Chapter Fifty Eight

Legolas’s mood did not change for the better during the next two and a half days. If anything, it became more morose and beligerant. The elf was paralyzed, so common sense had told him that his friends would have to take care of all his needs. Ir galled him to be so incapacitated that such had to be the case.

Elrond had brought a cup with a long, hollow, slightly curved extension on one side of it that allowed Legolas to drink while lying flat on his back. His food had to be minced up until it was nothing more than a mass of gruel. He desperately longed to chew something. But, chewing could not be managed with the brace still firmly in place around his jaws. He ended up sucking the mashed up food through a cup extension like the one he took his water from. His personal needs were handled with great care so as not to cause more than the barest movement to his neck. Though he knew the necessity of it, it embarrassed him, nonetheless.

Each time something was done for him, he either reacted badly or just lay in silence and smoldered. He was becoming impossible to deal with. Not more than twenty minutes ago, he had sent Aragorn out into the hall to cool down after they had argued---yet again. The woodland warrior was proving to be a lousy patient. It was after the ranger had said just that exact thing, that Legolas lashed out verbally and told the man to leave. Had he been able, Legolas would have thrown something at the wall in misery and frustration.

It wasn’t until Legolas had gathered his temper in and gotten himself under control that he felt shame at his behavior. He was continually making a vow to himself to be patient and then continually breaking that vow by displaying his bad mood. That in itself was cause for self-reproach. He was not ungrateful for what his friends were doing for him. Why then could he not control his emotions?

He called out to Aragorn, who he knew was right outside the door. All thoughts of the recent argument fled as the ranger came running into the room, fearing that something bad had happened.

With a contrite expression on his fair face, Legolas looked at his friend, “I am sorry, Estel. I am just so...” he searched for the right word but couldn’t find it. “I am sorry,” he repeated. “I know I am behaving badly.”

The man shrugged. “I have certainly seen you conduct yourself more in keeping with that of a royal prince,” he said, then added, “Although I imagine you were quite a handful as an elfling.”

“I believe that was the predominant thinking at the time,” the elf admitted. He smiled, though it was lacking in mirth. “I do not mean to take my frustration out on you, Estel. You, Elrond, the twins, Glorfindel, the other healers have all sacrificed to help me, and all I have done is harshly demonstrate my bad temper toward you all.”

“We understand, Legolas. We are simply at a loss as to how to help you beyond the physical care we can give.” He looked at his friend. “I know the pride you have, Legolas. I know you regard this whole situation as a weakness, and you feel shame because of it. No one else thinks of it that way.”

“Lying here being tended to is driving me mad. Nothing has happened to give me hope that I will ever regain movement in my body. I am fast losing whatever hope I once held.”

The elf’s tone filled the ranger with dismay. “It has only been a little over two days, Legolas. You must...”

“Give it time. I know. But, surely in two days enough swelling has gone down to allow some movement alrady. If I am ever to get any of it back, I should know it by now.”

The man did not respond to that. What could he say that he hadn’t already said a hundred times before? He feared that the elf was not going to accept waiting much longer. If only he could wiggle one toe or one finger, even the tiniest bit, it would give him a tremendous lift and the determination to wait it out. However, there had not been even a twitch to hang his hopes on.

Aragorn had to work hard to hold back a sudden surge of pity. That is the one thing that would send Legolas retreating into his mind quicker than anything, and the man was determined that the elf would never see that emotion on his face, especially since he really didn’t feel that way. It was just so hard watching this all take place. Was he losing hope? *No,* he thought firmly. *I will not give up hope.*

In addition to waiting, Aragorn had also pointed out, for the hundredth time, the fact that Legolas was able to breathe on his own. The last time he had made that remark, Legolas had bitterly barked out that if he wasn’t breathing, he’d be happily existing in the Halls of Mandos with his mother.

Those words had caused the ranger to shout back that they were all trying to save the elf, and all he did was rail against them, not appreciating the efforts they were making. Both had reacted badly to that confrontation, silence descending on them until Aragorn had left and sent Elrohir in to keep the prince company. That had happened earlier that morning, before the argument that had caused Legolas to send Aragorn out of the room.

Their apologies to each other after such disagreements were wearing thin. The expressions of regret were always heartfelt, but they had been offered by both parties so often, they were beginning to sound hollow.

The apology Legolas had just offered to the ranger rang harshly in his own ears. He almost gave an apology for that.

A soft knock on the door brought a halt to the overt tension that permeated the room.

“Come,” Legolas said. He wasn’t really in the mood for company, but he decided that whoever it was could serve as a distraction before he and Estel said something neither could take back, no matter the reason behind it.

Elrond entered the room with a smile for a greeting. One look at first his son and then the Mirkwood elf told him that there had been another dispute between the two friends. He sighed. The situation was becoming impossible. Though Legolas had never lost his temper in Elrond’s presence, Elladan and Elrohir had been on the receiving end of such displays. They had commented on it only after Elrond had questioned them at length, promising not to reveal their confessions to him. They hadn’t wanted to make it appear they were telling tales about the woodland elf, but not leveling with their father was not an option.

“Estel, will you leave us?” Elrond asked, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Yes, Ada,” the man said. Uncharacteristically, he left without a word or even a glance at Legolas. That did not go unnoticed by either elf.

“The two of you have argued again,” the elf lord stated flatly.

Legolas sighed. “Yes. I have let my frustration bubble over into fits of temper. Estel has been nothing but generous and giving in his concern and care, but I am afraid I have sometimes come to resent it.” Realizing that what he said sounded terribly ungrateful, he hastened to add, “I appreciate what he does, but he wishes me to be my old cheerful self while I wait to see if I will have any kind of real life after this, and he becomes angry, in turn, when I do not show the joys of lying here immobile while being attended to.” He was not able to keep a note of bitter sarcasm out of his voice.

Elrond sat himself down in the chair that Aragorn usually occupied, since it was already close to the bed. “He only wants the best for you, as we all do.”

“I know that, Elrond. I really do. But, as I told him, I am losing hope that anything will ever come of waiting. I cannot feel any more of my body now than I did when I first awoke. How long must I be expected yo wait?”

The desperation in the young elf’s voice touched the elf lord’s heart. He was fully aware that his next comment would not answer the archer‘s question. “The impatience of youth.”

“It is not my youth that is the problem. I am young, yes, but I would feel this way were I your age.”

Elrond could not argue the point. How much patience would he be able to maintain in similar circumstances? One of the things he had learned in his long life was not to assume you would know how you would feel about anything, if you had not experienced it yourself.

After a few moments of silence, Elrond steeled himself to broach the subject he had come to discuss. “We have not settled the matter of notifying Thranduil of your condition.”

Legolas, whose eyes had previously reflected the contriteness he felt, suddenly flashed with fire. “We have settled it. I will not agree to telling my father what I did. It pains me to keep this secret from him, but I must. I cannot risk losing his respect and pride in me.”

“I know that Thranduil is your father, and you have spent much more time in his company than I, yet I have known him far longer. I do understand the pride he has in you. I have the same kind of pride in my own children. But, I would never condemn any of them for trying to save their family, no matter how they chose to do it.”

“You are not Thranduil.”

“True. We differ in many ways, some very fundamental ones. But he is a father. His love will overpower any other feeling. If you had only seen him while he was with you, before and after Mordraug had killed you, there would be no doubt left in your heart.”

Legolas realized that his entire argument had made it sound as if he didn’t trust his father’s love. That was not the case, but he still held a measure of fear that once Thranduil knew the truth, their relationship would suffer. He dreaded being forced to say to himself afterward, ‘Why did I not listen to my first instincts in this?’ Of course, then it would be too late to take any of it back.

“I had hoped to get you to change your mind before I told you what has transpired.”

“What?” Legolas asked with mounting trepidation.

“Cúran is here.”

The archer closed his eyes and groaned at the mention of the Mirkwood courier’s name. So, Thranduil had sent for word on when he would be returning home. “What have you told him?” Legolas asked, eyes still closed, as if that would prevent him from hearing what he feared to hear.

“I have not seen him as yet. His message was given to me by another, and Cúran was sent to the dining hall for refreshment. He expects me shortly. What do you wish me to tell him?”

It was clear that Elrond had decided to honor Legolas’s wishes. When the archer had been unconscious and in his care, the elf lord felt that he should make the decisions regarding the young prince. Now that Legolas was awake, how he dealt with his father was up to him, whether Elrond agreed with it or not.

Legolas’s first impulse was to say he would speak with Cúran himself. That idea caused a mental flinch. If that meeting occurred, there would have been no way to keep Thranduil from learning exactly what had happened.

Legolas had known a moment like this would come, but so far he had not come up with anything to say that could possibly assuage his father. He returned Elrond‘s gaze. “Will you tell Cúran what has happened to me without letting him know it was of my doing? I would never ask you to lie for me, and I truly do not wish to be deceptive, but he would be duty bound to tell my father everything he learns. This way he cannot tell what he does not know.”

Elrond knew that that was as close as he was going to get to letting the whole truth come out, at least for a while. “Your father will find the truth out eventually, Legolas. It is better to reveal it all now.“

“I cannot.”

With a deep sigh, Elrond nodded. “I will tell Cúran what I can, though I fear he will question me. He is likely to know I am keeping something from him and will probably insist on seeing you himself.”

“I think you are right, but I would not have him look upon this useless body. I think in this case, his imagination of what I look like is better than the fact of it. Tell him I am not up to seeing him, which is true enough.”

Elrond disagreed with this line of reasoning, yet he was not going to press the matter. Nodding, he left the room.

As he did so, Legolas called out, “I wish to be alone for a while.”

“To brood?” the elf lord couldn’t help asking.

“To think,” came the blond elf’s reply.

As the door was pulled shut, Legolas again closed his eyes. Was he doing the right thing? Whether Cúran actually saw him or not, he knew the courier would report his condition as it was, and that would upset not only his father but his whole family. At least, they would not know that he had tried to commit suicide.

Another idea slipped into his thoughts. “I cannot kill them now.’ He was going to have to settle for what comfort that knowledge brought to his troubled mind.

An hour later, Elrond retuned to Legolas’s room. His face was not that of a very satisfied elf.

Legolas was pretty sure what Elrond would say, but he waited respectfully for the elf lord to speak.

“As I predicted, Cúran insisted on seeing you. It took a great deal of talking on my part to convince him you did not want to see him without actually telling him that. He was, also as predicted, full of questions. He obviously cares for you very much.”

“He has always been good to me. More than once, when I was but a child, he let me carry his courier pouch to the edge of the forest around the palace, when he left on one of his trips. I know he is disappointed, not only for himself but also because he wants to accurately describe to my father what has befallen me. It is easier to make a report, when you have seen what you are reporting about.”

“There is time to change your mind about seeing him. He is not leaving until the morning.”

“I will consider it,” Legolas said, not really committing to an answer one way or another.

Elrond nodded, holding out at least a small measure of hope, though he knew that comment was primarily an effort to close the current discussion. “Just let me know.”

Changing the subject, he said, “It is almost time for the evening meal. I will have one of the twins bring you your food.”

‘Food?’ Legolas scoffed to himself. He thought about complaining about the gruel he was being fed but knew it would do no good. As long as he was forced to lie flat on his back and keep the movement of his head to a minimum, he could expect nothing else.

He almost laughed out loud. Here he was wanting so desperately to move some part of his body below his neck and couldn’t, and yet the one part of his body he was able to move, his head, he had to keep as still as possible. The bitter irony of it did not escape him.

As Elrond had hoped, Legolas changed his mind about seeing Cúran before he left for Mirkwood. The young elf stared up at the ceiling in contemplation, wondering if he had made a mistake in reversing his decision. ‘No matter what he asks about how it happened, I just have to refuse to tell him.’

Most communication between realms was done by bird, usually a hawk. The speedy birds cut the time for the delivery of messages tremendously. A most times, Thranduil employed this method, preferring the swifter falcons to the larger hawks. Yet often, his mode of communicating was by elven courier.

The king had found in Cúran an intriguing talent. The brown-haired elf could look at and talk to someone and, using his ability to observe verbal tones, body language, hand gestures, the casual word that seemed innocent, he could usually ascertain the truth behind what was being said. Thus, by trusting in the courier’s instincts, Thranduil gained information that he never would have received from just spoken or written words. As a result, the king often was able to get the upper hand in most dealings he had with others. He was also able to best those who might be attempting to deceive him.

Cúran had trained other elves in the technique of close observation, giving King Thranduil the advantage in understanding differing messages received from more than one realm at the same time. Talented as the couriers of Mirkwood were, none compared with Cúran, so naturally he was the one sent on the most delicate of missions. Finding out about the king’s youngest child certainly qualified in that regard.

All of this ran through Legolas’s head as he waited. He knew going in that nothing would escape the courier’s keen observations and that those observations would go straight to the king‘s ear. ’Have I made a mistake in allowing Cúran to see me?’ he asked himself yet again. Then suddenly there was no further chance to wonder, as a knock sounded on the door.

When Cúran entered Legolas’s room in the House of Healing, he could not avoid a sharp intake of breath. He did manage to keep his face from reflecting the shock he felt, even though he realized that Legolas could not see him where he now stood just inside the door. Seeing this beloved Prince of Mirkwood in such a state stunned him. He had been told what to expect, but his mind had not been prepared for the reality before him.

With a move that felt like he was dragging lead weights, the courier forced himself to step forward. “My lord,” he said, as he inclined his head and held his right fist over his heart, making sure he was close enough for Legolas to see him.

Legolas himself felt a stab of pain at the almost tortured look in Cúran’s eyes, something the courier had not been fast enough to hide. Legolas thought he also saw the beginning of tears forming there.

“Do not fret, Cúran. I will be fine.” He inwardly winced at the ease with which he had just lied to this friend and faithful servant that he had known his entire life. “Lord Elrond holds out great hope for my full recovery.” At least, that was the truth.

In a somewhat hushed voice, Cúran asked, “Lord Elrond told me that you fell from your balcony, and he described your injuries. Yet, I suspect he has deliberately hidden something from me. How did such a thing happen? ”

Legolas almost smiled. How well Elrond had predicted exactly what Cúran would say and do. He guessed it wouldn’t have been too hard a thing to do, especially for someone as wise and experienced as the Lord of Imladris.

“The details are unimportant,” the prince lied again. “You must tell my father that I am being well cared for. When movement returns to my body, I will personally send him a letter.”

“Your father will not wait for a letter.” They both knew the truth in that statement.

“Cúran, you must downplay what has happened. I will be fine, and I would not have the king upset enough to cross the mountains yet again on my behalf.”

The courier stated at his prince. How in all of Middle-earth was he supposed to downplay something like this? “You father will be upset no matter how I tell it. The very mention of you being paralyzed will send him into a frenzy. He will not be able to leave the realm fast enough.”

“Temporarily paralyzed,” Legolas corrected. “I told you what Lord Elrond said.”

“Yes, my lord, you did. Yet, I still say there is no way to tell King Thranduil of this that will not bring him here as fast as he is able to travel.”

“I know you speak true,” Legolas finally conceded, his voice reflecting his resignation of the inevitable.

Legolas noted that in the intervening silence, Cúran was looking at him closely. Legolas smiled. “I know your powers of observation, Cúran. You can see for yourself that except for the brace on my neck, I am well. Lord Elrond tells me that even my broken ribs are close to mending.”

The courier nodded, though he also believed that Legolas, like Lord Elrond, was holding something back. He also believed that neither was going to reveal it, so questioning would gain him no answers.

Legolas then asked a question that effectively changed the subject. “Tell me what became of the problem with the murdered human that required the king‘s personal attention?”

“Ah yes, that little problem,” Cúran sighed. “It turned out that the man had killed himself and did it inside Mirkwood‘s borders to put the blame on us. It seems he had held an old grudge against the elves of our realm from some incident years ago. That revelation embarrassed the men, who had demanded the king’s presence, and you can rest assured they will never do that again. Lord Thranduil had them apologizing all over themselves, and they all but slunk, bowing and scraping, out of the Great Hall, once he revealed what had really happened. They left Mirkwood in record time, I believe.”

“I do not doubt that for a moment.” Legolas couldn’t help but laugh. He had seen his father’s withering gaze, icy comments and firey yet rigid countenance reduce even other elves to masses of quaking terror. Few humans could withstand such a display.

A somewhat awkward silence then fell. Neither elf had forgotten the reason for Cúran’s visit.

Abruptly, Legolas said, “I think it is time that you headed back to Mirkwood, Cúran. My father will be anxiously awaiting your report that I am doing well.”

Cúran recognized that he was being dismissed with another gentle hint that he should not voice his deepest concerns to the king. He knew Legolas would never ask him to lie, something he could never have done anyway. He suspected that Legolas just wanted to save his father, as well as his whole family, more anguish. He also suspected Legolas wanted to keep from revealing whatever it was that he still kept secret.

“Give my love to my family,” Legolas told him, making sure that Cúran would indeed leave without him having to be told directly to do so. Ordering friends around had never been an easy thing for him to do, outside of the orders he gave as the leader of a warrior patrol.

“I will, my lord,” Cúran said, not offended by the dismissal but deeply saddened at not only his prince‘s condition but the fact that he was going to have to leave without finding out the secret Legolas and Lord Elrond were keeping.

“May the Valar speed your recovery.” The courier bowed, turned and left the room. He was glad he had seen Legolas, but the visit had not eased his concerns any. It would be a long, emotionally troubled journey back to Mirkwood.

Legolas sighed. He knew it wouldn’t be too long before Thranduil made another appearance in Rivendell. The archer fervently hoped that by the time his father did arrive, he would be able to move every part of himself that was supposed to move.

TBC