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Twilight Tales - An Ounce of Kindness	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 26417 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Chapter XXVIII

Legolas bit back a cry of pain as he was flung down once more onto his belly. Though his entire back from his shoulders to his calves seemed afire from the countless weals and wounds of his flogging, he refused to give his tormentors the satisfaction of seeing any signs of emotional weakening on his part. Galvreth had not uttered a sound beyond a gasp or grunt throughout his own ordeal and Legolas was determined to follow his example as much to preserve his personal dignity whatever else happened as bolster the faltering spirits of their warriors who were gathered in a huddle several yards away, their wrists and ankles tightly bound.

They had managed to elude the orcs for nigh three days. Travelling down little known paths, they had taken a circular, slightly westerly route in the hope of gaining the main elven track. The goblins avoided that well-guarded way as much as possible. But the Elves could not be as quick about it for most of their number bore severe injuries that precluded taking the more straightforward, less easily traced path by way of the limbs of the trees themselves. Luck had finally ran out on them just this very morn and, in spite of their best efforts to evade their pursuers anew, the orcs had surrounded them, closed in and taken them captive.

They had not recognized him or Galvreth as sons of Thranduil. Not at first. But the princes betrayed their identities when they attempted to prevent the orcs from brutalizing the most junior of their scouts, an Elf barely removed from majority. Failing to realize the repercussions of revealing them, young Fervanel protested their intervention but unfortunately addressed them by their titles and names. That had sealed their fates for the orcs' hatred for Thranduil and his family was great.

Legolas caught a glimpse of his brother's bloodied form just a few feet away before his face was shoved into the dirt. Galvreth's back was a mass of torn flesh and swollen tissue. His legs were twisted at unnatural angles - the orcs had shattered his kneecaps right after whipping him near insensate. But most horrifying to Legolas were the dark crimson streaks that marked the back of Galvreth's thighs, evidence of his vicious treatment at the goblins' hands. Yet Galvreth had borne it all in near silence, biting down so hard on his lip and the tender flesh on the inside of his mouth to keep from uttering a sound that blood ran down his chin from the self-inflicted wounds. When he finally lapsed into blessed unconsciousness, the orcs turned their frustration on Legolas.

He was subjected to the lash until he thought he would go mad from the agony. Now he awaited what he thought would be a similar fracturing of his legs. Instead, searing pain in his calves nearly wrenched a keen from him. Elbereth, they intended to hamstring him! He stifled a groan as he felt the liquid warmth of his blood wet his legs. Even if he survived this captivity there was a great chance that he would never be able to properly use his legs again. Not if they had sliced through his tendons.

Tears pricked his eyes but he stubbornly squeezed them back. His hair was grasped at his temple and he was forced to look up. Before him was one of the leaders of the orkish pack. With an evil grin, he displayed a stout club to Legolas. The archer could not help the shudder that wracked his frame. The orc sniggered and ran the tip of the club along the Elf-prince's cheek, smearing it with the congealing blood of his brother's torn entrails. It reminded Legolas all too vividly of what had been done to Galvreth earlier.

The orc tossed the club to another goblin standing behind Legolas' spread-eagled body. The others guffawed as the latter orc squatted between the archer's bleeding legs. Legolas bit his lip in undeniable dread when the taut mounds of his bottom were parted none too gently. He felt the club's blood-encrusted tip trace a path up one thigh to his buttocks. The archer prayed he would be granted merciful oblivion before the pain exceeded his ability to maintain silence. When the orc positioned the club to breach him, Legolas braced himself for the cruel rending of his very innards.

A shriek resounded through the glade. Suddenly freed of the restraining grips of his captors, Legolas looked up to see the orcs snatching up their weapons and rushing to stave off the most welcome sight the archer could have hoped for. Elves clad in the green and brown of the Woodland Realm. He glanced over his shoulder and saw his would-be assailant struggling to dislodge an arrow protruding from his throat. Legolas' eyes gleamed when he recognized the colors and pattern of the arrow's fletchings. Despite the fearsome pain and unwieldiness of his butchered legs, he lashed out with his foot and struck the orc's clutching paws thus causing them to drive the arrow deeper into the creature's throat. Shocked yellowed eyes stared at him before the goblin toppled over.

Swiftly perusing the clearing-turned-battlefield, he sought the owner of the arrow. His heart leaped when, across the space, argent eyes met his for an instant. And then his Elf-knight rejoined the fray, ferociously hewing down every orc that dared pit itself against the younger son of Elrond.

Seeing that the captive Elves had been cut loose by their comrades, Legolas laboriously crawled to Galvreth's still form, picking up a fallen dagger along the way. He reached his brother in time to slash across the back of the knees of an orc that sought to plunge its spear into Galvreth's spine. The orc screamed and fell, its nearly severed limbs unable to support the weight of its bulk. Forgetting his injuries for the moment, Legolas lunged forward and drove the knife deep into the creature's belly then forced it upward to slice the orc's torso open. Pushing the gory corpse away, he devoted himself to protecting his helpless brother.

Looking about he soon located his father and other brethren, as well as valiant Gilthalion and Elladan who seemed an Elf possessed judging from the savagery with which he was dispatching his foes. Though his back ached abominably and his legs thrummed with unremitting pain, he forced himself to keep alert to all that was occurring around him. And thence derived the satisfaction of vengeance fulsomely served.

Where three days past the forest floor had been strewn with the bodies of Elves, now 'twas goblin carcasses that littered the glade. Their black blood that flowed and their screams that rang unheeded as they were put to sword, spear and arrow. Yet Thranduil did not permit the slaying of every single one of the creatures. The Elven-king's eyes glittered ominously which did not bode well for the surviving orcs. Judging from his mood, they would soon think death in battle far more desirable than to be spared now to face Thranduil's wrath and the penalty for rousing it.

The orcs were swiftly bound and herded together as Men corralled their beasts of burden. Any that displayed defiance or attempted resistance were struck or whipped into submission. By nature slow to deal pain to others, the Wood-elves were nonetheless capable of it when their rage and passion were pushed beyond endurance.

As soon as he knew the glade secured, Elrohir hastened to Legolas. His brother was but a step behind him and they dropped to their knees together on either side of the captive princes. Hardly a heartbeat later Thranduil and his other sons joined them.

Cries of outrage and horror issued from the family when they saw the full extent of their loved ones' sufferings. Lalorn did not trouble to stay his tears as he and Thranduil helped Elladan shift Galvreth's position, mindful that had his brother not taken his place, it might have been he who now lay broken and defiled. He clenched his fists while he watched Elladan nimbly run his fingers over wounds and bruises or gingerly examine the grotesquerie that had once been Galvreth's long, sleek legs. But when the older twin's deft exploration led to the bloody ruin of Galvreth's backside, he could stifle himself no longer. His wail of anguish and fury was enough to turn every warrior present ashen with pity and dread. Small wonder Gilthalion summarily ran his sword through the shoulder of an orc that sneered at that wrenching display. Needless to say his fellows did not follow his lead when the Elf-captain coldly twisted his blade in the wound to the agonized baying of the captive.

Were it not for his deeply instilled discipline as a healer whose primary aim was to give aid and soonest, Elladan might have descended into hysterics himself as he examined Galvreth. Never had he yet seen injuries as extensive as these in any live Elf he had treated. Aye, he had seen his fair share of the atrocities one being could perpetrate on another but only in the evidence left on dead bodies whether Elf, Man or Dwarf. And grieve he might for the cruelty of sentient creatures toward each other but at least he could take some solace in the fact that the victims were beyond pain and fear. Not so Galvreth. While his body had survived excessive torture, none could promise the same for his mind or spirit. Memory could be as much a bane to Elves as the physical infliction of pain for its effects were not only insidious but also oft invisible and therefore difficult to detect and remedy.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Thranduil's white and haggard face. The Elven-king struggled to speak past the tightness in his throat.

“Will he live?” he demanded. “Can you heal him?”

The Elf-lord dropped his eyes to Galvreth's greyed profile. Despite his savaging, despite the grime and gore that marred his flesh, he still seemed to Elladan as he did the last night the twin had seen him. With grim determination, he silently swore that Galvreth would live and thrive even if Elladan had to engage Námo himself in mortal combat to achieve it.

With a brief nod to the king, he pulled out his healer's pouch and set to work. As did his twin.

A quick hug and kiss of reunion had to suffice afore Elrohir began his own meticulous examination of his mate's battered body. When he came to Legolas' calves he could not quite smother an exclamation of dismay for there were few injuries more debilitating to warrior Elves and likely to keep them from their chosen profession if not properly mended.

Elrohir did not dare await the return to the Woodland Realm's healing halls to repair Legolas' slashed hamstrings. The sooner he set them on the path to healing, the better the archer's chances of full recovery. Ignoring Legolas' indrawn hiss of pain each time his flesh was touched as best as he could, he inspected the wounds. He grimaced as he assessed the extent of the damage wrought and the means to repair it. He and Elladan had only the most basic of medicaments with them for there had been no time to gather a more exhaustive store before the march to the rescue. They had no pain-numbing herbs, not even a mild sedative.

He glanced at his brother, thinking to ask for assistance. But Elladan was wholly absorbed in tending to Galvreth's injuries which were appalling to put it mildly. Elrohir swallowed the bitter fact that he would have to suture Legolas' wounds without the benefit of a steady trance to blunt his pain for the entirety of the procedure. He could not focus on keeping the archer in that state and attend to his injuries at the same time. Nonetheless, he had to at least help Legolas withstand the beginnings of his ministrations.

He reached up and cupped Legolas' face, his eyes catching and holding the archer's gaze. He spoke softly to him, his voice taking on a gentle but peculiar tone of command none of the woodland brethren had yet heard him use before. Aelluin and Elivorn watched curiously as Legolas' features slowly relaxed, his eyes turning glassy with enforced reverie. Eventually, he sagged into Elrohir's arms, his face completely devoid of expression. The Elf-knight carefully laid him down upon his cloak on his belly. Instructing his law-brothers to be prepared should Legolas come out of the trance before he was done, he quickly washed the wounds then embarked on the painstaking task of suturing the archer's nigh severed tendons. He tried to work as rapidly as possible, hoping against hope that Legolas would remain unaware throughout.

Halfway through however, Legolas began to emerge from his daze and, as the pain of his treatment filtered into his slowly awakening consciousness, started to whimper. Aelluin bent low, whispering words of comfort, painfully aware that only the lack of control rendered by fatigue and disorientation could elicit so piteous a vocal expression from his brother. Elrohir gritted his teeth and, with a supreme effort, shut out his mate's progressively audible moans. Though his heart clenched in sympathetic pain for his spouse, he concentrated on closing the gaping cuts on the archer's calves.

Legolas came to with a ragged cry. Quickly, Aelluin and Elivorn held him down as gently as they could. Grateful that he could not see Legolas' face, Elrohir neatly drew the lips of the terrible wounds together and sealed them well. At last he was done but Legolas' muffled sobs gutted him to the core. With a muttered curse, he swiftly anointed the wounds with a paste made from healing herbs and bound them well with strips of clean linen.

Aelluin gave way to him when he crept up to gather the archer into his arms. He tenderly wrapped the cloak about Legolas, taking great care not to chafe his raw back further. Heedless of his pain, Legolas curled his arms around his spouse and clung to him almost feverishly. He felt the press of gentle lips against his forehead and cheeks. Seeking greater closeness, he turned his head and sealed his lips to Elrohir's while his tears ran freely. Elrohir pried his lips apart and deepened their kiss, pillaging the archer's mouth in a deliberate effort to assuage his need. Legolas sighed and rested his head on the Elf-knight's shoulder when the kiss ended. His body shuddered as belated shock and surging relief overcame him. Elrohir held him as snugly against his own form as he could without causing him more discomfort.

It was a long while before Legolas subsided, spent of emotion and memory for the moment. But he was not permitted a lengthy respite for his father appeared before him bearing an object that nigh curdled the contents of his belly meager as they were already. He glanced at the blood-tipped club that had been the very worst of his brother's harrowing trial then hid his face in Elrohir's neck, his shoulders beginning to shake once more.

Seeing his distress, Thranduil looked to Elrohir for help. The Elf-knight nodded and, sliding his fingers under Legolas' chin, gently compelled the archer to meet his gaze.

“Melethen, how did they hurt Galvreth?” Elrohir quietly inquired.

Legolas comprehended the underpinnings of his query. Quivering, he snuggled further into Elrohir's embrace, uncaring of his smarting back.

“After they flogged him, they shattered his knees,” he whispered. “When he would not cry out as they hoped, they forced that club into him until he lost consciousness. What they did to him, they repeated with me though they did not break my legs. If you had not come, they would have…” Eyes on the club, he faltered and could not continue for several seconds. Elrohir stroked his hair and whispered soothingly to him. Legolas drew a deep breath and finished his tale. “They planned to geld us afterward and send the evidence of our mutilation to you, Ada.”-Papa.

A concerted gasp greeted this last revelation. The twins exchanged horrified glances while the princes could only stare at Legolas in utter shock over the intended atrocity. But their father did not suffer his ire in silence.

“Eru's blood!” Thranduil roared. “These dogs of Angband show no mercy. By Elbereth, they shall receive none!”

Trembling with fury, he turned and strode to Gilthalion. The captain was seen to start in disbelief at whatever it was his father-by-marriage instructed him to do. But upon being apprised of the reason, his face turned equally dark with anger and he swiftly carried out the king's bidding.

While some soldiers gathered wood for the building of litters for the wounded, others did so for an entirely different end. The captured orcs stared in puzzlement as long wooden stakes nigh twice their heights were driven into the ground. Their bemusement turned into apprehension when the Elves sharpened the upper ends to crude points. The apprehension finally became terror when several of them were dragged to the stakes and with little ado hoisted up and impaled on them. Thus did they convulse their miserable lives away.

The gruesome executions continued until all that were left were the known leaders of the pack, one short of a dozen in all. Gilthalion had prudently left them for last. But as they were forced toward their collective doom, Legolas suddenly intervened.

“Nay, that is too kind a fate for them,” he spat. “'Twas they who tortured Galvreth!”

Thranduil stayed his warriors with an upraised hand. “Then they will be dealt with accordingly,” he declared. He frowned, pondering what appropriate punishment to mete the creatures. He glanced at Elladan when the older twin came to his side.

“If I may make a suggestion, my lord,” Elladan said, his voice glacial as the floes in the Ice-bay of Forochel. “The lairs of the spiders are but a few leagues from here and 'tis now the middle of their breeding season. As they used your folk for bait, so use these vermin to stock the spiders' larders.”

Howls and snarls of protest erupted from the orcs almost before he finished speaking. Suddenly, impalement seemed the more merciful death. For the spiders did not slay and feast but rather paralyzed their prey and kept them alive to provide fresh meat and blood for themselves and their young. Indeed, to be food for their young was the most ghastly fate of all.

The spiders laid their eggs on the bodies of their captives. When the hatchlings emerged they burrowed into their victim's body cavity and proceeded to consume them from within, avoiding vital organs to keep the unwilling host alive until the spider young were ready to emerge as adolescents. In effect, Elladan's suggestion would sentence the orcs to being eaten alive, aware almost to the very last of their prolonged dying. Even Morgoth's twisted, black-hearted creations quaked at the very thought of such an end.

Thranduil's eyes sparked with approval. “Aye, that is a fitting punishment for these knaves.” He addressed Gilthalion. “Take with you as many Elves as you deem needed. When you reach the bounds of the spiders' lairs, bind those abominations and hang them from the trees as they did our hunters. Ah, and make certain to draw blood to lure the spiders to them.”

The captain did not waste time in formalities but snapped out orders to his waiting men. Once more herding the orcs together, the warriors then drove them forth with many a buffet or prod of the spear. Ere he joined them, Gilthalion paused to take his leave of Aelluin. The prince kept his gaze on his departing mate until the captain vanished into the forest beyond. Whereupon he turned his attention to helping in the transporting of the injured back to their forest realm.

**********

They arrived to a muted welcome as word spread of the torment two of the kingdom's princes had suffered. All the wounded were borne straightly to the healing halls where nigh all the healers of the realm converged, masters and novices alike.

Elrohir saw at once to Legolas' comfort, dosing his mate with a strong sedating potion liberally laced with pain-numbing herbs. The less Legolas had to endure pain, the swifter and more certain his mending would be. He held Legolas close as the latter slowly drifted into oblivion, sealing their lips together reassuringly when the archer clutched at him in a moment of panic induced by the darkness closing in on him. When he was certain Legolas was fast asleep, he perused the ward to see who else might need his assistance.

Of a sudden, an elleth burst into the chamber, breaking away from an older Elf's grip. Her fair hair tumbling in disarray about her shoulders, she wildly looked around until she found what she sought. Elrohir stared in surprise when she dashed to Galvreth's bedside and with a soft cry bent over him. Weeping, she stroked his pale cheeks and called his name repeatedly. Ere any of the healers could interfere her companion spoke sternly to her. She was seen to flush then nod her head in acquiescence. She leaned down to drop a kiss on Galvreth's pallid lips before allowing the Elf to lead her away.

“Who is she?”

Elrohir quickly looked at his brother, noting the edge in his voice and the hard expression on his face.

“She is Aewithen daughter of the scribe Hisael whom you saw speak to her,” a healer replied.

“By what right did she enter this sanctum unbidden?” Elladan queried, his tone clearly laced with umbrage.

The healer hesitated then said: “She has been my lord Galvreth's companion these past two years.”

A sharp intake of breath bespoke Elladan's great shock followed by the sudden loss of color in his cheeks. “She is his melethril?”-lover-he incredulously demanded.

“I believe so, híren.”-my lord.

Elladan glared at him so heatedly the healer winced. Elrohir decided to rescue the unfortunate Elf. But just as he stepped forward to have a word with his twin, Elladan abruptly spun on his heel and left the chamber. In the awkward silence that ensued, the healers purposely busied themselves with their charges, uncomfortably conscious of the possible ramifications of the older twin's discovery. After all, there was hardly a soul in the kingdom who did not know of his long liaison with Thranduil's fourth son.

Elrohir heaved a frustrated sigh and hurried after his brother. He found him at the far end of the main hallway, staring out a window at the woods beyond. The Elf-knight went to him and wordlessly laid his hand on his twin's arm. After a lengthy spell, Elladan looked at him. His eyes were bright with suppressed tears, his mouth tight with the effort to still his lips' trembling.

“I am indeed too late, Elrohir,” he whispered harshly. “He has found another to fill my place. No doubt she loves him well as I did not, pathetic excuse for an Elf that I am.”

Elrohir gripped his arm. “You do not know for certain, brother,” he reasoned. “Not until Galvreth himself affirms this can you be sure that he has had a change of heart. Yet even were it true, will you permit it to sway you from your duty? If you love him, you will tend him whether or not he has taken another in your stead.”

The older twin shook his head. “How can I, knowing that when he awakens 'tis she he will seek.”

Elrohir shook him slightly. “Elladan, his injuries are grievous and one in particular beyond the skills of this kingdom's healers to address. You and I alone have been trained to mend so hideous a wound.” He reached out an entreating hand to his twin. “Come, he needs us.”

Elladan glanced back at the door of the healing chamber through which he could see Galvreth upon his cot. It so happened that the Elf-maid Aewithen returned at that moment. She was calmer and quieter and so was allowed to enter the room. Elladan's eyes narrowed as he watched the maid who had apparently supplanted him hover over the Elf whose love had been his alone for centuries. Until three years ago and who knew how many lonely nights after.

Guilt and remorse struck down Elladan's kindling jealousy and with a resigned sigh he turned and strode back to the chamber. Likewise saddened and regretful, Elrohir silently followed him.

*************************

Glossary:

melethen - my love

geld - to castrate

Angband - Morgoth's stronghold after he returned to Middle-earth following his release from imprisonment in Valinor in the First Age

Forochel - the icy wastes in the uttermost north of Middle-earth

elleth - Elf-maid

To be continued…
- 28
- 29
- 30
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Twilight Tales - An Ounce of Kindness