towerofanimus | (no subject)

Characters: Legolas (

bow_of_the_galadhrim), OPEN
Setting: Room 3-06 then Floor 48
Format: Prose but will switch
Summary: Finding his “costume” of his father and then exploring the new floors, only to find the graves of his friends.
Warnings: DENIAL and trying to dig up a grave or two because of said denial

Room 3-06

Legolas did not technically sleep, it was an elvish thing but he had been unaware for most of the night, resting. When he climbed out of bed in the morning though, he was surprised to find the costume he had worn sitting at the edge of the bed. Including the crown of Thranduil. He said nothing and gave no outward reaction but he carefully and fondly folded the costume and placed it inside his trunk, the crown being set on top of with even more care. As though it were made from the most valuable of materials.

And under his breath, soft enough that few outside of elves themselves would hear him, he uttered a small prayer to Iluvatar.

Floor 48

He‘d seen enough since he came to this tower. Seen enough to last him an entire life and that was saying something, considering elves were immortal. Finding the cemetery floor was just one of those toppings on a cake, or whatever it was that humans said. He tried to ignore the sight of the headstones until a name caught his eye. Aragorn. And then Boromir. And Faramir.

He could feel his chest tighten at the sight of his friends names. Two members of the Fellowship right there. Seemingly right below his feet. He took a step back, eyes blinking in denial, holding back tears he knew might fall.

They couldn‘t be dead.

And the another name caught his eyes.

Gimli.

Dropping to his knees, the prince just stared for the longest time.

For Haldir - Floor 48

He’ll find Legolas on his knees, digging at Gimli‘s grave with his bare hands. He simply can‘t believe that the dwarf is dead. He‘d been taking him to the Undying Lands with him. Gimli simply couldn‘t have died! His hands and clothes are dirty but he has his face set in determination.

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He almost let that hurt him, being shoved away like that. And he wasn't entirely sure why it hurt so much to be pushed away. The moment Haldir removed his gloves though, his heart sank at the sight and his gaze softened.

"Haldir..." He wasn't entirely sure what he could say, but the sight obviously distressed him. His hands were still filthy from digging at Gimli's grave so he didn't dare reach to look over his hands more carefully.

"You should have come to Gandalf or I about this. These could get worse, perhaps even enough that you won't be able to hold a blade again." Legolas' voice is very soft, worried, almost even pained now that he knows that Haldir has been suffering.

Idly feeling the harsh scars that formed upon his once immaculate flesh, a deep sigh escaped Haldir once Legolas spoke of the wizard. "I cannot go to him." He replied with great sorrow. "I do not wish for anyone to know my shame." Unwilling to seek the aid of others due to his broken pride, Haldir tried his best to treat his wounds away from prying eyes. Yet, the entire ordeal proved to be too much for him to handle. Another testament that the march warden would face impossible odds for the sake of honor.

"It would shame me too much to go to him."

"There's no shame in seeking help when you've been injured." The younger elf said softly, reaching to Haldir's shoulder once more. He wanted to comfort the march warden more than anything and he understood, to an extent, how he felt about keeping others from knowing.

"You know that it's nearly impossible to hide anything from the White Wizard but I'll not speak of it with him if you don't wish me to." That, of course, didn't mean that Legolas wasn't going to try to seek help. He definitely would be. "Let me help you bandage them again. Come."

He wouldn't take no for an answer.

While had hoped to keep this a secret from Gandalf, the march warden knew that would be a fool's errand. As much as he truly detests the thought of troubling anyone with his wounds, Haldir figured it wouldn't be long until the Maia figured something was amidst. "If he must know of my failures, then perhaps I shall tell him whenever my courage returns to me." He muttered in a low hushed whisper; his gaze downcast as he followed Legolas' lead.

"Until that day not a word, please." How contrary this was. Is he actually begging Legolas not to assist him with a matter as grave as this? The march warden's pride surely must know it's limits. Those awful wounds were already on the verge of infection. If left untreated, Haldir may never draw a blade again.

"It is not a failure that you were injured, Haldir." His pride, Legolas would get through it. There was no way that Legolas would let his hands grow any worse than they already had.

Legolas was quick with leading the way to the infirmary and making Haldir sit down. He didn't know half the things that were here but he knew a few things from Mirkwood. Warm water to clean the wounds and some salt, just a little to discourage infection, were poured into a bowl for Haldir to soak his hands in and Legolas set it before the march warden before digging through the cabinets for bandages to rewrap his hands.

"I will go to Gandalf then. And I will ensure that he does not know that it is you who was injured."

Does Legolas realize how truly kind he is? Haldir couldn't help but smile somewhat at the Mirkwood royal. The more he learned about the prince, the more he finds himself admiring him. "Endless thanks, Legolas." He replied quickly not liking the bashfulness that suddenly overwhelmed him. Idly eying the infirmary warily, Haldir does as he's instructed with little fuss.

He knew that the prince would wear him down with endless nagging if he doesn't abide his wishes now. So he sat down upon a sturdy chair, and allowed for Legolas to tend his wounds. Haldir felt so silly now. Why in the name of the Valar must this elf fawn over him so? These grievous burns weren't so terrible, or so Haldir believed until he soaked his hands within the salt water.

A strained hiss escaped him as he had to force himself to keep his hands submerged. "This certainly burns." He complained aloud.

He grabbed what bandages he could find, not bothering to check which ones were the longer of them just yet and setting them out. He grabbed another chair and pulled it over to Haldir so he could look over his hands. The prince did give Haldir a smile though, pleased that he didn't argue against him.

"You needn't hold them in any longer now. Just enough that it will clean it properly without having to scrub." He checked the bandages now, unraveling a roll and extending his hands for one of Haldir's so he could wrap it.

"I wish you'd have come to me sooner, Haldir."

A strange look settled within those dark sapphire depths as he stared at Legolas' hand. Does he truly want to mar such delicate hands with his grotesque ones? Even if the burns heal, Haldir's hands will still be terribly scarred. This truth shamed him more so than the strange feelings that overwhelmed him now. Hesitatingly offering his right hand to Legolas, the march warden did his best to hold his silence. He feared that if any words were to be spoken between them, he would soon regret them tenfold.

Legolas glanced at him when he noticed the hesitation. Of course Legolas had cleaned his own hands quickly while Haldir soaked his hands so he wasn't concerned about causing extra harm to his companion. When Haldir did slowly offer his hand, he took it very carefully and began to wrap his hand, tight enough that they wouldn't fall off but loose enough that there wouldn't be any chance of slowing the healing process.

"These should hold until tomorrow. I shall hope that I can find Gandalf by then." He said softly, releasing the freshly bandaged hand then and reaching for the other.