"Magnet students will slide if you let them slide, because they are just
like other kids. But if you push them, they will do incredible things."
~Mr. Akeson (my math teacher)
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof.
This story is the second in a series, the first is called 'Tearful at the Falling of a Star'. Each can go on their own, if you don't feel like reading the other, but there may be references later in this series. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story!
*****Present date:
"Estel?" Legolas called softly, knocking on his friend's door. "May I come in?" The door gave way as he knocked. Gently, unsure, Legolas rested one hand on the doorknob. Would it be all right if he went in? Estel might mind, might consider it an invasion of his privacy. Yet Legolas felt intimate with the edan, even after so short a time of knowing him, and so took a great chance and swung open the door.
The smell hit him first. It was an old, stale smell, a smell of air kept pent up for far too long in too small a space. It was a smell of rot, and a smell of decay. Legolas's thoughts went to gangrene, which he had smelled only once in his life: the rotting away of flesh on the still-living body. Somewhere, in this foul-smelling room, was Estel, and so Legolas took a step in and shut the door behind him.
It was dark inside, taking a moment for even Elven eyes to adjust. Dust floated about, not seeming to care where it went and on what it landed. Legolas flinch; dust was composed largely of dead skin. He kept on going however, toeing aside a soiled tunic, which he identified as the one Estel rode in wearing one week past. Legolas, not looking where he was going, felt his foot sink into something loathsome--and looking, he saw that it was indeed a sandwich, gone wrong.
In the darkness, Legolas picked his way across the room to the bed. Estel was buried beneath the coverlet, one arm hanging limply out from beneath the covers. The knuckles of his hand nearly brushed the floor, but not quite. Though his skin was still darker than an Elf's skin might be, it had lightened from the tan color it had turned after so much exposure to the sun.
"Estel," Legolas said, laying a hand on his friend's back and shaking him slightly. "Wake up, Estel."
"No," groaned the bedsheets. "Go away."
"Come on, you lazy edan," Legolas joked, throwing open the curtains over the window. He moved to pull away Estel's coverlet, but did not manage: Estel caught his wrist. "And why in Arda not?" demanded the Elven prince.
"I'm not dressed," Estel informed him. "Not decently, at any rate. . ."
Legolas thought on this, then grabbed the coverlet and, in one swift motion, yanked it away. "You have nothing I have not seen before," he informed his undershorts-clad young friend. Estel was splayed across the mattress in an odd fashion; his appendages spread out, his face pressed into his pillow. "Now, this will not do," said Legolas, grasping Estel's shoulders and pulling the younger boy into sitting position.
"No," Estel protested, limp black hair falling into his grey-blue eyes and away from them again. Estel slumped his shoulders, hands like rags lying on his thighs. Gooseflesh rose on his arms, but he could not be bothered about it.
Seeing that Estel would do nothing, Legolas crossed to the dresser and plucked out a clean tunic and clean trousers. As an afterthought, he grabbed a hairbrush before returning to his friend. Legolas handed the clothing to Estel, who seemed not to know what to do with it. He was no longer refusing to act: he had not the energy to. He had even forgotten how, perhaps.
"Put your arms up," Legolas instructed, raising his chin to demonstrate as he gathered up the tunic. Estel raised his arms over his head obediently. Shaking his head, Legolas pulled Estel's arms through the tunic and pulled it down over his chest. He grabbed the trousers, then paused. "Estel, if I have to do this, I will, but you will not like suffering the consequences of it," he warned. Estel took the trousers and slowly pulled them on.
"May I go back to sleep now?" he asked.
"No," Legolas said firmly. "Estel, we need to talk. We can spar if you like, or go for a walk, or anything, but you need to get up. This will not help you, it will kill you." Estel's eyes gleamed in a way that told Legolas that was the point. Before he knew what he was doing, Legolas drew back his arm and slapped Estel.
"Ouch!" he exclaimed.
"I am sorry, but Estel! At least you can still feel pain. This is -not- the answer! Get up!"
"No. . .I do not like you," he proclaimed. "You slapped me." His hands had not moved; Estel had hardly moved when Legolas slapped him and he did not move to touch his cheek.
"Would you rather discuss this with your Ada? Lord Elrond awaits your report, Estel. Would you rather speak to me first, or go directly to him?"
Estel quivered. With Legolas he would not need to speak, he knew, simply be active, maybe just get outside for a few hours. With Lord Elrond, Estel would be forced to go over the entire incident, every fact, from start to finish. He knew full well that he could not do so.
Suddenly Estel snapped, and broke into a fit of tears. Legolas sat down beside him on the bed, and put an arm around his friend. Estel curled up on the bed, curling against Legolas, crying out weeks' worth of tears, sobbing out endless grief, sorrow, and regret. For a long time Estel just sat and cried. And Legolas rubbed his back, trying hard not to remember. . .
*****
TBC
~Mr. Akeson (my math teacher)
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof.
This story is the second in a series, the first is called 'Tearful at the Falling of a Star'. Each can go on their own, if you don't feel like reading the other, but there may be references later in this series. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story!
*****Present date:
"Estel?" Legolas called softly, knocking on his friend's door. "May I come in?" The door gave way as he knocked. Gently, unsure, Legolas rested one hand on the doorknob. Would it be all right if he went in? Estel might mind, might consider it an invasion of his privacy. Yet Legolas felt intimate with the edan, even after so short a time of knowing him, and so took a great chance and swung open the door.
The smell hit him first. It was an old, stale smell, a smell of air kept pent up for far too long in too small a space. It was a smell of rot, and a smell of decay. Legolas's thoughts went to gangrene, which he had smelled only once in his life: the rotting away of flesh on the still-living body. Somewhere, in this foul-smelling room, was Estel, and so Legolas took a step in and shut the door behind him.
It was dark inside, taking a moment for even Elven eyes to adjust. Dust floated about, not seeming to care where it went and on what it landed. Legolas flinch; dust was composed largely of dead skin. He kept on going however, toeing aside a soiled tunic, which he identified as the one Estel rode in wearing one week past. Legolas, not looking where he was going, felt his foot sink into something loathsome--and looking, he saw that it was indeed a sandwich, gone wrong.
In the darkness, Legolas picked his way across the room to the bed. Estel was buried beneath the coverlet, one arm hanging limply out from beneath the covers. The knuckles of his hand nearly brushed the floor, but not quite. Though his skin was still darker than an Elf's skin might be, it had lightened from the tan color it had turned after so much exposure to the sun.
"Estel," Legolas said, laying a hand on his friend's back and shaking him slightly. "Wake up, Estel."
"No," groaned the bedsheets. "Go away."
"Come on, you lazy edan," Legolas joked, throwing open the curtains over the window. He moved to pull away Estel's coverlet, but did not manage: Estel caught his wrist. "And why in Arda not?" demanded the Elven prince.
"I'm not dressed," Estel informed him. "Not decently, at any rate. . ."
Legolas thought on this, then grabbed the coverlet and, in one swift motion, yanked it away. "You have nothing I have not seen before," he informed his undershorts-clad young friend. Estel was splayed across the mattress in an odd fashion; his appendages spread out, his face pressed into his pillow. "Now, this will not do," said Legolas, grasping Estel's shoulders and pulling the younger boy into sitting position.
"No," Estel protested, limp black hair falling into his grey-blue eyes and away from them again. Estel slumped his shoulders, hands like rags lying on his thighs. Gooseflesh rose on his arms, but he could not be bothered about it.
Seeing that Estel would do nothing, Legolas crossed to the dresser and plucked out a clean tunic and clean trousers. As an afterthought, he grabbed a hairbrush before returning to his friend. Legolas handed the clothing to Estel, who seemed not to know what to do with it. He was no longer refusing to act: he had not the energy to. He had even forgotten how, perhaps.
"Put your arms up," Legolas instructed, raising his chin to demonstrate as he gathered up the tunic. Estel raised his arms over his head obediently. Shaking his head, Legolas pulled Estel's arms through the tunic and pulled it down over his chest. He grabbed the trousers, then paused. "Estel, if I have to do this, I will, but you will not like suffering the consequences of it," he warned. Estel took the trousers and slowly pulled them on.
"May I go back to sleep now?" he asked.
"No," Legolas said firmly. "Estel, we need to talk. We can spar if you like, or go for a walk, or anything, but you need to get up. This will not help you, it will kill you." Estel's eyes gleamed in a way that told Legolas that was the point. Before he knew what he was doing, Legolas drew back his arm and slapped Estel.
"Ouch!" he exclaimed.
"I am sorry, but Estel! At least you can still feel pain. This is -not- the answer! Get up!"
"No. . .I do not like you," he proclaimed. "You slapped me." His hands had not moved; Estel had hardly moved when Legolas slapped him and he did not move to touch his cheek.
"Would you rather discuss this with your Ada? Lord Elrond awaits your report, Estel. Would you rather speak to me first, or go directly to him?"
Estel quivered. With Legolas he would not need to speak, he knew, simply be active, maybe just get outside for a few hours. With Lord Elrond, Estel would be forced to go over the entire incident, every fact, from start to finish. He knew full well that he could not do so.
Suddenly Estel snapped, and broke into a fit of tears. Legolas sat down beside him on the bed, and put an arm around his friend. Estel curled up on the bed, curling against Legolas, crying out weeks' worth of tears, sobbing out endless grief, sorrow, and regret. For a long time Estel just sat and cried. And Legolas rubbed his back, trying hard not to remember. . .
*****
TBC