Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Arcane Land	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2529 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine, and neither are its characters. I make no money with my writing. This story was written for the simple pleasure of it.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Into the Light

No sooner had the king deployed his people, and the first shouts were heard at the gates as the mechanism was put into motion once more, the door guards turning the wheels frantically as they watched the party thunder towards sanctuary. Thranduil’s hair prickled uncomfortably at what was to come. So many times they had done this, and yet so many times he was still as affected as the first day he had seen it, for funeral rites in the Greenwood were a strange affair. If one had no previous experience, it was something to remember your entire immortal life. Just as almost everything that took place here, their customs were a mix of Sylvan spiritualism, Sindarin pomp, and Avarin rites of passage. The result was a spine-chilling crucible of symbolism, singing, homage and mourning that was not easily forgotten.

The king stood together with Aradan, Lainion, his niece Alaste, and a very pale-looking Galdithion who had only just been briefed of the events, still panting wildly from his mad dash across the grounds. No mention had been made of Elladan, only that Legolas was wounded but not gravely so. Galdithion’s heart raced at the possibility that his lover could be that serious blade wound that this – Rhrawthir – had reported, and so he closed his eyes for a moment and steadied his frantic heart, until nothing could be noticed on the outside, a skill he had honed by simply observing his older, more experienced companion Lainion, a true master of the art.

Bandorion and his captains also stood off to one side, leaving room for the now considerable group of family members who anxiously awaiting their injured. And then of course, there were the simply curious, who were not allowed to approach and were being contained by Galdithion’s home guard. They were mostly the same characters, mothers with young daughters, looking for a match, admirers of this or that warrior, all hoping to lend a hand in the hopes of establishing future ties.

They could hear the hooves now, and moments later, the group slowly became visible, first in the form of a cloud of dust, which then began to take shape in the form of mounted warriors, and in their midst, protected by those that were still hail, the injured and their healers. One of them was unconscious, his arms out to the sides, his head protected by the healer who rode behind.

The others were awake for the most part, including the commander, whose shirt flapped in the breeze, revealing the white bandages below. However, what startled the king was his face. It was covered in cuts and bruises, and what worried him even more, was how pale he looked, his eyes shadowed, reflecting the pain his face refused to show. He wanted to take his child in his arms and hold him, smooth back his hair and tell him everything was alright, that he loved him, that there was no one he loved more – but he could not, for he was king, and his son commander. Their duty was now to their people – there would be time later for them both, he would see to it, and if he could not, he knew that Lainion, Aradan or Galdithion would.

Galdithion too, was searching his friend’s face, his eyes moving slowly downwards until he had taken in the bound arm and chest, the ragged cuts and deep bruises, the pained yet stubborn features, the beads of sweat on his brow and upper lip. And behind him, Elladan, whole, and apparently hail, save for the bruised face, for he sat strong upon the saddle, one arm wrapped tightly around Legolas. He was not injured, not hurt. Galdithion let out a mighty sigh as his lips turned upwards just slightly, a giddy feeling coursing its way through his body, for his heart was still whole, it had not broken.

The party had come to a stop before the halls, and healers now walked between the horses, through the dust that still floated around them, and from their perspective, it was as if the wounded simply appeared before them as they approached, until the cloud finally settled and all became clear.

The serious injury was hoisted down first and placed on a stretcher, before being accompanied inside by two healers and Antien himself, one hand over his patient’s hot brow.

At a nod from Galdithion, a Home Guard lieutenant and six warriors walked towards the back of the group and unstrapped the bound body of Beria, before hoisting it aloft their shoulders and marching slowly towards the halls of healing, heading for a door towards that back that was only used for these purposes. Silence fell as they passed and the elves dipped their heads in sorrowful salute to one who had paid the ultimate price to ensure the future of the Greenwood.

Legolas watched it all from atop his steed, as he knew Elladan did. They would not dismount until a healer bid them do so, for they were strict with the order in which patients were tended, and truth be told, Legolas had no wish to move, let alone dismount. Soon enough they were approached by two healers, who studied their commander’s face with a practiced eye. However, Elladan anticipated his own report – leaving nothing to the imagination, as he knew Legolas would, if asked.

“Four cracked ribs on one side, two on the other, a dislocated shoulder and a … snapped collar bone that has caused infection and fever.”

Both healers now had their eyebrows somewhere near their hairline, and one looked as though he wanted to speak, but could not enunciate the words. How the elf was still awake was beyond his experience as a healer; little did he know that just moments before, he had indeed, been asleep, waking as if some internal clock had warned him they would soon be entering the fortress.

Legolas slipped one leg carefully over the horse’s neck, taking the healer’s outstretched arm with his good hand as the other braced his flank, slowly letting his body slip down to the floor and landing softly on his own, unsteady feet. A wave of pain and dizziness hit him, and he felt strong hands steady him from behind – Elladan. It was only now that the healers were getting a clearer picture of what had happened, for the commander was covered in bruises that ranged from dark red to black. This was no simple topple from a horse, and these were not the injuries that the battlefield produced…

Comprehension dawned on one of them then, who caught Elladan’s eyes briefly, seeing the confirmation he sought reflected in the intelligent, compassionate light grey eyes. Looking back to the ground once more to temper his emotions, the healer took his lord by his good arm, duly noting the heat that emanated from his body. Smiling reassuringly, he slowly led him inside, the other following closely. Elladan followed them, but not before catching his lover’s eyes from afar and smiling reassuringly at him, the promise of their reunion lighting his eyes and lending an upturned curve to his lips, lips that Galdithion promised to worship most thoroughly as soon as he was able. Legolas, however, had not looked to his father, something the king did not miss, for had the injuries been superficial, he would have nodded and smiled, and yet now, he simply looked to the floor, his effort to stay afoot evident to the one that knew him best.

The halls were full, as healers and apprentices strode around purposefully, heeding the shouted orders of Antien and Balentar, the master healers. Water was being boiled in large quantities, and cabinet doors flung open as supplies were being grabbed up, cloths taken to bedsides and herbs put to steeping.

All five emergency beds were now occupied, Legolas on the last one towards the back of the long aisle that made up this first aid area. Once the wounded had been stabilized and diagnosed, they would be taken into recovery rooms and only then would their family be allowed inside to help with their care. For now, they were confined outside, however much they had inched as close to the doors as they could, even the king would not be granted entry.

These emergency beds were really quite clever, mused Elladan, for they allowed various healers to work on the same patient at the same time, for the stone was cut to size, forming a T shape, except that the tip, where the head would rest, was carved, offering a modicum of support, or simply allowing water to drain away. He would be sure to tell his father of this invention – if Balentar had not already thought to do so.

Antien attended the infected blade wound, giving precise instructions to the junior healers and apprentices as they worked on the warrior, removing his clothing and bathing his body, before placing a light sheet over his middle.

Meanwhile, Balentar had approached Legolas’ position, where Elladan stood over his friend, observing the strained features as he talked nonchalantly with him. Elrond had taught him well, thought Balentar proudly.

“May I address you as Legolas for now?” asked the Noldo master healer.

“Of course, Balentar,” he replied softly, for truth be told, now that he was lying flat on his back, the effort he had made to stay awake as they rode in, and indeed to stay on his feet, was taking its toll on him. He could feel a sweat begin to break out on his brow as his bones began to ache fiercely and his breathing accelerated.

Calling behind him, two junior healers approached and began to work, for the first part of healing was always the same – strip and cleanse. Balentar glanced at Elladan, wondering if he would be up to helping, for they needed him with so many wounded. A brief nod had Elladan removing his weapons and turning to the nearest bowl of water to cleanse his hands. He was tired and dusty, dirty almost beyond recognition, a bruise marred his face where the strange orc had walloped him – but his hands would be impeccable, and he would not fail his friend now.

As Balentar turned back to his patient, he stopped short, for Legolas was now naked, save for the bandages around his upper body. He observed as the healers smoothed their wet clothes over his bruised skin, bumps and cuts marred almost every inch of his body, including his face, which was bruised and bleeding, pale and sweaty. He was in pain, for his breathing was harsh yet shallow, his brow furrowed. Elladan placed a cool cloth over his forehead as he continued to speak quietly. He told him of the progress the healers were making with the fallen warrior, the others’ injuries, who was being taken where, anything to distract him, for what was to come would be hard to endure, not only for Legolas, but for those that would have to perform the task.

A healer placed a steaming cup in Elladan’s hands then. The smell told him it was a sedative, but not poppy. He placed one hand under his friend’s head and placed the cup to his lips as he watched. He knew his friend was trying hard, and yet this – concoction, would serve no purpose for what was to come - Balentar would understand, once the bandages were removed.

Yet before Legolas drank, he turned his face desperately to his friend.

“In my side pockets, seeds, acorns, keep them safe for me, for their forefathers will die soon, that their offspring may live – Elladan…”

“Peace, Legolas, I will see it done,” he assured his friend, yet he had no idea of what he spoke, and so once his friend had drank, he turned to the discarded clothing and dug his hands into the pockets. They came out full of the fruits of the trees - seeds, acorns and other such things. He gathered them all as quickly as he could and stuffed them inside his own clothing for the moment, for there was no other safe place for them right now.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Outside, Galdithion’s elves were hard-pressed to keep the peace, for anxiety was beginning to control them all. No news had been forthcoming and their patience was running thin.

When Galdithion had first seen Legolas in the arms of his lover, he had wanted to run over and help, protect him as he had been doing for so long now, since they were children romping through the woods. It had always been a natural urge to guard his friend, yet had he done so on this occasion, he would have been thoroughly chastised by the healers. And then there was Elladan; he seemed unhurt but Galdithion had had to restrain his urge to take him into his arms and squeeze him against himself. ‘There will be time for that, soon’, he thought to himself, he would see to it.

Bandorion and Barathon stood together with Thranduil, Lainion and Aradan, sharing soothing comments here and there with those that stood nearby. Barathon, however, could not hold back his own strange musings.

“This is what happens when riding out with too few in your detachment…” he said righteously.

It was the king himself who turned in disbelief to his nephew.

“You have been briefed of the events leading to the battle that caused this?” he asked rhetorically.

Barathon had not expected the king to comment, indeed he had not meant to speak so loudly and his face coloured at the rebuttal he was surely going to receive now.

“Nay, my Lord, ‘twas simply an uninformed assumption.”

“Uninformed indeed. Be sure to seek information before you ‘speak’,” he said, his voice low, well-moderated, a sure sign that the monarch was moderately angry, yet he tempered it well as he met the indignant gaze of Galdithion, whose hand had involuntarily strayed to the pommel of his sword, and then Bandorion, who once more wore that expression of embarrassed apology upon his face.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………….

He had been washed, and a sheet now lay over his middle. His entire body was one throbbing mass of bruised flesh, the herbs hardly making a difference at all. A hand to the bandages that wrapped his arm to his chest made him flinch involuntarily and he cursed himself. Balentar glanced at Elladan as he began to unravel the cloth – he knew something bad was under there, for Elladan was going to great pains to distract him as he soaked the cloth in the cool water and continued to wipe the lord’s brow.

As the bandages came away, one junior healer gasped, unable to hold back the harsh intake of breath at the horrific break. Balentar’s head whipped towards the young healer, scowling at him, yet cocking his head in silent enquiry. Duly chastised, he dipped his head in silent apology, chastising himself for this, elementary slip. Meanwhile, Balentar resumed his ocular inspection of the snap, for that was what it was. He had seen many broken bones before, but this one was – simply strange. He tried to deduce how it had been caused but every time he came up with a blank. His brows furrowed and Elladan saw his confusion, yet he could not explain how it had happened, not now, he would tell him later when the deed was done.

“This needs to be flushed, then joined and set. Thandion, prepare poppy, three quarters,” he dictated to a nearby healer, whose eyes said everything his voice did not. Three quarters poppy was a strong draught indeed that would render the king senseless for sure.

As they waited for the brew, Balentar removed the bandages around his patient’s ribs, finally exposing his entire body and the damage inflicted. It brought a surge of moisture to the healers’ eyes, the junior turning briefly and suspiciously away for a moment.

For what Balentar needed to do now, he would need the help of Antien. Elladan was doing a fine job soothing Legolas, and Elbereth knew he would be needed in a few minutes. Turning to the rest of the tables momentarily, he saw that only one patient remained, and he was unconscious, the others having been taken into their respective rooms. ‘Good’, he thought.

Antien gave his final orders to the other healers before turning and approaching his friend and colleague. Antien’s reaction was much the same as Balentar’s had been, and yet he had seen much worse, however, that collarbone was horrendous…

“Have you administered the poppy?” he asked as he looked at his lord’s face.

“Nay, but here it is,” he said, as a healer passed him a cup, and another which he placed nearby.

“Come, my friend,” said Elladan as he once more pulled his friend’s head up. “Drink.”

Now this, was a bitter brew, one he had had to swallow many times, and yet this time he welcomed it, for he knew it would render him half senseless – yes he would feel the pain, but he probably wouldn’t remember it, at least not most of it – he hoped. He was ranting, he knew, but it hurt, he was hot and he longed for sweet oblivion.

“How did you do this? Hum?” asked Antien as they all waited for the poppy to take effect.

“Orcs,” he said stubbornly.

“Ah well, I knew that much, Legolas. But how, exactly, hum?”

“The strange one, – snapped – it – hurt,” he finished, albeit his voice was beginning to slur.

Antien, Balentar and the junior healer grimaced as they tried to imagine how that had been done, and if they still had any doubts as to how their lord had come by his injuries, now, there were none, for this had been done under the duress of torture. It was not the first time, and it would not be the last, thought Antien sadly, as he nodded at Balentar and Elladan to begin.

“Are you ready, my friend?” asked Elladan softly.

“Yes,” he whispered. He was not ready at all, but the question had been rhetorical, after all.

Legolas felt Elladan place his forearm on his good shoulder and cradle his head into the crook of his arm with the other, leaving him anchored to the table, and the injured shoulder free to be manipulated. Both master healers moved to that side of the table, Balentar taking the arm in his hand to clear the way for Antien to work.

Legolas finally voiced his pain then, as a low moan broke the silence.

“That is good, Legolas, scream if you must, let it out.”

There was no reply, and so they set to work. Antien pushed with all his might, as he attempted to align one end of the bone with the other and the first muffled scream rent the air. It never ceased to amaze Antien how a weakened, fevered patient could struggle so much under severe pain – it was taking all of Elladan’s strength to maintain his grip as Balentar moved back and forth, side to side, making room for his colleague as he now manipulated and pushed frantically, willing himself to not fumble, for all his years of experience, the sounds a wounded elf was capable of making, never ceased to affect him.

Another wail sliced through the hearts of all that could hear, for these were the sounds of uncontrolled distress. Two junior healers were now holding down Legolas’ legs as they thrashed in a futile effort to escape the torture.

The screams soon turned into weak laments, for he had depleted his strength almost completely, his throat raw and his mind fuddled. ‘When would they stop’? he moaned to himself, ‘Yavanna, have I not suffered enough?’ he implored.

He suddenly felt the fierce jolt of bone grinding against bone and the last of his breath escaped him as he screamed hoarsely one last time, before his body went slack, all resistance gone as his body shut itself down in the face of utter agony.

Elladan allowed his own weary head to fall against the beautiful hair of his friend, and although he knew he could not hear him, he said the words anyway.

“Sh, brave Hwindo - stay strong, ‘tis over…”
……………………………………………………………………………………………..

The cries of agony could be heard from afar, reaching the ears of the anguished families that waited at the doors for news of their loved ones.

They looked to each other for confirmation or otherwise that it was not their child, brother or mate that suffered within, all except Thranduil and those that stood around him, for he knew that voice so well, had heard his cries of pain so many times before, yet rarely like this, for the sounds told him that his son was not in control of his body, that the pain was severe enough.

Galdithion’s mind wandered the same paths, yet broke the silence in attempt to make the moment more bearable.

“His arm was in a sling, dislocated shoulder?” he mused.

“Nay,” replied Lainion. “Too long, that would be a shorter yell, not this… the arm, perhaps.”

“Nay,” replied Thranduil, “only the shoulder can conjure pain on that scale, and yet even then it seems, excessive... what have they done to my child?” he asked, his tone low, not weak but menacing, the promise of retribution just below the surface of his words.

They remained silent a while, realizing that the sounds had stopped, and that whatever torture Legolas had been enduring, had finally, mercifully, ended.

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The remaining two warriors had been taken into recovery rooms. They were comfortably appointed, with chairs, a bedside table laden with cloths and a bowl with water. However, there were no doors, and so although the rooms gave the wounded a measure of privacy, they were designed for healers and helpers to move in and out of them at will.

Legolas now lay in one such room, tucked inside the soft white sheets up to his waist. His ribs had been rebound and his arm lay snuggly in a leather holster that was buckled tightly to his chest. His wounds had been cleansed and his hair brushed into some semblance of neatness. His eyes were closed as his chest moved up and down steadily, however he did not lie in comfortable reverie, for he had remained unconscious since that last, excruciating pain he had felt as the bones had finally aligned, coming together in one almighty climax.

His head lay to one side, his mouth slightly open, and even in his paleness and fever, he was beautiful, thought Thranduil, who had only now been allowed to enter. After being briefed by Antien, he had insisted on a few moments alone with his son, leaving an anxious brother and guard outside, together with Aradan, who was as another uncle to his son, he knew, closer yet than Bandorion.

Walking slowly to the bedside, he gazed down at the warrior who looked so much like himself, not acknowledging the dark elf that sat on the other side of the bed, eyes closed in exhaustion. How strong his son was, his body honed to the hardship of life in the wilds, molded perfectly to beat back the pulsing black waves that originated from the Dark Tower, and yet for all his strength, how long until he could no longer endure?

His eyes filled with tears he would not allow to fall – not here, as he held out his hand and placed it over the bruised side of his son’s face, stroking the smooth skin with his thumb. ‘Sweet child’, he thought, ‘my sweet, brave son.’

Elladan chose that moment to stir, and then startled as he found himself in the presence of the king.

He scuttled to his feet, the blanket that had been placed over him falling to the floor as Elladan bowed, facing the monarch and uttering his first words since he had fallen asleep not long ago.

“My King, forgive me.”

“Forgive you for what, Lord Elladan? For caring for my son? For staying with him in spite of your own exhaustion? For showing me the depth of your friendship and loyalty? What have I to forgive you for, tell me?”

Elladan was taken aback by the words that this, imposing sovereign had regaled him with. He had truly not expected any praise at all, for he had done what the others would have done, and he would say as much. Yet before he could open his mouth to enunciate the words, Thranduil spoke once more.

“Do not say it, my friend. I know the others would have done this much, for my son is well-loved. Yet there is something about you that tells me your friendship is special, in some way I find myself incapable of describing, and yet it is so. Now, get yourself away from here, eat, wash and rest, and come back when you have done so, if you are so inclined – will you do that for me?” he asked sincerely, his blue eyes piercing the light grey of Elladan’s half-lidded eyes.

“I will do that for you, my Lord, and I will, indeed be back as soon as it is achieved, for your son saved my life,” he said, pausing for the words to take effect.

“By your leave.”

“Go,” gestured Thranduil kindly with his head, spotting Galdithion just outside.

As Elladan finally left the room, he was enveloped in the guard’s protective gaze, much to the joy of Aradan and Lainion, who watched the interaction with indulgent smiles.

“Come, for I would see my liege lord’s wishes fulfilled. Let me care for you, my love,” he whispered into Elladan’s ear.

Coming eye to eye with his lover, he smiled tiredly, deciding to submit to Galdithion’s care, for there was nothing for him to do here until his friend woke, and Galdithion in turn, smiled kindly as he took Elladan’s arm in his, and walked him away to the fortress, leaving a smirking Lainion and a beaming Aradan behind them.

………………………………………………………………………….

Once they had left the halls, Galdithion had deftly pulled Elladan behind a door and kissed him thoroughly before standing back to look at his lover closely for the first time.

“Thank Yavanna that you are safe and whole – I missed you with a vengeance, Noldo.”

“You love me then?” smirked Elladan as he moved closer to Galdithion, his lips but inches away.”

“I adore you,” he said, now come, and waste not my time, for we have much to do…”

Smiling, Elladan linked his arm with Galdithion’s and both warriors emerged once more from behind the door, a giggling junior healer watching it all from behind the bottles and vials upon her workbench.

As they walked together towards the fortress, it was soon obvious that the entire grounds were packed to the brim with elves, and not only warriors, but civilians from all walks of life, most milling in and out of the field barracks and healing halls; some carried plants or wild flowers, others trays laden with food, baskets oozing with pastries and other such delights.

Elladan looked at Galdithion, dumbfounded, until his lover explained.

“It is always the same when The Company rides in, Elladan. Their family, friends, lovers, all want to be with them, care for them, dine and talk, whatever – ‘tis a custom that has grown over the years. There are benefits to belonging to that detachment, Elladan, not only sacrifices – you are as well-cared for as you are respected.”

“And so, where is my basket of cakes, pray tell? Hum?” he asked saucily as he snuggled into his lover’s shoulder.

“Beware my basket of cakes, Elladan...”

“No! Do not continue!” he chuckled, holding up his arms in surrender.

However, Galdithion had no intention of leading him to the barracks, for his lover’s small rooms and communal bathing area would be woefully inappropriate for what he had in mind. He needed a large, private bathing area and an equally private, double, bed.

Rounding the corner, they came to the main doors of the fortress, where the guards stomped to attention before their captain and the Noldo lord.

Galdithion nodded as they entered, striding purposefully to the upper floors, for neither wished to stop and chat, and truth be told, by the look of Elladan, no one was truly thinking of doing so anyway.

As they arrived at Elladan’s appointed suite, three elves were leaving with empty pitchers, bowing to the two warriors as they left.

No sooner had Galdithion closed the doors, and Elladan was yanking off his gear, leaving a trail of cloth and leather behind him as he made for the bathroom, and the steaming pool that lay in its centre, the fragrant scent of pine and forest herbs touching his senses so that his mouth watered. Yet he paused as he took off his jerkin, remembering the seeds and nuts he had retrieved from Legolas’ clothing. Looking around for a place to put them, he finally opted for the side table. Rummaging around, he pulled out the acorns, seedlings and nuts that the Forest Lord had collected, finally turning the pockets inside out until he was sure there were none left, for his clothing would go straight into the washing basket in mere seconds.

Galdithion watched on, struck by this image of Elladan as he must have been as a child, depositing his collection of country treasures that so attracted children. He tried to imagine him younger, shorter, his features still undefined. It was an endearing thought that had him striding over to his lover in three gigantic steps, until he stood before him, a half smile upon his otherwise lustful visage.

“Kiss me!” he demanded, watching as Elladan’s face broke into a smile and he complied, pressing his lips to those of Galdithion, hard, unyielding and demanding.

“I am so very proud of you, my Noldo warrior,” he said, as he caressed the side of Elladan’s filthy hair, his eyes searching his features carefully.

Elladan sighed deeply as he rested his forehead against his lover’s.

“It has been hard, Gal, harder than I thought it would be, in spite of the training and the constant warnings, even then, Gal.”

“Then come, strip yourself and bathe, and if you wish, I would hear your tale, if you are up to the telling.”

“If I do not fall asleep before, I will try.”

“Don’t you dare fall asleep, Noldo!” replied Gal indignantly, “I will not allow it!”

Elladan simply laughed, and in matter of seconds he was immersed, his head under the hot, scented water. He emerged then, only to meet with a smiling Sylvan who had taken off his own shirt and tunic, leaving him naked from the waist up.

“Come, lay back,” he gestured, as he knelt behind his lover’s head, whose black hair was now plastered around his shoulders.

Reaching for a bar of soap, Galdithion lathered a soft cloth and began to cleanse the body he so worshiped, eliciting a long, drawn-out sigh of utter pleasure from the son of Elrond.

“By the Gods, Gal, don’t stop, wash it all away – take away the stench of evil that lingers around me…”

Galdithion’s face dropped as he worked, allowing the silence to suffuse his lover’s psyche, relax him. This aspect of Elladan’s first experience with Legolas in Mirkwood had worried him just as much as the possibility of physical injury, for the influence of darkness there, in that unholy place, had been the undoing of many warriors, one of the reasons that so few ever made it into the most famous of Greenwood detachments.

“Tell me then, Elladan, of your first ride with The Company,” he prompted softly as he worked.

“I have learned much about the nature of darkness, Gal. I realize I had never really understood its essence, until now. I had felt it for some time, but could not put words to it. It was Legolas who, in one, simple sentence, synthesized it so well. He said that it is like a beacon, not of light but its antithesis – cruelty that must be visible in order to render its crippling effects – the wearing down of one’s opponent, until they err – and lose,” he said, reciting Hwindo’s words exactly. “And indeed it is, and yet the fact that it is purposefully emanated from that dark place at the southernmost tip of the Greenwood, its purpose to whittle down the will and suck in the light, he described it as a weapon in itself – ‘tis truly a revelation to me, Gal, one that will help me in the future.”

“Why was the mission cut short?” he asked tentatively, as he took one strong arm and began to scrub.

Elladan sighed wearily, unsure if he really wanted to recount it all now. Yet he knew that Gal wished to know, not only for the fact that his lover had been there, but because his close friend had been injured.

“Well, I would worship you should you provide me with a glass of wine for the telling …”

“Ah, that is done, for I have procured us a veritable feast for this night – do not fall asleep in my absence, Noldo…”

Elladan smiled indulgently as he listened to his lover patter into the living room. A wave of love washed over him then, for nobody had cared so lovingly for him, save his own mother, and his father when he had been young, and he decided that he liked it, wanted it – someone that would care for him, someone he could care for, it filled him, anchored him, made him feel secure, gave him purpose beyond that of Lord and nation …

He was soon sliding down the stone tub, submerging his shoulders in the warm water as Galdithion resumed his attentions.

“We were on our way to the second of the two villages we would visit and patrol, yet when we arrived, they had been massacred, not one soul had been left alive,” he said softly as he remembered the bodies that littered the ground as they had emerged from the trees.

“Females, males, children, civilians all – their throats slit, or stabbed, many in the back, as they ran from them. I have seen many battles, Gal, but the massacre of civilians on such a large scale I have not, and it made me sick to the stomach,” he said, taking a sip from his goblet.

Galdithion looked up from his rhythmic movements over his lover’s skin, noting the tilt of his head, the shine in his eyes, the downward slant of his shapely eyebrows. Yet he said nothing, for he did not want to interrupt the flow, for he rather thought that Elladan would then stop.

“It was then that we realized they were not far ahead, yet there was a group behind us, and soon we found ourselves trapped. Legolas sent out Nanern and Rhrawthir, in search of Barabor, just in time before we engaged. We separated, but our group was too small, and so Legolas sent off Dima’s group and we four stayed to distract them.”

He paused again as he sipped on his wine, remembering that moment when his heart had sunk to his stomach, realizing that capture was inevitable.

“Legolas put on a display I will never forget,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I have never seen the likes, Galdithion. He alone left them stupefied, killing four before they could even react. We were all empowered then, and we took down a good number, just we four – and yet our capture had been clear from the start, albeit we had achieved our goal of keeping them off the heels of Dima’s group, for therein was our only salvation.

Galdithion moved to take a leg, resuming his loving movements up and down the smooth yet bruised skin. “What happened then?” he asked softly.

“They reduced us to the ground, and poor Legolas – he had terrified them and they would not approach him. They had shot him with an arrow and he had sunk to his knees and even so, it took a club to the side of his head before they would touch him…”

Galdithion’s face scrunched in empathy, imagining the scene just as it had played out.

“The question is, Gal, that there was a Uruk, ‘the strange one’, Legolas had called him, for the beast was different - I am sure Legolas will report that to his lord father and the troops, for there may be more of them. It wished to know of our military potential, and had chosen our friend as the object of his interrogation.”

“Ah, I had imagined as much…” said Gal, taking a sip of his own wine as he continued his work, “and yet Beria died.”

“Yes, and yet he was not tortured, not physically. He did suffer, though, as we all did at Legolas’ ordeal, yet his heart was compromised, Gal, he nearly caved, would have, had it not been for Idhrenohtar… Suffice it to say that they beat our friend, and in the end, the beast simply snapped his collar bone between its two fingers…”

Galdithion gasped as the vivid image of snapping bone under pressure came to his mind’s eye.

“It does not seem possible – by the Gods!” He whispered, “how that must have hurt…” he murmured.

“Not as much as the remedy, Gal, for Antien, Balentar and myself took ten minutes to realign it – he will be hard-pressed to use his arm for at least three weeks.”

“We heard, yes, and an arduous three weeks they will be, for what is Legolas to do if not train and patrol? He will become restless and unbearable, believe me!” he said, lightening the mood somewhat as he shuffled back to Elladan’s head and began to wash his hair.

“Just before the battle was declared our victory, I found myself face to face with the strange one, its leering face but inches from my own. I knew with certainty then, that I would die, feel the cold steel slice into my belly – and yet what I saw was the tip of a blade as it pierced the beast’s windpipe, and it sunk to the floor – a beaming Legolas some distance away from me – he saved my life, Gal, and I am changed somehow.”

Galdithion had stopped his movements as he heard the end of the tale, a chill tickling his jawbone and setting his scalp to tingling.

“Thank you for telling me, Elladan. Yet tell me you are well, that you do not suffer, that your heart is at peace.”

“My heart is at peace, heavy, and wiser, but at peace.”

Galdithion took his lover’s head in his hands and kissed the side of his face from behind.

“And that is good enough, my love, now come, let me finish with this, dry you off, feed you, and then love you, if I may.”

“You may,” whispered Elladan as he smiled placidly.
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Arcane Land