Disclaimer: I do not own the LOTR or Marvel! (although wouldn't that be amazing...)

There was so much pain. It felt as if white hot knives were being drawn through his flesh; his very bones were on fire; his throat torn raw from screaming until he could only howl in silent agony.

He could hear voices, far-off and distant, as if they were at the other end of a very long tunnel. Loki tried to make out what they were saying, but he couldn't hear them over the voices screaming in his own mind.

"Monster…disgrace…argr…stolen relic…not worthy… a shadow…"

Monster. That's what he was, wasn't it. He was a monster.

And this was his punishment.

Hands touched his shoulders; he jerked away in response. No, go away, his mind cried. Why can you not leave me be?

The hands came back; he pushed them away, and another voice cut like a knife through the chaos surrounding his tormented mind. It spoke in a strange tongue, one he could not understand, yet it calmed him, soothing him. The voice was most certainly feminine, and it rolled over him like a cooling rain upon his burning flesh.

"Avo 'osto. Gerich faer vara. Avo visto. Tolo sí, aphado nin."

The pain that had been holding him in its iron-like grip began to lessen ever so slightly, and Loki forced his heavy eyes open. As if through a sheet of fog, Loki saw a young woman, with black tresses flowing out behind her. It was her voice that he was hearing, and he began to open his mouth, to try to say something to her, to ask her who she was and what was going on and why he was in so much pain, but the woman merely draped a finger on his lips and whispered, "Shhhh. Estelio nin."

Her voice was like a balm; the words, although incomprehensible, were keeping the dark thoughts at bay. Loki didn't know how, or why, but he relished in the silence, and found himself unable to keep his eyes open any longer. They fluttered shut, his body and mind at peace, and he drifted off into the waiting darkness.

oOoOoOo

"How is he?"

"As well as could be expected. Although…"

"Yes?"

"It is remarkable, his healing abilities. If he were a mere man, he surely would have succumbed to these wounds hours ago—yet he still lives."

"Has he awoken?"

"Only once, my lord, although it was only for a few minutes and I don't believe he knew we were there."

"Thank you, Dior."

"My lord."

The elf lord bowed his head as he took his leave of Elrond. Lord Elrond stood at the foot of the wounded man's bed, gazing upon the stranger that his daughter had found lying in the forest. The man's face was pale, with high cheekbones and a delicate jaw, with dark strands of hair that swept across his forehead. He looked young, no more than twenty in human years, although there were lines of care on his youthful face that could only come from the wisdom of many years. There was a gash along the right side of his face, and numerous other scrapes covered the rest of his body. But they were only scrapes—why, then, did Arwen tell him that the man had been screaming when she found him, as if his life itself were at stake?

Shaking his head slightly, Elrond sighed through his nose, the weight of his many years weighing down on his shoulders. Glancing at the polished floor, Elrond wondered if this man had anything to do with the hobbit that he also had in his care. It was too much of a coincidence for them both to arrive on the same day, in varying states of distress. If all his long years had taught him anything, it was to never dismiss something as mere chance. No—there was something, some connection between the two, and he was going to find out what it was.

The man stirred, and Elrond snapped his gaze onto him. He cried out softly, murmuring strange words. Elrond stepped closer, leaning forward slightly, hoping to learn something about this strange man and who he was, and he caught the words "brother" and "I'm sorry." The rest was either incomprehensible muttering or spoken in a different tongue. Elrond leaned back, staring at the dark-haired man. On top of everything else he had to worry about, now he also had to figure this new mystery out. By the Valar, he didn't even know if the man was friend or foe, or if he was even a man at all.

"Who are you?" Elrond muttered, not that he expected the man to answer. So he was shocked when the man's eyes cracked open and he found himself staring into brilliant green irises.

"My name," the man croaked, his voice still raw. "Is Loki."

With that, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped further onto the pillows.

Elrond stared in astonishment, bewildered that the man had answered him, and more confused than he would like to admit.

Loki. The man's name was Loki.

oOoOoOo

There were voices coming from the room at the end of the hall. One was deep and gruff; the other was light and boyish. It would appear that one of the patients had woken up, and Elrond was a little irked that he had not been notified. He began to make his way down the elegant corridor, pausing only to check on the still-unconscious stranger. There was a lull in the conversation, and Elrond was mere steps away from the door when the higher voice said, "Gandalf. What is it?" After another small pause, the gruff voice ominously replied, "Nothing, Frodo…"

"Frodo! Frodo! Bless you, you're awake!" Elrond heard the pitter patter of hobbit feet hitting the floor as a third voice joined the conversation. Standing in the doorway, he was able to see the hobbit rush over to Frodo's side, grabbing his arm.

The old wizard sitting to the right of Frodo chuckled. "Sam has hardly left your side." The dark-haired hobbit shot a grateful look at Sam, who said in earnest, "We were worried about you—weren't we, Mr. Gandalf?"

Elrond took that as his cue to enter. He locked eyes with Gandalf, who beamed at the sight of his old friend. "By the skills of Lord Elrond, you're beginning to mend." Stepping up to the side of Frodo's bed, Elrond looked down at the small hobbit, who had come to him bearing such a great wound. He was pleased to see that there was some color back in his pale cheeks, and his blue eyes were bright and clear, as they should be, though he was struck by the similarities between the hobbit before him and the man lying in the adjacent room. Shaking off this thought, Elrond smiled.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins."

A/N: This idea has been in my head for a while now, and I finally got the guts to write it out.

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