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Fractured Light	By : narcolinde Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2651 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any of the characters and settings created by JRR Tolkien. No profit earned from this story. Just for fun. OC's and story are erobey's.

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In the House of Healing

Elrond marched through cultured gardens down bordered walks with purpose born of foreboding and reached the ornate gate of wood and iron just as a figure crested the small hillock concealing the House of Healing from the grounds of the great estate. The elf was running and gave a shout as he spied Elrond, doubling his pace, face etched in grim distress. Gathering his flowing robes, the Lord of Imladris broke into the long-legged lope distinctive to the First-born, recognising Forn'waew, one of his apprentices in the physician's trade. The ellon halted and waited for his Lord, turning as he came abreast and matching Elrond's speed.

"Fell news, I warrant, yet your haste grants me hope," huffed Elrond between breaths, eyes simultaneously watching the path and the running elf beside him. "Speak, Forn'waew!"

"Aye, Hîren, the Woodland prince still lives, but his condition deteriorates at an alarming rate. There is unnatural heat and Sammar believes it comes from a previous wound. There is a scar and beneath it the flesh festers."

"Elbereth."

They spoke no more and reached the infirmary quickly, racing into the antechamber where fresh aprons were stored in shelves along the wall. Elrond fought off his robes, stripping down to a plain silk undershirt and trousers as Forn'waew gathered his lengthy black hair and bound it tight in a single long plait. The end he tucked beneath the ties of the crisp, white covering Elrond threw on, jogging behind as the gifted healer moved into the wards. The first stop was a basin where the assistant poured nearly scalding water as Elrond scrubbed his hands vigourously beneath the steaming stream. Grabbing a towel from the ready supply, he cleared his mind as he dried his fingers and stepped briskly into the clean, airy surgery.

"Praise Varda," sighed a harried elleth dressed in an identical smock, chestnut tresses confined in a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She straightened from her place beside the cot and turned. "Hîren, the wound must be drained but I feared to do it myself as his condition is so poor. I pray I did not wait too long before sending Forn'waew."

"Nay, Sammar, I trust your judgement," Elrond consoled her while making his first evaluation of the patient, the only one in the House of Healing. "Has he regained consciousness?"

"Not yet, but he begins to draw near to it, as you see."

Elrond judged her assessment correct and a weak moan from the prostrate elf further validated the prognosis. Discerning eyes swept over Thranduil's second son, lying limp and paler than death upon white sheets gone sallow, sullied with sweat. Tangled hair dampened dark by the perspiration had been pulled from beneath him and hung in an ugly swath across the pillow and down the side of the bed. Still braided, it trailed almost to the boards where the ends were dyed in garish crimson that would have to be cut out.

Erratic breaths lifted and dropped the ribcage, the impression of the bones visible beneath the muscles with every inhalation. Legolas' effort to breathe was audible, exhaled from parted lips burned maroon by the heat of the fever. Half-lidded eyes stared at nothing, glazed and glassy. Naked and shivering, his skin glistened in sickly pallor and from it arose the taint of rot and decay. Save for that last symptom, all was as Elrond expected for someone in shock from severe blood loss.

The cause of the foul odour was clear enough. Sinewy arms expertly wrapped in gauze at the wrists bore evidence of the failed suicide and one limb arched across Legolas' middle, curved near but not touching a jagged and swollen scar limned with a noisome rind of crusted yellow pus. The other arm rested beside him, fingers curled amid the linens, clutching tight with desperate pressure. The pain of such an injury must be unbearable and Elrond was dismayed, thinking on the degree of mental anguish that would permit someone to block it out.

"He did not want it treated," Sammar voiced what they were all thinking, "desiring a warrior's death rather than this."

The stricken ellon was a vision to inspire pity but a healer has no time to spare such considerations. Elrond lifted the protecting arm to better examine the infected wound and gently settled his hand over it. Even this minimal contact elicited a sharp cry from Legolas and he twitched in a futile attempt to evade the pain; this unpleasant stimulus finally thrust him into awareness.

The prince's brow creased into lines of distress and bleary sapphire eyes blinked, wide and wild with fear, sweeping the room and lighting upon Elrond. A hard swallow was followed by an effort to wet his lips and speak, but the parched tongue could form no words. Long golden lashes fluttered down and he made a feeble effort to pull his arm loose, another faint groan punctuating his misery.

"Nay, Legolas, be still now; there is no need to speak," said Elrond soothingly and a glance to Sammar bade her take hold of the captive elbow. He verily smelled the prince's panic rise when new hands gripped him and saw realisation dawning in eyes that opened to the sound of his name. Legolas understood his effort to achieve self-destruction had failed. What he could think to find himself in the custody of strangers Elrond had no wish to imagine but he didn't need to; it was there for all to see in his tormented gaze: abandoned by his people, forsaken, left to die.

"You are safe, Legolas; Rammas found you and brought you to Imladris. I am Elrond and this is Sammar. We are healers and she has been caring for you since your arrival. That was only hours ago; you have been unconscious. There is nothing to fear; we mean only to cure these ills."

The confused gaze focused on him again. "Rammas?" A faint and rasping croak sounded the name and Elrond nodded, offering a reassuring smile, his soul aching over the sudden bloom of anxious anger chasing the single word.

"Yes, Rammas brought you here to me for healing. You will see him again when you are well, when you are stronger." The sentence rang with the weight of a solemn promise, for so it was, and quieted Legolas at once. His questioning eyes drifted shut once more and he ceased straining against Sammar's hold.

"Fetch water," Elrond directed this order to Forn'waew and carefully sat beside the patient. Lightly he settled his palm against the fiery forehead as fingers searched the slender neck for a pulse to count. The erratic beat was not encouraging but Elrond blocked his misgivings from his countenance lest Legolas see and fulfil them. Both his hands now settled firmly upon the Wood Elf's shoulders, holding him fast.

"Legolas," he called quietly and waited until the blue eyes found his once more. "I am here to aid you but what I must do will be painful. You cannot be drugged for you have lost too much blood. Forgive me, young one, but this is necessary." With that warning he nodded to Forn'waew, who came and supplied the restraining force upon the patient, freeing the lore-master's hands. Elrond positioned the tips of his fingers over the scar and funnelled the searing light of Vilya through them into the damaged tissue.

The nauseating scent of burning flesh filled the room and a faint haze of ghastly smoke lifted from the putrid flesh before dissipating in the fresh breeze. The next second a scream of horrific terror and agony rang through the peaceful ward, Legolas' entire body jolting in rigid protest. The unholy sound was cut off abruptly when he lost consciousness and collapsed upon the mattress. For that mercy the three healers were gratified and Elrond increased the flow of cleansing energy as Sammar laved away the effluence of pus, dead tissue, and coagulated blood forced from the gaping hole.

The infection was deep and extensive and it was some minutes before Elrond was satisfied that all the befouled matter was removed from the cavity and the injury cleanly cauterised. He packed the wound with gauze and healing herbs and bound the gash shut. Together the trio inhaled and expelled their satisfaction over the completed treatment and shared guarded smiles.

"Well, that is one problem addressed," said Forn'waew, "but I believe that was the least of his woes." He touched compassionate fingers to one bandaged wrist, shaking his head in dismay. "I have never tended self-inflicted injuries. What sorrow must fill his spirit to demand such a horrendous remedy."

"Yes, he suffers, but mind how you speak," admonished Sammar. "Even in this state of oblivion, his feär remains alert. I have seen cases such as this and with proper care and support recovery is promising."

"Ai! I would take my observation back, were it possible, for I would see him healed and happy," asserted Forn'waew, reaching further to caress the clotted strands of hair. He could not help noticing the uncommon beauty of the ailing ellon nor prevent his reaction to it, not of desire but of deep appreciation. Someone this fair should not be lost to grief and fading.

"We all want him hale and healthy," nodded Elrond, "and I am certain his family desires nothing less than to see him ride home again." That thought spawned another and he issued new orders for his assistant. "Send word by falcon to King Thranduil, begging him make for Imladris with all haste, for his son has need of him. I will tend Legolas until the fever breaks; the two of you have earned a respite. Bring me a basin and an infusion of athelas and then you may go." When these were supplied he was left alone with his patient.

Elrond at once performed a more thorough examination, documenting Legolas general health, which was neither robust nor debilitated, and the overlying signs of fresh grief marked by the early stages of fading. Wasting had already begun, though muscle mass was not yet reduced beyond restoration, and the texture of the thick mane was rough and brittle. The teeth were still firmly seated, a good indication, but finger and toenails were cracked and yellowed, not a promising sign.

With a sigh Elrond rose and retrieved the clinical record begun by Sammar, adding in his observations and detailing the treatment thus far. He was not yet ready to inscribe a prognosis and set the parchment down, resuming his inspection upon recalling Rammas' faulty tale of the second suicide ploy. Sensitive fingers tipped Legolas' head back to reveal a long, slender throat and there Elrond found remnant bruising, purple and yellow evidence of a noose. Yet beneath it were other marks, less distinct but more telling, and he scowled to have his suspicions so quickly confirmed. Under the ominous ribbon left by the ligature were imprints indicative of the relentless, choking pressure of strong fingers. Someone had tried to throttle Legolas and then sought to cover the crime by applying a ligature as well.

He took up the record again and scanned his colleague's comments, finding Sammar's observations and conclusions meshed with his. The assailant had to be Rammas or someone the elder prince was protecting. Inclined to believe there was no third party involved in this tragedy, Elrond's heart went out to both the King's sons, for he did not doubt that Rammas loved his brother. The violent attack was neither premeditated nor cold-blooded, but the result of a sudden and uncontrolled rage on the elder sibling's part. A volatile, explosive temper was a trait for which Oropher was legendary and such characteristics were often hereditary.

Nonetheless, it was Legolas for whom his heart bled most. What must it have been like, realising the one he loved most in all the world meant not only to abandon him but to kill him?

Horror and sorrow enough to make him long for death in truth.

"I understand, young one, the depth of your pain. Hear me and believe, I will see you healthy and whole again, your broken heart renewed and set free from this unclean bond." He let the document rest in his lap and took up one of Legolas' cold hands, admiring the long fingers, deceptively delicate, testing the thickness of calluses created by mastery of the bow. He gave the hand an affirming squeeze and was just setting it down when he detected a faint, answering pressure. Brows high in pleased surprise, Elrond smiled. "I am honoured by your trust and will never betray it," he said quietly.

The unusual têt-a-têt was interrupted by soft footfalls marking the arrival of another ellon. Lord Erestor strode through the ward laden with a large basket, a stack of linens, his kinsman's discarded robes, several scrolls and an elegant bow tucked under his arm, and a dispatch satchel slung over his shoulder alongside the patient's pack. For all his burdens, his step was light and he managed to deposit the items neatly on the next cot. As he turned, he subjected the patient to an entirely non-clinical form of appraisal.

"Here is an uncommon sylvan and fairer by far than any of his kith and kin," he announced, meeting Elrond's tolerant gaze. "He has the looks of his mother, a Lady universally mourned amid Greenwood's populace, reputedly with ties to the people of Inwë."

The Lord of Imladris was not oblivious to the features that had so moved Forn'waew and now Erestor as well. He found himself just as drawn to the ethereal glory of the ellon under his care. Removed from awareness, the creases and shadows of pain, both physical and emotional, vanished, leaving Legolas as if reposed in peaceful slumber, save that his eyes were shut and his temperature elevated. Thranduil's second son was of a type seldom seen in Middle-earth, his exquisite countenance and perfectly proportioned body reminiscent of the Vanyarin people of whom only paintings remained.

"There are one or two lineages of elves claiming links to the Calaquendi," Elrond replied, "but I know of none who remained behind at the Great Journey, either among the woodland elves of Greenwood or the Sindarin folk of Doriath."

"None that are documented," Erestor corrected. He watched as Elrond soaked a cloth in the athelas compound and liberally bathed Legolas' face and neck.

An incoherent murmur arose from the prince along with a jarring shudder. Goose-flesh prickled his skin into minute peaks and his nipples tightened under the chill of the ague. He shifted restlessly atop the sheets, any semblance of peace gone as his face contorted in fresh agony and breath came and went in noisy gusts. It was some phantom of memory wakened and distorted by the fever and Elrond hastened to comfort him, again dipping the cloth in the cool water and wiping across the heaving chest and the rigid legs.

"Be still," he exhorted, tone kind and calming, "for you are safe in my care and no harm will come to you here. Leave aside sorrow and rest, Legolas, that you may be restored."

Reluctant lids cracked ajar revealing a glitter of dark sapphire that fixed on him briefly before rolling shut, but Elrond knew the impression of coherence was false. Whatever Legolas was seeing, it was locked within his mind. That it was not a pleasing scene was all too apparent, for he again cried out, this time voicing his brother's name in alarm, and thrashed against an invisible adversary. Elrond could not banish the idea that Rammas was the assailant. Abruptly Legolas uttered a strangled, gargling cry and hands flew to his throat, eyes bulging, desperation and terror in them as he gasped for air and worried his neck.

"Elbereth!" hissed Erestor, stepping forward and taking hold of the convulsing legs as Elrond caught the frantic hands.
It was a gruesome and sickening sight and instinctively Elrond drew the frightened elf close to his heart and held on, offering soothing words of distraction as he carefully rocked the prince.

"Be at peace, Legolas, you are not in danger and you can breathe freely. Draw in the sweet summer air of the valley and savour the many scents of fair Imladris. There is honeysuckle climbing over a stone wall in the garden just beyond your room. Can you detect the drop of nectar hidden inside each blossom? They were my favourite flower in my elfling days and perhaps remain so, for all their simplicity. Breathe deeply and let the fragrance fill your senses."

The combination of words and motion freed him from torturing memories and Legolas grew still once more. Cautiously Elrond laid him down and met his seneschal's sombre gaze.

"At least he responds to you," said Erestor, thinking the unfotunate elf would not survive the day but knowing such opinions were not permitted voice in the House of Healing. Still, he had known Elrond all his life and had seen the son of Eärendil heal worse cases than this one, though their number was small. "A positive development despite the nightmare."

"Yes, I deem it a significant and hopeful indication, considering his heart is compromised. I believe the fever will break before sundown," Elrond replied with conviction, knowing the power of suggestion was at least as potent as any herbs or cures he might employ. He resumed the cooling sponge bath. "What were you able to learn?"

"Little of merit, yet that in itself may be more instructive," Erestor gave a small shrug that lent his long ebony tresses a quick wave of motion and sat cross-legged on the floor beside the sick bed, hands settling comfortably on either knee. "The warrior who claims to be Legolas' closest friend describes the prince as quiet and reserved, serious of demeanour, intelligent and observant, the best archer in his company, and inclined to remain apart form his peers. He has politely refused all offers of a romantic nature and so the idea of unrequited love seems improbable, at least to those who know him."

"You deem that 'little'?" Elrond sent his kinsman a quizzical look which was returned with a wry grin.

"Indeed, it is little enough for I hoped to learn what has happened to bring the King's youngest to such a low point," Erestor rejoined.

"Did this friend not find it strange for Legolas to be so disinterested in securing a mate?"

"According to this ellon, named Gilion, a second cousin on the maternal line, the general consensus is that Legolas is without the normal urges, feeling desire for neither male nor female, a consequence of his long-standing battle with grief since his mother's demise. Gilion could relate nothing unusual in recent days and Legolas reported no news to him, of either good or ill fate."

"Nothing?" Elrond paused in his treatment and peered at Erestor. "What of his brother's betrothal?"

Erestor shrugged again. "Gilion mentioned it in passing; apparently Legolas' reaction was conciliatory."

"It was told to me by Rammas that Legolas was placed on enforced leave for courting death. Was this not revealed?"

"Nay. If this is true then it has been suppressed from general knowledge. Gilion believes the extended respite is in accord with the lengthy deployment and the seriousness of his friend's injuries." Erestor's eyes lit on the wide band of white gauze encircling the prince's middle and he motioned to it. "That much seems a valid assumption."

"Perhaps," Elrond shook his head, dissatisfied with the notion. Now he had to wonder if this part of Rammas' story was also false. Searching his memory provided no recollection of misdirection, but admittedly he was focusing on the secret relationship between the brothers more than the account of the captain's findings. "What else?"

Erestor, having waited out his kinsman's moment of introspection, smiled with conspiratorial glee and rose from the floor. Two strides carried him to the articles on the bed and he rummaged in the patient's pack. With a fitting flourish of triumph he held out to Elrond a small leather-clad volume bound shut with a length of braided golden hair. "He kept a journal of his days in service. Perhaps there is information within that might guide you."

Elrond physically retreated from the offered book, simultaneously recognising that the woven tresses came from Rammas. "I would not violate his private thoughts thus, Erestor. Replace it at once."

"As you wish but it has already been opened and perused by the brother and by Gilion. They hoped to learn what ails Legolas and deemed the breech of trust a lesser evil than failing to aid him if they might."

"You have not met with Rammas," said Elrond darkly, furious with the elder prince, convinced he had read the diary only to learn if his secret was safe or not. "Erestor, I would ask that you personally give our guest a tour of the realm and see that my decree concerning his visit is carried out to the letter." Knowing his tone was enough to alert the wily seneschal that there was something amiss, Elrond continued. "I will have need of our swiftest messenger tonight. I am sending King Thranduil news of his son and expect he will arrive here within days of receiving it."

"I guessed as much and Faelon stands ready even now," Erestor's eyes glittered and he could not quite suppress the excitement in his voice, eager to get at the elder prince, as surely his Lord and kinsman meant him to do. Well he knew Elrond's use of wording and an official decree was reserved for matters of the most serious import. As for the 'tour', this was nothing less than a covert request to interview the Sindarin prince and submit his observations for comparison with Elrond's. This was a tactic the two only employed when truth was in question and crimes had been committed. "I will ensure Ernil Rammas and his people are afforded the full measure of our hospitality."

"Thank you," Elrond shared his silent outrage with his oldest friend and nodded. He bathed Legolas' fevered forehead and carefully wiped across the closed eyes, noting with satisfaction that the muscles reacted to the point that the lids parted minutely before sealing up once more. He smiled, certain the prince would awaken again before Anor set.

Erestor smiled, too, and replaced the pilfered journal, pleased that Elrond had rejected it, as expected. The whole act had been designed to inform the Lord of Imladris of Rammas' abuse of Legolas' privacy while reinforcing the unconscious prince's budding trust in Elrond.

Since the seneschal was already on his feet, he set about organising the things he'd toted in, knowing Elrond would remain with his patient until he was satisfied Legolas would recover fully. The famed lore-master was a healer first and foremost, a ruler second. Per an agreement reached more than an Age ago, whenever there was a case this serious Erestor took over the daily tasks of governance and management of the household and Elrond moved into the House of Healing. Indeed, there was a small apartment, three rooms and a private bathing chamber, built at the far end of the ward for this purpose, and there Erestor organised his kinsman's temporary quarters. It did not take long for Elrond was in the habit of leaving clothing and necessities here. With the chore completed, Erestor returned to the ailing elf's bedside.

"I'll order broth and juice brought up for him with your evening meal," he said, supporting the renowned healer's instincts regarding the patient's improvement.

"Will you join me?"

"Of course," Erestor grinned, "I'm intrigued by this Calaquendi of the forest and must confess a desire to see for myself 'eyes as pure and bright and warm as the very finest summer sky'. So Gilion describes his cousin and I deem he bears more than brotherly affection for his young prince."

Elrond arched a brow in mock censure. "I can believe that and don't think I missed the close inspection you passed over the invalid's physique. Yet I must forbid any flirting, mellon, until he is strong enough to fend off your advances!"

"So be it, but only until then," laughed Erestor, but then he became thoughtful and his roguish grin softened. "No one should suffer such lonely despair. I feel strongly this is an ellon deprived of love and that is a perversion of Eru's design. I would show him what it is to be loved." Then he caught his kinsman's surprised expression and a faint flush of colour climbed to his cheeks. He turned and left before Elrond could comment on his heartfelt admission.

Elrond gazed after the usually cavalier seneschal in bemused wonder, transferring his regard to the insensible Wood Elf once Erestor was beyond sight. He chuckled softly and rose, raising Legolas' shoulders in order to draw the damp hair from behind him once more. He allowed his hope to advance, for the prince's skin was no longer so unbearable hot. Settling him back against the pillows, he caught another fleeting glimpse of the eyes that inspired such romantic words.

"Well, young one, what think you of this development? My kinsman fancies you. In Imladris, that is considered a most enviable circumstance in which to find oneself. Erestor is noble and considerate, as well as quite becoming. So the eligible folk of the vale say, I admit he is just Erestor to me, too familiar to inspire much appreciation for his face and form."

That last was not entirely true, but Elrond felt justified in keeping his past romances private.

Expecting no answer, he was unprepared for the deep intake of breath that followed and watched with gladness as the exhaled air carried with it much of the strain and tension from the prince's features. Legolas blinked once and then the lids rose halfway as the pale tongue briefly darted out to soothe his lower lip. He was focused and alert and with effort mouthed a single word: 'nen'. Absolutely ecstatic, Elrond hurried to bring him a cup of water and supported him for the three sips he was able to swallow. The eyes were shut again before his head reached the pillow but it mattered not; Legolas' brow was cool to the touch and his respiration steady and deep. The fever had broken.

TBC

The Names:

RAMMAS: Wall

TALAGAN: Harper

MUINDORADAR: Uncle (brother-father)

FORN'WAEW: North Wind

SAMMAR: Neighbour

GILION: Star Son

Note: A good place to break I hope :D More Legolas next chapter; he'll be awake then. I just enjoyed showing Elrond in a positive light for once, being the wise and compassionate healer.

And I want to thank neerdua, xxShadowxx, and giggle for the reviews :D Giggle, I am so glad you are still out there for me. Take care of yourself, my friend Gladhadithen :-)

Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.
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Fractured Light

In the House of Healing

Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.