Aralas Oneshots

Guilt

Warning: mentions of blood and self-harm! Please don't read, if it makes you unwell!!

He was pressing the tip of the knife against his palm. It was a good knife, sharp and clean. He wondered, if it would hurt, if he pressed it slightly more. He traced the shape of the small lines on his hand. Yes, it definitely would, he thought. The skin was so delicate, that the knife immediately would cause great damage. 

Nonetheless, he pressed a little harder. A small trickle of blood ran from the cut and made a little stain on his tunic. He wiped it away halfheartedly. This was nothing. Nothing against what he had done. He'd have to continue this later on.

---

"How are you feeling?", Éowyn asked him, smart enough to not put a hand on his arm. She had done that once, right after the terrible thing happened, and he had almost gone at her with his knife, then broken down in crying and then fainted. So it was very smart of her to not do it again. She was an intelligent woman, Legolas knew, but she couldn't see what he was feeling inside. And he couldn't explain it.

"I don't want to talk to you", he replied and stared right ahead of him. It was his normal reaction, so Éowyn wasn't very surprised. Instead, she pushed a bowl of porridge in front of him, which he ignored, his usual reaction as well.

"He needs to eat, Éowyn", Faramir told her quietly. He and Éowyn were the leaders of the healing house in Minas Tirith, where Legolas currently lived. They had never asked him if he wanted to, just asumed it was the best for him. But they didn't know what was best for him. He knew. That's why he still had that knife under his mattress, for his use only. Everything else they had taken away, just his brush and a few clothes remained him, but all weapons were removed. He was lucky he'd been able to save the knife.

He stood up and turned around to leave the hall. But Faramir caught him and held him by his shoulders.

"Legolas, you must stay here now!", he demanded in a stern voice, but worry hid beneath this facade.

"I don't want to", the elf responded, pushing Faramir away. 

"You need to eat!", the man told him curtly. "You have to believe us! Right now, your mind doesn't know what is best for your body. You've suffered severe damage from a trauma, and we don't blame you. But Aragorn won't..."

Suddenly there was blood and Faramir was pushed to the ground. He cried out and held his jaw with his hand. The elf stood raging over him and he was afraid he'd get more punches, but then he spoke and said:

"How dare you say his name? How dare you, you ...you!!", he spat, but instead of continuing, he suddenly cried as if in pain and started sobbing helplessly. 

"Why did you do that?", Éowyn asked her husband angrily. "You know how he reacts!"

She wiped the blood away and poured on a healing salve on Faramir's jaw. The latter one cringed with the pain. 

"He needs to stop", he told her. "He's been like this for over a month, and if he doesn't eat soon, even his elven body won't bare it any longer!"

"We can't make him, he has to choose it for himself", she soothened the man, while helping him up. "We only need to make sure he's safe and be nice to him. Maybe then he'll start believing us, that it wasn't his fault!"

That at least was their plan. Which hadn't succeded very well until now, and both of them knew it. But they also knew, that they couldn't do anything else, if they didn't want to risk Legolas getting worse again. The first few days had been the most horrible. Legolas had been in a sort of coma, caused from trauma, and when he had woken up, he had been changed completely. To the worse. He wouldn't talk, wouldn't eat, barely drank, and did not sleep at all. And whenever someone spoke the name of Aragorn, he had broken down and several times hurt himself in his rage. Until now, not much had changed.