eachdraidh | ( video ; seelie + unseelie )

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( video ; seelie + unseelie )

(ooc: link to a video representation here! tw for torture/blood)

THE DREAM;

[ It starts of as nothing more than blackness and screaming, the sounds flickering desperately and the panicked breathing soon taking over. When Hermione remembers this moment it's the pain that surfaces first, then the panic, then the horror of her memories, but it takes so, so long for the memories to crawl out and be more than just echoed sounds.

Then there are visions, flashes of a face bearing into her own, whispering to her and a wand moving in front of her eyes, the sound of a curse echoing around her body as she screams with the pain, twitching. Her vision swims, now, from the agony, even as she lies through her teeth - and she is lying, desperately, not expecting to be believed but relishing the fact that even now, when she's on her back on a cold floor with a witch trying to Crucio her to death, she can protect her best friends.

It doesn't take long for the other woman to come back and take over Hermione's light of sight completely, leaning close and shouting in her face even as she tries to bite back desperate sobs. It's almost impossible, not with the ravaging pain that's taking over her, and it's not until the woman moves to the side and jerks forward, body twitching as she does something out of Hermione's vision but she still screams, body lurching and everything twisting as she tries to get away.

Everything is burning pain and agony and there's nothing she can do but breathe and try to keep going, despite her tears, desperate sobs that overtake the entire nightmare. The one word that echoes, over and over, is Mudblood; mudblood, mudblood, each hiss like a stab to her heart and another cut to her body.

Eventually, finally, the screaming is over, her voice is hoarse, and she's left just... Staring. Her gaze is a little fuzzy and distant, a little lost, and her hands twitch a little, her body readjusting to it's pain threshold being pushed too far, too fast, pulling all her energy out of her and leaving her worse for it. Eventually there are more whispered shouts behind her and a hand lifts, grabbing her, a knife pressed to her throat and her best friends in front of her, their lives on the line again and she'd failed --

and then she wakes up. ]

ADDED ABOUT AN HOUR LATER, text;

I don't suppose there's any way to get rid of this, is there? I'm sorry for anyone who had to see that. I'm truly sorry.

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It is no bother to me at all, unless you wish solitude, but if not, call on me and I will come.

Well. Not being alone might help.

Where do I find you?

[ Though he's already gathering to move, to check the likeliest of places were she not to respond in time. ]

My room, at the Station? I haven't gone back after visiting you and your father.

[ To have something like this shown for all to see, he can understand it. How it must feel not only to have be reminded of it herself, but for everyone witnessing it, finding out before perhaps she's even ready to speak of them about it. He would not, not in this lifetime or any other, wish for anyone to see what happened between Celegorm and him, though the reasons for it began changing and twisting out of shape oddly. His confusion growing the more time has passed and his feelings...

But this now is about Hermione and her pain, so he sets aside these thoughts, walls them in to keep them separate and tucked away until the time comes for consideration of them.

His steps are quiet in the Station's halls, oddly with the weight of the boots he wears, swift and with intent. The ache in his chest felt as if his ribs were trying to collapse upon themselves, as if his sternum was being pulled inwards to crush the beating heart beneath it, but not even that could stop or slow down his steps. For such young ones to suffer so, pure and innocent and bright, and yet despite it all Hermione kept her kindness, the shadows not stopping her or holding her back from the good.

She was strong, yes, but even the strongest ones needed a shoulder at times. And so Legolas arrives at the room he knows to be hers and knocks lightly. ]

Hermione?

[ He calls out to let her know who it is on the other side. ]

[ It isn't something she had wanted anyone to see, really; she knew that Legolas had understood, in a way, that she empathised or at least sympathised with him and he had never pressed her for more information, to make her spill her secrets. Now, though, there were no secrets. The reason she could understand the feelings he was suffering due to his own torture was because it was a reflection of her own, wracking pain and the scars (both literal and figurative) that she'd been left with. Eventually she'll be better, go back to being as strong as she'd been days before, but now the wounds were as fresh as they'd ever been.

She jumps when she hears the soft knock, scrambling to get up and abandon the mixture of twisted blankets and books she'd been burying herself in, shifting to move them to the small desk and try and sort things out, make them a little tidier, before she opened the door. There was no need for Legolas to see her room in such a state, after all, no matter what had brought him to come and see her. Glancing at the vials of sleep potion Hermione shakes her head, walking over to the door and opening it before she forces a soft smile. ]

Hi, Legolas. Please, um, come in. Thank you for coming...

[ She's a little embarrassed, still on the edge of tears and she wipes at her eyes again, quickly, taking a deep breath and forcing as best a smile as she can possibly manage. ]

[ And a smile he offers in turn, all the understanding and all the affection for her in a single look. He had felt indebted to her for all her help, yet that alone is not what drew him out of his room and here in the end. She was a friend already, caring and kind and powering through her own suffering for the sake of all those around her.

Even now...

The door clicks shut behind him and while he's not usually too affectionate with many - a touch to a hand, an elbow, a shoulder most that he tends to do -, he reaches out to brush gentle knuckles across a damp cheek. The tears brushed away yet traces of them still remaining on skin. ]

You have my shoulder, should you need it, or my ear.

[ He tries to recall the soothing words his father told him those weeks ago, yet the memories are a haze oddly enough, blanketed with fog where he threaded the fine line between life and light and darkness of fading. So all that follows is a simple suggestion- ]

Do not hold it back. There is no shame in it, nor is it a burden for me...

[ The door closes and Hermione feels safer, all of a sudden, as though the memories can't harm her anymore. She hadn't really thought that company would be so violent a comfort but it is - just seeing Legolas here, knowing she isn't entirely alone, is enough to make her feel a little better. She breathes out, forcing a smile, at least until his hand comes up and touches her cheek, brushing away the tears that had already begun to fall. It's so sweet, so kind and tender, that it almost breaks her in half and she has to take a deep, shuddering breath just to hold herself together.

She breaks, just a little, and swallows back the emotion, the choking lump in her throat. ]

I - thank you, I didn't... I thought I'd...

[ She doesn't know what to do other than to stand and let the tears fall. It's like a weight is crushing her chest and her fingers twitch a little and she breathes, just breathes, trying to gather herself together and actually make herself appear stronger than she was. There isn't any shame in her tears, not after such a vivid reminder of the things she's suffered, the things she went through and the scars that are left behind. There are cracks still healing and she can't hold herself together right now, despite her strength. ]

God, I- I'm sorry...

[ Exception after exception, but he feels he can make them in this case. He feels they are required in this case, because to leave a friend to suffer is unacceptable. Legolas takes a step closer, wipes the fresh tears off with his thumb, before moving that hand to cradle the back of Hermione's head instead and gently urge her towards himself. It's a light embrace, and he leans his face down to murmur into vivid red hair. ]

Do not apologise for what has not been a fault of yours.

[ Neither the torture nor the broadcast. ]

Do not apologise for you have done no one any wrong.

[ He strokes her hair gently with more murmurs. ]

At times even the strong ones need a shoulder for support, to regain the strength they exert on a daily basis. Let your friends in and allow us to give you the support you deserve.

[ The tenderness is a little surprising, really, but she moves into it and lets herself be held. Her arms slip around his body and she rests against him, trying to bite back her sobs even as he lets her have them, reminds her of the fact that she's allowed a moment of weakness. She does break, then, sniffling against his chest and trying to make herself seem smaller than she is, as if that would protect her. ]

Thank you, Legolas. I - thank you, I didn't...

[ Words have never been so difficult for her and she swallows the cotton in her throat, trying to sort herself out as best she could before she looked up, agonised, leaning into him still. She licks her lips before she finally breathes out, trying to keep herself steady even with her agony present and plain on her face, like the sun in a bright, cloudless sky. ]

I - I think I need to lie down.

[ The more Hermione trembles with her broken sobs, the more she shrinks against him, the tighter he holds her, offering whatever comfort he can with his presence and protection. ]

Of course.

[ He nods an agreement, and with gentle hands leads her to the bed, supporting all the while, every step of the way. He'll not make her speak, if she doesn't want to, yet there is still something that he may be able to offer her in the end. As a means of comfort and taking her mind off what has happened. That her suffering has been shown to all, betrayed be the locket. Things that should have been shared only when the right time came from the person who suffered. ]

Would you like me to sing for you? There is no magic in my songs, but they may help soothe your troubled mind.

[ She lets herself be guided without hesitation, settling down against her bed and breathing slowly; admittedly, she feels a little foolish, being so overtaken by her emotions, but the tenderness that Legolas is offering her makes her feel a little safer, more comfortable. Hermione doesn't feel ashamed of the fact that she is suffering; instead she feels vindicated, like she's allowed to revel in her pain until it's numbed and forced to the back of her mind once more. ]

You can sing? Legolas, I - I had no idea.

[ Reaching out, she takes his hand and squeezes it gently, trying to force as big a smile as she can possible manage. ]

I'd really like that.

I should think all elves can, though some may be inclined to it more than others.

[ He offers a smile, with a light chuckle at the question, lightening his voice just a notch, so as to lift her spirits up as well. A light squeeze to Hermione's hand in turn and Legolas takes a seat on the edge of the bed as well. It doesn't matter a whole lot whether he sits or stands or even lies down when he's singing.

He takes a moment to brush his hair out of his face, but the too short strands fall in place nearly immediately. A moment of thought, to pick a fitting song and he begins. It's in elvish, of course, the Sindarin that he spoke all of his life until sailing to Aman where out of necessity he had to learn Quenya as well. His voice is light, fair and beautiful in the way of the Sindar, and he sings with great pleasure and sheer joy, both almost palpable in the air.

There is no power in this music, yet it should matter little. ]

Does your father sing? I can't imagine him spending a lot of time doing it, but I don't really know him too well yet.

[ Hermione lifts her head, watching him as her expression softens. His voice is lovely, the language foreign to her but overtaking her senses all the same, making her heart feel warm in her chest. She had never really thought that Legolas would have such a beautiful voice but, she thinks, it suits him; it goes with his beautiful face and his kindness, a soothing balm and a sweetness she should have known.

He's sitting and she can't resist; she shifts closer, just so her head can rest against his leg, her eyes slipping closed as she revels in the comfort of something as simple as a song. No one's ever sung for her before - she'd been to concerts, at school, during the Yule Ball, but she'd never had anything just like this. It was incredible. ]

[ The corners of his mouth curve sharply upward at the question, though he does not reply until the song is done. A short, uplifting tune and when she settles her head in his lap, lightly he begins stroking her wild hair with something akin to reverence. A mess of curls so vividly copper, a most fascinating thing, and most beautiful for an elf.

The song ends and he cocks his head. ]

Oh but he does, he sings me to sleep at times, even now. [ No matter how perhaps embarrassing this admission should or would be to most. Legolas feels no shame. ] Or when I ask he sing for me.

[ If Thranduil sang for anyone else? Legolas is not aware. ]

Really?

[ She leans into the touch, letting herself relax. Legolas isn't embarrassed for her; he wants only to take care of her, to look after her, and she appreciates that more than she could ever really say. What she had told Nico was true - he really was like the older brother she'd never had, the kind she had found with the Weasley family once upon a time. He's so tender and sweet and she feels blessed that he cares enough to take care of her.

She's smiling, now, instead of feeling the panicked weight of her nightmare, ignoring the plinging noise of the locket still resting around her neck, bumping against her compass. She lifts her head, raising her eyebrows a little. ]

That's really sweet. He sounds like the most incredible father.

[ Perhaps those are not matters to share, but if they help soothe, he finds them free to share with Hermione. Without any shame whatsoever, light and bright as the memories with his father tend to be. ]

Mm, in the past he would make up stories and songs on the spot to entertain me, pretending to read them from a thick book or other that was, in truth, work. 'tis something I have not realised until I grew older and wiser to his tricks.

[ The great Thranduil the Elvenking is deep down quite the mischievous elf, as it turns out to be. He gives Hermione a small wink, sharing a secret that should stay just between the two of them. ]

I love him dearly. [ And then quieter, thick fringe of eyelashes lowering over his eyes. ] He is all that I have.

[ Hermione is cherishing them all the same; it's not as though she would ever tell anyone about anything Legolas has told her, at least without permission. She knows as well as anyone that secrets and information can mean life or death. ]

My dad used to do that too - he'd read me stories about witches and little girls that could control things with their minds. I never really believed them until I got my letter and was told I was a witch.

[ She grins, though, at the wink, leaning closer, head almost on his lap now. ]

He's not all you have anymore, you know. You have us - me and John and everyone else. We can be your family too.

[ The lack of reaction to the word witch is exactly all the reaction. It bothers him none at all, having been close friends with a wizard, even if Hermione is something else entirely from Gandalf. A human with abilities beyond those of others, yet with such kindness in her heart he cannot ever worry. ]

He too sounds like an amazing dad. Showing care in stories told, shaped and crafted for the child, I find that it speaks of great love.

I recall one right now, of a great dragon of a name of Laegolass with the scales of emerald stones laying waste upon woodlands he had once called home as no more but a worm.

[ Yes, his dad once made up a story about him being a great dragon causing ruckus in Mirkwood, like he was wont to no matter the age. Legolas laughs at the memory. ]

I recall too that I was most offended that he likened me to a dragon.

[ He threads his fingers through a handful of strands of hair, smoothing them out just enough to braid into a tiny little weave that, when she stands straight, will smoothly fall on the side of her face. Though at her words his fingers pause in the ministrations, stopping mid-weave and he blinks slowly, surprised yet so very touched and the smile that appears reflects that. ]

If you will have me, thank you. You are both of you dear friends to me, to have you as family even not bound by blood would be an honour.

[ Oh, she does laugh at his stories, though. She can imagine a young Legolas, settling to be tucked into bed (though she gets the feeling he was a bit of a handful if anything) and demanding stories, only to be frustrated and put off before he gets into it for the name of a dragon. It's so charming that she can't help but bite back her grin, chewing on her lip and offering him a softer expression, just leaning into the touch of his hands. ]

He was a good father. I - I mean, he is. He's a wonderful dad, he really is.

[ She isn't going to go into the details of the fact that she wiped her parents' memories, not right now. Everything is still too sore and hurting for that kind of pain. ]

I think you could be dragonlike, at least the dragons in my world. They're strong, brave creatures, caring for their families and gentle, for the most part, unless their family is threatened.

[ She reaches up to touch her hair before she flushes, shaking her head and feeling herself go a little pink. He's playing with her hair and it's one of the most utterly charming things she's ever felt. When he replies to her offer of 'family' she feels her cheeks go pink, her eyes widening as she glances up with a soft expression. ]

Of course I'd have you. I've never had brothers and sisters before, at least not more than the ones I'd chosen for myself. I think having you as a kind of brother would be wonderful, Legolas.

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