memory. He and Legolas were in the camp where the orcs had held them captive. He tried desperately to escape this memory, yet it held him, and he was forced to witness what he and his lover had already suffered. He watched as they were tortured, and he felt the ghosts of pain within, not from his own torture, but from Legolas’ own agony. He suddenly stiffened when he felt as if he were being burnt as he was forced to watch the orcs burn the brand into the prince’s flesh, and he heard himself release a pained yelp as the orc plunged his swollen penis into Legolas’ tight cavity, and if it were possible, went even more rigid.

He was thankful when the memory faded, and was brought into another. It had been the very first night they had ever made love. As he watched the ghostly figures on the bed, he could feel, rather than sense, Legolas’ apprehension, yet he could also feel his love for them, and complete trust. He suddenly felt a pang of guilt as the image of himself lowered the young elf onto his throbbing prick, tensing at the feeling of being entered by something so large, and cringing at the prince’s pained whimper. Yet their soothing words seemed to calm him, and he noted Legolas paying close attention to their voices, and their wandering hands to drown out the pain.

He reached Legolas’ coming of age ceremony, and watched as the memory of himself smiled proudly at the young prince in a crowd of other elves as he was presented with his two long knives by his father, before he and Glorfindel were called up to the dais of surrounding elves, where they each stood on either side of Legolas, before they each took a strand of his hair on either side of his temple, and plated them in the customary warrior braids of Mirkwood, while Thranduil, himself, adorned the back of his head with the herringbone braid.

Another scene came, this one when Legolas would have been considered the equivalent of a fifteen year old boy to any man. The elf lord watched curiously as Legolas’ head poked around a corner nervously, watching as his own ghostly figure welcomed a man and his severely pregnant wife whom looked in an incredible amount of pain into his halls. The man in question, Elrond recognized, was of the line of Isildur, Aragost, son of Arahad if he was not mistaken. Legolas had seen Isildur’s line before, most of them born and raised in Rivendell. But Legolas had become very weary of man ever since the incident with the rangers, and so kept his distance, though curiosity danced in his bright blue eyes as Elrond, or rather the memory of him, guided the couple to the healing wing.

Though he remembered it being hours, it seemed only seconds after when a keening wail issued within the room, startling the young prince out of his very wits and he rushed into the chamber ready to defend his lord, but skidded to a halt in the doorframe as he stared in wonder at the small bundle cradled in the loremaster’s arms. Elrond smiled at the memory as his shadow beckoned the elfling into the room, and Legolas stared wide-eyed in awe at the tiny babe in his arms as he took slow, tentative steps forward. “This is Aravorn, Aragost’s son,” he heard himself say, and he felt his smile grow as Legolas timidly touched the babe, so gently as if he thought the babe would break. The elfling’s eyes grew ever wider as a tiny hand grasped his finger, and a wide grin replaced the look of astonishment on his youthful face.

Several more images passed by. He witnessed the prince’s ninety-fifth begotten day, and how Glorfindel had ever so tenderly helped him discover his sexuality, and Elrond saw Legolas’ memory that had brought him to fear men so much, when the group of escaped criminals had posed as rangers and had attempted to take over the Last Homely House. He saw one of the many images of Legolas crawling into bed with him after that incident, fear for the men far from abated. He saw Legolas’ first encounter with the young dragon he and Narofea had smuggled into the house, and of Glorfindel being wounded from the large dragon that had attacked them. Scenes of he and Glorfindel teaching the prince how to swim came to him as well, and another image, the first time Legolas had ever stepped foot into Rivendell, frightened and aggrieved.

It was after that, that image he feared to see most finally came. A very young elfling was cradled to his mother’s breast in a dark closet. Weapons clas aga against one another could be heard outside the chamber, before choked gasps could be heard accompanied by drops to the hard floor. Moments later the closet door swung open, and a large orc grabbed the fair she-elf by a fistful of hair, dragging her out into the center of the room, causing her to lose her hold on the princeling. Elrond watched as horror as a knife plunged itself into the woman’s chest, an agonized wail escaping her lips, and a horrified scream following escaping the youngling’s own mouth after she fell to the floor. The elf lord’s heart contracted as he watched the prince scramble over to his dying mother, as he screamed and begged her to get back up. Asilion managed to muster up her fading strength, and placed a paling hand on her child’s cheek. “Ion-nin,” her pale lips whispered, before her last breath left her lips, and her slim hand fell limply to the side.

Before Elrond realized what he was doing, he reached out a hand to the hysterical child as if to comfort him, only to remember that these were mere shadows of the past, and there was nothing he could say or do to comfort the boy. Once more, the chamber shifted, and before he realized it, he was in the bare storage chamber. He suddenly stiffened as a panicked cry resounded from behind him, and he whirled around, only to shake his head in denial. “Ada, ada, help me!”

“Sweet Elbereth, not this,” Elrond begged, but he was forced to watch the cruelest of scenes that he had dreaded most as the elfling’s body was torn of his clothing and pinned down by the large beast above him. His eyes began to cloud over in tears as Legolas’ own pleads and wails echoed throughout the room, and when the orc shoved its claw against the elfling’s impossibly tight cavity, Legolas’ agonized scream drowned out Elrond’s own wail as he felt the sharp, calloused finger jab to the very knuckle of the tiny opening. Through his drifting mind, he wondered how in Arda Legolas had remained conscious through the entire ordeal, how his tiny body was able to take such punishment.

When he opened his eyes again, he now spotted Legolas whimpering in the corner of the dark chamber, the orc’s lifeless body lying in the center floor with several arrows imbedded in its back and neck. He watched with damp eyes as Thranduil rushed over to his terrified son, and as Legolas lost control of his bladder in panicked trepidation when Thranduil had merely placed a hand on him. Of how he lunged into his father’s arms when he realized it was him, and of how Thranduil fought back his own tears as he cradled his child and wrapped him up in his robe.

The image ended there, before Elrond’s world began to swirl once again. This time, he was in the center of the palace gardens, and as he batted away the tearstains on his cheeks, he turned when he heard the sound of joyous laughter. This was most likely one of Legolas’ earliest memories before the orc incident. Near a beech tree, a very young Legolas was running through the grass as a younger Tallen pretended to chase him. On a thin blanket, under the tree’s shade, sat Thranduil with a smile upon his lips as he watched his children frolic. He was casually dressed in a simple pair of leggings and shirt, one knee raised while an arm draped over. His head turned to his side, and Elrond followed his gaze to Asilion whom was settled beside him, keeping a protective eye on her young ones with a smile. Nava, whom did not look much younger, lied across the blanket’s edge, cheek rested on one hand as he read an old tomb.

This was indeed not before the Last Alliance, this much Elrond knew. Legolas had been born decades after, and it was unfortunate that he had never truly seen the beauty of Greenwood. But here, in this garden, he seemed quite content. The elf lord’s heart contracted as he watched Legolas dive into his mother’s open arms happily, nuzzling his nose playfully against her own. How Legolas loved his mother, how tragic it must have been when he had lost her. Asilion kissed her youngest on the forehead affectionately, and he hugged her tightly, before showing the same affection to his father.

Tallen was quite mischievous in his younger days, Elrond noted, as the said prince tackled his eldest brother and startling him from his book, before he managed to flip the younger elf and pin him beneath him, and before anyone could stop it, turned into a playful grappling. Legolas giggled amusedly in his father’s lap, before Thranduil stopped them with a stern voice before it went out of hand, thought the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. When the elder brothers had calmed, Nava crawled over to the youngest of them, ruffling his hair playfully.

Elrond momentarily wondered how many of Legolas’ memories he would be witnessed to when his vision shifted again. He knew that if he were to find Legolas, he would have to search every part of his mind, and that would not be easy. This time, he was inside Mirkwood palace, and he realized he was in a bed chamber. A baby’s cry nearly startled him out of his wits, and as he looked upon the bed, there lied Asilion, her flesh flushed and damp with sweat. A healer presented her with a tiny bundle, and as it was placed in her arms, cheeks dampening with tears of joy as she held the small creature to her breast, Elrond immediately recognized who this infant was. Legolas. Thranduil was then beckoned into the room, whereas Tallen and Nava stood frozen in the door. As the elven king approached the bed, his face the depiction of awe, he grazed his hand lovingly against his wife’s cheek, before doing the same with the babe with his thumb ever gently.

“Is he not beautiful?” Asilion cried joyously, brushing away her tears after Thranduil carefully lifted the elfling into his own arms.

“Aye,” Thranduil murmured as he continued to gaze at his newborn son. “He is as lovely as the budding leaves in spring, more so. Aren’t you,” Thranduil smiled down at the sleeping elfling in his arms, as though he could hear him. “My little Greenleaf.”

One last time, the image shifted, and Elrond was momentarily confused. He was in a sea of dark surroundings, with no apparent exit to his keen elven eyes. It was then that he heard a steady thumping, a heartbeat it sounded like, and it was then that realization dawned on him. He was slightly surprised that Legolas could remember being inside his mother’s womb, indeed it was interesting, yet the fetus in question was nowhere in sight.

Images began to suddenly swirl all around him then, creating an array of many different colours. Before he could fathom any of it, there was a sudden ear-piercing noise that sounded distinctly like thunder, and as the swirling colours blinked into blackness with the sound, the elf lord found himself in the deepest part of Legolas’ mind, though it was not what he had expected.

He was in the garden again, where he had watched Legolas frolic happily with his family only moments before. But as his eyes scanned his surroundings, he struggled to containasp asp as he noticed the back of a single elf with golden hair perched upon a rock, overlooking the calm waves of the lake. The figure he recognized instantly, even from behind, and he rushed up to the oblivious elf. “Legolas?”

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meleth-nin: my love
melethron: beloved
mellon-nin: my friend
ion-nin: my son
ada: father