Chapter Fifty Nine

“Do it,” the blond elf said somewhat forcefully.

“No, Legolas. I can’t do that.” The man was just as forceful. “I can’t undo your warrior braids. They mean too much to you.”

“They are the symbol of a warrior, Estel. I am no longer a warrior. I will never be one again.” Both anger and regret flashed in the depths of the blue-gray eyes of the elf.

“I know it has been over a week since you fell...”

“Jumped,” Legolas corrected. “Say it like it is, Estel. I jumped.”

“Since you jumped,” the man said, amending his previous remark “A week is not long enough to decide that your fate is irretrievably sealed, and you will never move again.”

“Is that the healer in you speaking? Because, if it is, you are falling down in your training. You have been taught to be realistic in assessing injuries, have you not?”

Aragorn put both hands behind his back, because he was clenching them into fists, and he did not want the elf to see the results of his anger.

Legolas’s own anger had diminished. He was now speaking in a cold, concise manner that was more upsetting than his previous antagonism had been.

Legolas could see the slight strain on the mans’ face and knew exactly what the ranger was doing. “I know you are upset with me, Estel. I may be paralyzed, but I still have brain function enough to be that perceptive.”

It took the vision of the shiny metal brace around his friend’s neck to keep the ranger from grabbing the obstinate elf and shaking him until some kind of sense rattled free. Instead, he only clenched his fists tighter until his fingernails dug into the skin of his palms.

Before blood could be drawn, he relaxed his hands in defeat. “Very well, Legolas. If you wish me to undo your braids, then I will undo them.” Without another word, he leaned over and picked up the small braid that was lying in front of the elf’s left ear. Holding back the urge to yank stubbornly at the pale gold hair in frustration, Aragorn began unwinding the braid. When he had finished with that one, he walked around the bed and repeated the maneuver on the right side.

As intent on his distasteful task as he was, he still couldn’t help but notice that Legolas’s eyes were closed tightly, as if he was fighting against a physical pain. Also noticed was a tear that made its way from the corner of Legolas’s eye, down across his temple and into the edge of his hair, very close to where Aragorn was working. Seeing that completely disarmed the man of his anger toward the elf, replacing it with the compassion that anger had buried earlier.

With a much calmer demeanor, Aragorn pulled his fingers through the elf’s hair, taking out the tangles the braids had created. Straightening up, the man said, “There. It’s done. Your warrior braids are gone.” He hoped that his stark words would somehow elicit a reaction from the elf. He almost held his breath, hoping that Legolas would change his mind and ask for them to be rebraided. Such a request never came.

Shaking his head, Aragorn sat down heavily in the chair on the right side of the bed. It was farther back from the bed than the chair he usually sat in, which allowed for him to let his emotions play out on his face without being seen by the object of those emotions.

The man suddenly felt very tired. There was no reason for such weariness on a physical level. Between all the others, who tended to Legolas, no one person was allowed to overextend themselves. It was the ranger’s emotions that were draining him. Tending to the injured elf had become a thankless job, although he knew that deep down, the rational part of Legolas appreciated the efforts made on his behalf. However, on the surface, the elf was often either belligerent, sarcastic or downright angry, and, at the worst of times, all three at once. The rest of the time he spent in brooding silence.

It hurt the man that nothing could be done to kindle in Legolas at least the semblance of hope, if nothing else.

Each time he arrived at the elf’s room, Aragorn held his breath, fearing he would find that Legolas had fled into his mind and would be lost to them all forever. When, each time, he found that not to be the case, he felt guilty that he had had such a thought, reasonable as it sometimes was.

Three hours before, on this particular morning, there had been a message, carried by a falcon, from Crown Prince Balardoron of Mirkwood, stating that King Thranduil had left the elven realm before dawn that morning on his way to Imladris No one had told Legolas, fearing it would upset the young prince even more than his circumstances already had.

Aragorn sighed. Perhaps the king could bring Legolas’s hopes back to the fore. Certainly, no one in Rivendell had been able to do it so far.

The man was startled out of his thoughts, when Legolas said, “When is my father arriving?”

“In a few days, I would think,” the ranger replied matter-of-factly. There was no use feigning surprise at the question. His elven friend knew him too well even to make an attempt at pretence.

He was also not surprised, when Legolas asked, “When did the message arrive?”

“A few hours ago.”

The elf made no comment. He knew why that fact had been kept from him. He almost made the remark that now they were keeping things from him, because they did not trust him not to react badly. To his own surprise, he was not angry, and that was in part because he knew they were right.

“I will...” Legolas began and then stopped short. He could not say the words that he was thinking. And they were that he would tell his father goodbye when he arrived.

“You will what?” the ranger asked.

“Nothing.” Legolas replied. He was relieved, when Aragorn didn’t press him for an explanation.

It had been eight days since his neck was broken. Elrond had told him yesterday that the swelling was gone. The elf lord had been filled with sadness that he had to deliver such news. On the surface, it sounded like great news. But because there had been no progress in the young elf being able to feel any part of his body, the news only served to point up that fact. The elven healer could be nothing but completely honest with his young patient, so he had told him the truth.

Elrond no longer expressed his belief that Legolas would gain the use of his body. Deep down the elf lord still clung to that belief, as they all did, but continually saying it only angered Legolas or caused him to shut down and retreat into a morose silence.

Despite the fact that Legolas could not see Aragorn’s face right now, he knew the man was close to the end of his rope, trying so desperately to encourage the elf while taking care of his needs and getting nothing but grief in return. Legolas felt a deep sorrow about that, but he had also found himself powerless to correct it. Try as he might, he had not been able to alter his behavior, which had seemed to go out of control all on its own without his bidding.

A few days ago, even a few hours ago, he would have reacted badly to the idea that a message had come from his brother regarding the immanent arrival of his father. Now, there was no point in making a scene. He had become resigned to his fate. Somehow that fact was not comforting. *It is time to leave,* he told himself.

Just wait. Just wait. The words began echoing in his mind. He knew they referred to him waiting for movement to return. He had a different idea. *I will wait---until my father arrives, and then I will depart to the Greenwood of my own making.*

Legolas thought back to the letter he had written to Thranduil right before he had left for the valley forest to confront Mordraug. There is nothing he could say in person that could possibly express his feelings any better. Yet, he knew he could not leave without telling Thranduil why he was going to do what he had decided he must do. Perhaps, his passing would be easier to accept, if his father did not have to deal with a son, who had tried to take the easy way out of a difficult situation. His only regret was seeing the look of disappointment in his father’s eyes, when he told him why he had fallen from his balcony. He realized now that he could not keep that news from Thranduil.

It looked like the Avari was about to win after all. He was banished to suffer a terrible punishment, but now with Legolas on the very edge of giving in to despair, the dark elf’s relentless assault on him had paid off. At least, he wouldn’t be able to gloat, since he would never know the result of his mind control. It was only a small consolation to Legolas, but it brought a smile to the elf’s lips. However, the smile soon faded.

*Wjy am I giving up?* Legolas demanded to himself. *Why am I letting Mordraug win?* He mentally shook his head. *Because I no longer have anything to offer to my king, my family, my friends, my people or myself. Because I am useless now,* came the logical answer. Legolas could almost hear those words spoken with Mordraug’s voice followed by the evil elf’s taunting laughter. He listened intently to make sure it was just his imagination, though he knew it was.

*Why am I such a coward?* The elf continued with his mental musings. *That has never been true of me before.* He thought back to all the battles he had fought in his long life. He had killed and nearly been killed by the minions of the Dark Lord. During those times, he had faced death with courage. Courage. Such a simple word for such a defining part of a warriors’ character. Courage was not facing death unafraid. Courage was facing death in spite of the fear. *How did I lose it? When did I lose it?*

Legolas knew deep down that he could not blame all of his thoughts of fleeing into his mental refugee on the Avari. He had to put more of the blame than he cared to admit squarely on himself.

His mind came back once again to thoughts of his father‘s reaction to what he had done. He had told Elrond that his father would believe that there had to have been another way to defeat Mordraug without attempting to take his life. Was that true? Had there been another way? Would he have been able to hold out against the dark elf long enough to find it? After the incident with his flowers, he did not believe so. Yet, he had convinced himself that Thranduil would not accept that fact. His father never openly admitted to defeat. There was always another way to get something accomplished. That is why Legolas was so afraid of his father’s reaction to his suicide attempt.

A crazy thought made its way into the questioning mind of the elf prince. Would Thranduil also be disappointed that, once his son had decided on what he would do to try and rid himself of Mordraug’s control, he couldn’t even accomplish that simple course of action? Was that not also a form of failure his father would frown on? How could he doubt his father this way?

As all of those thoughts and questions swirled in Legolas’s mind, a sudden rage swept through the elf that he had never felt before, not even during the times he had seen elves die at the hands of orcs or wargs had he experienced such fury.

The intensity of the emotion was so overwhelming it almost stole his breath. Legolas had become so enraged that he balled his hands into fists and slammed them down on the bed over and over, trying to rid himself of all the raw emotions he had been feeling since his fall, or more accurately, since he first laid eyes on Mordraug.

*NO!’* the elf raged inwardly. *I WILL NOT GIVE UP. MORDRAUG WILL NOT DEFEAT ME!’ I WILL NOT DEFEAT MYSELF!*

The pounding fists were soon accompanied by a strangled cry that quickly built up into a primal scream of pent-up torment, pain and anguish.

Startled nearly to death, Aragorn, his heart lurching in his chest, jumped up to see what the trouble was, thinking something terrible must have happened to the elf. When he realized what actually had happened, he stared in absolute shock. “Legolas, your hand,” was all he managed to get out.

Legolas expected a remark to be made about his scream, but he had no idea why Estel would mention his hand. “What?” the elf asked, still unaware of what he had done.

“You moved your right hand. In fact, you made a fist and hit the bed with it. Didn’t you feel it?” His voice reflected the man’s continued disbelief in what had happened and the fact the elf seemed totally unaware of it.

Legolas stared at the ranger. He knew what he had imagined himself doing, but had it happened for real? If it had all been in his mind, how then would Estel know about it?

He tried to lift his arm to look at the hand in question but couldn’t manage it. His heart sank. “I do not feel my hand, Estel. You must have dozed off and dreamed it.” The disappointment in the archer’s voice was evident.

“I think not. Your fingers were relaxed and straight before. Now, look at them.” Aragorn held up the elf’s right arm, moving it so that Legolas could see the fingers that were still curled into a loose fist.

Legolas’s eyes stared first at the fist Aragorn held up and then at the eyes looking back at him. The biggest smile he had ever seen slowly spread across the ranger’s face.

“I knew it! I knew it! You can move!” So excited was the man that he unceremoniously dropped Legolas’s arm and charged out of the room, saying he was going to find his father.

Legolas concentrated on his right hand, trying to flex his fingers back and forth. He couldn’t see them, but he was sure he felt a tingle. He closed his eyes and let all of the appropriate senses seek out more evidence that he had indeed had a physical reaction to his intense emotional outburst.

There it was again. A definite tingle traveling up his fingers. His heart almost exploded from the sheer joy of that tiny feeling. “I can feel my fingers,” he said aloud. “I can feel my fingers!”

A few seconds later, Aragorn, with Elrond and the twins following, came into the room. “Look, Ada. You can see his fingers are curled up. He did that on his own.”

Elrond approached the bed and lifted Legolas arm, turning it so that the palm of the archer’s hand was facing up. There was a possibility that the muscles had contracted that had nothing to do with function retuning to the nerves controlling them. He gently straightened the young elf’s long, slender fingers. “Do you feel this?”

“I think so,” Legolas replied tentatively. “I am sure I felt a tingle twice while Estel was gone.”

Elrond’s face did not betray any emotion. He would neither offer false hope nor would he express any discouragement until he was sure. “What about this?” he asked, as he lowered Legolas’s arm out of the prince’s line of vision and then pinched his forefinger rather hard.

“I feel pressure,” Legolas informed the healer.

“On which finger?”

“My forefinger. It feels as if it is being pressed onto a hard surface, but,” he added almost sadly, “there is no pain.” He believed that Elrond was doing something to hurt him enough to bring on pain, and he wasn’t feeling it the way he should have. He continued looking at Elrond’s face for some kind of reaction.

“Try to move your fingers,” Elrond instructed in his very familiar healer’s tone of voice.

The effort to make his fingers move showed on Legolas’s face. He had his mouth clamped shut, and his eyes were almost closed with the strain of putting all his strength into making just one of his fingers move. He didn’t think he could take the crushing blow his inability to do that would cause. There was no room for that thought right now, so he firmly pushed it away and continued to will a finger to move.

A noise from Aragorn made Legolas look over toward his friend. The smile on the ranger’s face said it all. “Did I do it?” the wood elf asked anxiously.

“Yes, you most certainly did!” Aragorn happily informed his friend. “You moved all four of them.”

Elrond gripped the elf’s hand in both of his and squeezed. It was not a test this time. It was done simply out of relief and pure happiness.

The twins, standing at the foot of the bed, let out whoops of joy. “I knew that famous Mirkwood stubbornness would end up being good for something besides exasperating the rest of us,” Elladan remarked, his smile matching that of his human brother.

“It is about time, too,” Elrohir said, his own smile softening his words. There was no harshness in his tone. He was too happy to offer up any criticism of the prince’s recent behavior.

Elrond lowered Legolas’s right arm and went around to the other side of the bed and then lifted his left arm. He pinched Legolas’s little finger. “Do you feel this?” he asked calmly.

“No,” the young elf replied rather dejectedly. “I feel nothing in that hand at all.” He was sure that the pounding of his left fist had indeed been entirely in his mind.

Elrond smiled. “Do not be discouraged, Legolas. I never believed that you would suddenly gain feeling in all parts of your body at once. As I have said before, it will take time. However, it is clear that movement has begun to make itself known. And, I believe it will continue to do so.”

As Elrond had passed Elladan, still standing at the foot of the bed, he had nodded his head down toward Legolas’s feet. After the elf lord had tested the young elf’s left hand, Elladan had pinched one of Legolas’s toes, twisting it a bit to insure that, if feeling existed, the gesture would not go unnoticed. There had been no reaction to indicate that the wood elf had felt the pinch.

Elladan had given his father a subtle shake of his head.

Elrond decided not to mention that little test to Legolas. He wanted the young archer to concentrate on what he had been able to feel, not what he was still unable to feel.

Legolas could not keep himself from asking, “How long will it take to get the feeling back in my whole body so that I can move about?”

“There is no way to know, Legolas. It may take days, it may take weeks.” At the look of disappointment on the young archer’s face, Elrond smiled again. “Feeling and movement will come, Legolas. I am sure of it. We certainly have a good beginning.”

“Can you tell me when you will take this brace off of my neck?”

“Legolas, your neck is still broken, though it has healed a great deal already. You must keep the brace on until the healing is very close to complete. Any weakness that remains needs to be supported, or you could sustain another break, even from a move that under ordinary circumstance would cause no harm whatsoever.” He knew he didn’t need to say that if that happened, the most likely result this time would be permanent paralysis.

Legolas had been given another chance at a normal life, and he had no intention of risking it in any way, so he said, “I understand. I will not complain, as long as I know it will come off eventually.” He had hoped, but hadn’t really believed, that the brace could come off before Thranduil arrived. He did not want his father to have to see him with it on.

Elrond officially pronounced the prince on the road to recovery. He never would have said, ‘I told you so.’ but the thought did occurr to Legolas.

“You told me to be patient and that I would eventually be able to move. I will never doubt you again.” His tone and demeanor reflected the contriteness of his heart.

With the mock expression of a stern elf lord, Elrond said, “See that you do not, young one.” It felt good to say something that was light and carried a note of genuine mirth.

Legolas strained to move his eyes so that he could see the smiles he knew were all around him. He allowed the warmth that radiated from those smiles to wash over him.

It was only deep inside that he felt a twinge of foreboding. After all, there was still the impending meeting with his father to deal with. Shaking off that thought for now, he grinned at his best friend, standing next to the bed and grinning back at him.

TBC