concern clouds Elrond’s storm-grey eyes as he holds Legolas’ hands on his own, studying the limbs as they shook uncontrollably and listening to Legolas’ words. but it wasn’t just his hands, his whole body trembled as if with severe cold. it was unnatural, and only getting worse. if he didn’t know any better, he would say that Legolas was suffering from a common illness among the race of men. but that was impossible. to be cold was a foreign concept to most elves, and Legolas was struggling with it, so Elrond grabbed a blanket and put it around him for now. “it’s some kind of a poison,” he explains as he peels gently at the folds of Legolas’ clothes to reveal the injury again. he’d bandaged it once, but as he pulls back the bandages, it already needs one fresh. the skin is red, angry. the injury itself isn’t all that bad. a mild arrow wound, but in all honesty, Legolas barely got nicked. it was the poison doing all the work right now, making it so the wound would not close and heal. it’s a new threat, one that has already claimed the lives of two Noldorins, and now he had the prince of the Mirkwood realm in his healing room, and a worried king sending constant messengers. Elrond has been working himself constantly to try and fix this.
“some kind of new weapon against us,” he goes on as he measures some herbal soothers into a drink and offers it to Legolas. “drink this, if you can hold it, it should help warm you up.”
