To Live Again: In her Hands {Lord of the Rings / Thranduil fanfic}

2. Some things I just can't Describe...

Scene: Set at night in his own chambers, just after Thranduil arranges for Clara to join him in the marketplace for a surprise adventure.
************************************

They say if you stare at something strange long enough, you'll eventually get accustomed to it...I doubt they meant monsters.

The reflection on the wall length mirror presses every slight pressure point of my already fraying nerves. My nostrils flare in burning anger, my body trembles under the exertion I put upon it, and my mind reels in utter disgust.

I hate myself.

I have never in my long life experienced such violent notions towards my own reflection. I have never felt such heated aggression towards my physical self. I have never been at war with my own body and spirit. None of these emotions are familiar, not one of them make sense, and I loathe the lack of control it brings out in me.

My right hand balls into a tight fist, and in a careless gesture I draw my arm back and swing for the polished glass.

The momentary satisfaction I gain from watching my reflection shatter into a array of tinkling shards is only short lived. For the second I regain some semblance of self, I recognise the stupidity of my rage...and again I am consumed by failure.

For a brief time I study the crimson lines that run down my fingertips. Droplets of blood splatter carelessly on the stone ground of my bed chamber, were the glass sliced my knuckles. It stings mildly, a curious sensation that feels like a mere tickle to me. A bubble of hysterical laughter erupts from my chest, as I contemplate my infliction.

How utterly pathetic am I? How reckless and immature...an elfling would have better sense.

"Ion nin...are you alright?"

My father's voice tugs at the very corners of my self-absorbed hysterics. I hear the alarm and his panic in his distant voice, but I don't answer. I'm not sure why? It is not until his hands clamp around my wrist, to draw it upwards in examination, that I acknowledge him.

"I-I...made a mess," I admit shakily, as I continue to be transfixed by the lacerations on my knuckles that are already healing...unlike my face...unlike my eye.

"You certainly did," Adar mutters through gritted teeth, his lips drawn into a thin white line. He is angry...he should be angry. I have disappointed him again, he tries not to show it but I see. I see his frustrations and resentment - I am making him stay.  I am making him care for me like I am an elfling, for I am incapable of caring for myself.

"I do not like this mirror," I tell him hoarsely, and point to the shattered remains on the ground around us; "I cannot abide seeing myself."

"Yes, but must you be so extreme in your actions?" He sighs wearily, lifting his hand to rub tension away from his brow. "Ai, Thranduil, come to I clean this."

Adar leads me to my bed, roughly shoving me down on the soft mattress, before disappearing to retrieve fresh water. I curl into myself in his absence - drawing my knees to my chest and laying my marred cheek there to rest. My right arm loosely stretched in front of me like a dead limb, like it isn't part of me. Nothing ever feels part of me, I don't know what makes me, I do not even know what parts of me are real and which are shadows of me? I have a cheek to believe for a second she could look on me with anything but repulsion...if she could truly see me, she wouldn't be encouraging our little flirtation. She wouldn't be able to stomach it...no-one could...I am monstrous.

Adar returns with a basin of warm water laced with something mildly medicinal. My nose scrunches at the smell, I know that smell, it smells of soaked gauze and rotting flesh. My stomach knots, and I focus my attention on restraining an involuntary gag. He takes my wounded hand in his own, and begins cleaning the cuts slowly and methodically. I wish he would hurry up - can he not see the sickness in my pallor? If it were I, I would wash off the blood briskly and be on my way. But, that is probably why I shall never have the patience to be a true healer.