Chapter Thirty Eight

Every other eye in the room was on Legolas’s face. His own eyes were staring down at his splinted wrists. He wasn’t sure how he should be feeling after drinking the contents of the vial Elrond had brought to him. He was apprehensive, of course. No matter how confident he was in Elrond’s abilities, he knew that the Lord of Rivendell himself had doubts. Such a thought was not a strong confidence builder, but he had wanted honesty from the elf lord, and that is exactly what he got.

The risks Elrond had explained were daunting. Underlying the fear, Legolas also felt a small thrill in the pit of his stomach. There was a good chance that, in a short while, he would be cured, completely free of the poison and its effects. His normal life would resume. Legolas held on to that hope.

The elf resisted the urge to twist his fingers together, as he waited for his body to tell him that something was happening. He clearly remembered the finger-twisting, usually with his hands behind his back, whenever, as an elfling, he had been called to stand before his father to answer for some misdeed he had committed. Unknown to him, Thranduil had often been more amused than angry. Legolas was a very precocious child and a clever one. He rarely committed the same mischief twice. To Thranduil’s consternation, the elfling had usually found new and inventive ways to exasperate him.

Before a smile could appear on Legolas’s face at the memory, the current situation pulled his attention to the present and demanded all of his thoughts. He waited somewhat impatiently, though he was trying hard to calm his nerves. *Steady, Greenleaf. Do not let anyone see your fear,* he warned himself, taking note that everyone, including Elrond, looked as anxious as he felt. He knew that all of them wanted nothing more than to see him cured. Such knowledge warmed his heart.

Elrond put his hand on Legolas’s arm and smiled. “If there was no immediate reaction to the antidote by the venom in your system, then it will probably take a while for one to display itself, if there is to be one at all.”

Legolas looked slightly disappointed. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to possibly experiencing any more pain, but it was almost preferable to this waiting, which was beginning to unsettle the nerves he had just worked so hard to rein in. It also made him feel that the antidote might not be working. He took a deep breath and let it out very slowly, his eyes not leaving his hands.

“Give it time,” Elrond said softly, reading the young elf‘s slight frown. It was much too early for Elrond to be thinking that the antidote wasn’t the right one after all. He had been blessed with infinite patience, so he was prepared to wait as long as it took.

Thranduil was not. He stared at Elrond with a stern expression on his fair features. “Well?“

Elrond didn‘t flinch. “I told Legolas that there might not be a visible reaction. You heard that as clearly as he did.” His voice had hardened somewhat. He would be as gentle as need be with Legolas, but Thranduil’s tone would be matched, if the elven king tried to push him.

Thranduil sighed. He did not want to upset his son by getting into a confrontation with Elrond. “I am sorry,” he said, tilting his head slightly in Elrond’s direction. “I am merely concerned for my son.”

Elrond nodded. “I understand your feelings, Thranduil. I know you sometimes lack patience, but you must...” That was as far as he got.

Right then, Legolas began shaking. At first, it wasn’t too bad. But, before anyone could react, the trembling became worse. His body jerked, the tremors quickly increasing in intensity until they became full-fledged convulsions.

Thranduil grabbed Legolas by the shoulders, intending to pull his son against his chest. Elrond reached out and pulled his hands away before he could lift Legolas off the bed. “No, Thranduil, you cannot hold him. As painful as it may be to watch, the convulsions must be allowed to run their course with no interference.”

That was the second time Elrond had denied Thranduil the chance to hold his son. The first time having been when Legolas’s body was tortured to death in the forest. The elf lord frowned at the helpless look on the elder wood elf’s face.

Elrond made only one concession to his words. He slipped one arm under Legolas’s shoulders and one under his lower back, nodding to Thranduil to do the same to his son’s legs. The two of them gently pulled Legolas down flat on the bed, so his thrashing would not cause him to bang his head on the wooden headboard despite the pillows.

“Ada, how long will this continue?” Elrohir asked. His handsome face reflected his anguish at watching his friend go through yet more suffering. Just standing around and doing nothing was extremely hard for him---for all of them. So focused was Elrohir’s attention that he hardly noticed, when Elladan put his hand on his brother’s arm and squeezed it.

Elrond shook his head but did not answer his son‘s question. He put one hand behind Legolas’s head, lifting it up several inches. With his free hand, he pulled the pillows from their place and tossed them to the foot of the bed. Lowering the elf’s head down onto the mattress, Elrond watched carefully to make sure Legolas’s hands and left foot were not in danger of being further harmed by the intense spasms of his body.

The one good thing about the situation was that Elrond now knew he had the correct remedy. Only time would tell if the dosage the young elf had taken was also the correct one. But, he had more hope now that he had when he entered the room moments ago.

The antidote had been slowly making its way into every fiber of Legolas’s body. Now, it seemed that all at once enough of the anti-venom was clashing with the original venom to cause the violent, spasmodic reaction that racked the elf‘s entire system.

The battle raged, as both venom and anti-venom tried to gain the upper hand. Unfortunately, Legolas was being forced to suffer the effects of that battle. But slowly, very slowly, the tide was turning in the anti-venom’s favor, as more and more of the poison was being neutralized.

The merciless convulsions lasted only a few moments, but the trembling that controlled the elf’s movements lasted almost half an hour. The poison was not going easily, which was a testament to its power.

During that whole time, no one touched Legolas. Not being able to give comfort was a hard thing for them all to do. But, each one was heeding Elrond’s words. Understanding that here he was the expert and knew that he was right in his instructions didn‘t make the watching any easier.

Finally, the tremors eased until at last they stopped. Thranduil looked at Elrond with pleading eyes. When Elrond nodded, Thranduil sat on the bed and leaned over, lifting Legolas into his arms and holding him close. Stroking his hair, the elven king said, “Take heart, ion nin. You will be well now.” He couldn’t be sure if that was true, but he thought giving his son reassurance was more important right then than the absolute truth regarding the doubts he still held.

Legolas’s eyes were closed, so everyone thought that his ordeal had caused him to pass out. He hadn’t. However, the ordeal had rendered him too weak and exhausted to make that fact known. It was comforting to him to be in his father‘s embrace.

He thought about trying to speak, to see if the antidote had worked, but strangely enough he found he was content to wait. The elf didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he was also afraid the antidote might not have done its job, and his speech would be as mangled as ever. If he could hold that horrible thought at bay for just a little while longer, then he decided he would do it.

Legolas heard Elladan ask, “If the antidote really worked, will Legolas be able to talk normally?”

“That is the hope,” Elrond replied noncommittally. “It is also hoped that his healing ability will be restored.” Elrond had been worried that after a week, Legolas’s broken bones were not completely mended, which they should have been by now.

Legolas lay quietly, eyes still closed, as his father’s arms encircled him. He felt Thranduil kiss the top of his head, and the young elf couldn’t stop a smile from lifting the corners of his mouth. With his face almost buried in Thranduil’s tunic and partially covered by his own loose hair, no one saw the smile.

Knowing he couldn‘t remain where he was forever, Legolas stirred and slowly opened his eyes. He didn’t want to continue to worry his father or his friends by having them think he was unconscious. His body was tired, and his movements were sluggish, making him feel as if he was trying to maneuver through thick mud. With effort, he forced himself to release his own hold on his father and lean back away from him.

When Elrond had finished replacing the pillows next to the headboard, Thranduil lowered Legolas back against them, smiling at him, as the blue-gray eyes of his youngest child found his own. “Ion nin, how do you feel?” The elf king was well aware that his question would likely force his son to try to answer him. Thranduil didn’t think there was any point in waiting to see what changes had been wrought by the antidote.

Legolas opened his mouth. “I ammm f...f...fine.” He frowned, the effort to make himself understood obviously difficult. The sounds that came out were relatively normal, however, the young elf’s manner of speaking was anything but. To his own ears, he sounded like a tiny elfling just learning to speak and stumbling over words he was not entirely sure of. Legolas was dismayed, despite his assertion that he was fine.

The frown on Legolas’s face slowly transformed into a smile. He aimed it at his father, trying to reassure him. “Do...not....w...worry, Ad...a. It...will...im...im...prove.” He looked to Elrond for the confirmation of those words with a desperate hope reflected in his bright eyes.

Elrond smiled at him. “Time,“ he reminded the archer. Then, he added, “We can work with you to bring your speech back to normal, if need be, Legolas.”

“Why can he not speak normally now?” Thranduil demanded. “You saw what the antidote did to him. It was obviously a positive reaction between the venom and the antidote, was it not? He should be all right now.”

Elrond, exhibiting more patience with the elven king than he felt, tried to explain. “Thranduil, I agree that the antidote has neutralized the poison. That is all it was meant to do. Legolas’s ability to transfer the thoughts in his mind into speech has been damaged by the poison. It is the same principle as a cut or a bruise. What caused them may be gone, but the damage that was done simply needs time to repair itself. As I just told him, we will work with him to speed the process. Please, try not to be so impatient. Rushing will do your son no good.”

Legolas reached out and put his left hand on Thranduil’s arm and nodded. He was smiling, happy that the words he was thinking had basically come out correctly, even if somewhat hesitant. “I will....work...h...hard...to fix...it, Ada. I...can comm...uni...cate.” His smile broadened.

Not caring if Thranduil became angry with him or not, Aragorn said happily, “I think it’s wonderful.” He smiled at his friend. “You will be talking like your old self in no time, Legolas. You can be sure we will all do whatever we can to help you.”

“Hannon le.” Legolas was pleased at Aragorn’s remarks and also pleased that the simple ‘thank you’ had come out perfectly. Then, he adopted a mock scowl. “You...al...ways...c...call me...old.”

Laughing, the ranger said, “Well, compared to me, you are very old.”

“And, what does that make us?” Glorfindel said, arching his eyebrows first at Elrond and then at Thranduil.

“Very, very old,” Elrond replied with a laugh.

The elder wood elf couldn’t help but smile. “Do not include me in your little group,“ he replied. “I am far younger than either of you two elders.” Thranduil was not pleased that Legolas could not talk normally right then and there, but as Legolas had just said, he was communicating, so he thought participating in a bit of humor was not out of order. Perhaps, Elrond was right. It would take a little time and aid, but his son’s speech would be back to the way it should be. He leaned over and kissed Legolas on the forehead.

“Is anyone hungry?” Elrohir asked, his face one huge smile, as he blithely changed the subject.

“Yes.” Legolas told him. “I...h...have not ea...ten...much l...lately.”

“No, you have not,” Elladan agreed. “And, much too thin you are, too. How would everyone feel about Elrohir and I bringing us all some food?” He knew that none of them had really eaten properly during Legolas’s entire ordeal.

Neither twin waited for an answer. They both turned and walked hurriedly out of the room. As soon as they reached the hall, they began running. Once one started, the other just naturally had to try and beat him. A race through the house always ensued.

The sound of eleven feet pelting down the corridor reached Elrond’s keen ears, and he shook his head. How many times had he heard that sound over the years? And, how many times had his admonition to stop running in the house been ignored? Just as many, he concluded ruefully.

It didn’t take long for the twins to return with a cart laden with several trays full of roasted rabbit, fruits of various kinds, vegetables, cheese, biscuits, honey and butter, along with plates, goblets, and two large carafes of red wine. There wasn’t a single elf, or human, in the bunch who didn’t load their plate with the savory repast.

Thranduil offered to feed Legolas, but the young elf shook his head and waggled the fingers on both of his hands. His attempts to eat may prove to be a little awkward, but he was sure he would be able to manage. With a little help from Aragorn to get the food on the elf’s plate to begin with, Legolas was able to feed himself. He didn’t miss his mouth a single time. It took both hands to hold his goblet as he drank his wine, but he was happy that none spilled.

“No one can say that the House of Elrond does not provide the best fare in all of elfdom,” Glorfindel remarked, as he settled down on the chair at the desk and began to eat.

Thranduil laughed. “Maybe, we should get the cooks of Imladris and the cooks of Mirkwood together and test that observation.” There was a teasing challenge in his voice.

“Would I just love to be the judge of that contest,” Elrohir said, as he popped a large piece of cheese into his mouth.

“You would love to do anything that involved shoving food into your mouth,” Elladan said dryly, not the least self-conscious that he was also stuffing a sizeable chunk of rabbit into his own mouth.

“And, you would not?” the younger twin retorted.

“Quiet, my sons. May we for once have a peaceful meal while guests are present?” He favored his elven sons with a stern look of reproof.

“G...guests?” Legolas asked.

Aragorn laughed. “He’s right. This is his very own permanent room that we are in. That doesn’t sound like a guest to me---more like a sometimes absent brother.”

Legolas smiled at the ranger’s words and nodded. That was just the way he felt. Elrond’s house was most certainly his second home, and the people who lived here were definitely family in all ways but blood.

The elf then tuned his attention back to his food. He took a large bite out of a honey-covered biscuit, frowning slightly as a large drop of the sticky substance fell onto the sheet that was folded up around his waist. He quickly put a finger in his mouth to wet it and then rubbed it on the spot.

Having failed to eradicate the blob, he looked away, adopting a totally innocent expression, as he chewed, swallowed and then, carefully took another bite. Like a guilty child, he took his free hand and folded one edge of the sheet over the amber-colored stain. No one saw the incident, except Elrond, who just smiled to himself. Legolas almost laughed. It seemed there was at least one benefit to having suffered so much---he was allowed to get away with trying to hide a miscue.

Suffer. That word suddenly ploughed into Legolas’s mind like a runaway wagon on a steep hill. Could nothing keep those thoughts from crowding his consciousness? Agony beyond imagining had plagued his body, but since the tremors had ceased a short time ago, it no longer pained him. Could not his mind also be at peace for just a while?

He knew that he was getting better and would get better still. He was here enjoying not only good food but also the good company of his father and his friends. A lighthearted atmosphere prevailed. He refused to let dark thoughts ruin his mood---or anyone else’s. With determination, the young elf pushed the darkness away. This was one of the precious moments of his life, and he needed to grab and hold on to it. He was not going to let anything spoil it.

With a wide grin, reflecting a truly appreciative heart, Legolas ate everything on his plate.

TBC