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Then your qi is realigning. {He sounds pleased, moving to kneel on the bed to continue his work. Needless to say, he isn't shy. He follows the lines of the scars, rubbing in the salve until the skin is merely soft to the touch. Mingjue's abdomen and stomach are massaged and then he moves lower, massaging a hip and a thigh.}

I stand by what I said: you are a handsome Man.

[Without Baxia and with the inclusion of daily dual cultivation, he supposes that's true. His qi is realigning. It feels good too. Much like when he was younger and able to think clearly. To see the world and judge it that way rather than purely in anger.

Even if he can still be quick to rush to anger at times.

But Mingjue is pulled from those thoughts as he glances at the other.]

I do not take much note in appearance but I am aware that most would not look upon such scarring and still find someone handsome.

{Anger is a problem with this Elf too. He has a lot in his life that has caused him bitterness and that bitterness comes out as hateful anger. At times. He is attempting to rectify that and use his words instead of immediately snapping.

Of course, at the moment, he feels very little besides awe and admiration for the man laid out before him.}

Scars are a story written on skin, that is all. They help paint a picture of your strength and your endurance. Those are admirable, beautiful qualities.

[His gaze focuses up on the ceiling. Thranduil speaks of scars being of strength and endurance. He knows that the deadly looking stab to his gut could be considered that. The one across his back one as well. But the rest of these? The one around his neck and the ones that look like his body simply exploded from the inside out?]

These paint the tail of a man who was not strong enough and could not endure. A man who lost himself and his life because of it.

[His eyes close then and he settles to let his friend continue, trying not to dwell on all his faults. All his failures.]

Lost? That is a funny word for it since you are whole before me.

{Thranduil knows that is the doing of the city - of the strange magic that brought them here. Yet Mingjue has continued to thrive - the magic only gave him an opportunity to do so. Yes, in his eyes, the Man is strong.

He knows pressure points and he utilizes them as he rubs the salve in, coaxing the muscles beneath the skin to relax.}

If you were truly lost, you would not be as you are; you would be deranged.

At the end of my life, I was. Driven to madness where I was slashing at images only I could see.

[It's not easy to confess to that and yet it also feels...oddly good to. To tell someone else of what he went through. To admit it to someone outside his world. He's been so sure he'd never find someone to trust on such a level yet here he is.

Here they are.]

{He lays a hand on Mingjue's cheek, his palm warm and still.}

The spell has been broken. Furthermore, even if you found yourself in that state again, you would not be abandoned.

{After all he has seen of this Man, no. Thranduil would not abandon him. He would find him underneath the madness and dispel those foul images.}

I have never known an Elf to be controlled by a sword or some ill spell.

{Fëanor and his kin are being ignored for the sake of Mingjue's comfort.}

I would fight it.

[The comfort and the promises surprise him enough to open his eyes, looking over at his Elven friend. The action causes him to lean into the contact a bit but he finds that the doesn't mind that so much.]

You would fight my demons to save me.

[It's not a question. It's amazement.]

Yes. {There is no hesitation, no doubt. His thumb sweeps over Mingjue's cheek and he nods to reinforce his point.} There is good in the world of Men; I wish to preserve it. I have not always done so and I can see that was a mistake.

Your demons will not conquer you.

[There's a part of him that wants to chase him off. To tell him to run should that happen. It will be safer if he does. But there's another part of him that finds himself...grateful. That someone would reach out to him to fight to save him in that state.

He's only known one to want to and that matter is complicated.

It takes effort to keep the tears from forming with how moved he is.]

I will do what I can to not put you in that position. I will fight to protect you from that.

{He bends down and rests their foreheads together, sealing the promise with tenderness. Thranduil considers Mingjue as one of his own. He will fight to keep him whole no matter what foe he faces.}

Then we cannot fail.

[He has no idea what he has done to deserve this sort of devotion, care, and protection. These two men are essentially powerful spirits in their own way. Yet they have chosen him for reasons he can hardly fathom. Mingjue has no idea how he will repay them for what they do for him.

For now, he can only say this as he closes his eyes, even finding himself lifting his head to meet the contact.]

Thank you.

{The gratitude isn't necessary, yet Thranduil cherishes it. Long, long ago, his people were created to be guides to Mankind and the other Arda races. Somewhere along the way, that duty was ignored. How many good Men perished because he refused to leave the boundaries of the Greenwood?

Mingjue will not number among them.}

Will you turn over? I do not want to miss a single scar.

[The man nods and shifts so that way he can roll over onto his stomach. In a way he's grateful because he can hide the swell of emotion a bit. The only thing he does to help besides relax is to reach back to pull his hair out of the way.

Better near his shoulder than draped all over his ruined back.]

{That beautiful Nie hair will have a new braid when Thranduil is done. One symbolizing friendship - a bond forged between allies. There is a deeper meaning to it, of course. To other Elves, the braid means that Mingjue can call on one of their own for aid.

Which includes seeing to that poor back. He gathers more salve and rubs it into the battered skin, humming as power flows through his fingertips and palms.}

[As he breathes, he realizes that it actually is easier to relax. The constant tension on his skin isn't as powerful. While he may not understand everything his friend is doing he knows it's working if only to ease the aches of his body. Aches he's been ignoring all this time because he's simply been used to it.

The humming isn't any tune he recognizes but he knows he doesn't have to. Thranduil won't hurt him. He won't use song to destroy him.]

{No, the song is bringing forth his healing ability. Elves are attached to their languages and their music. Sindarin and even Quenya are so musical that it isn't hard to imagine the simplest of phrases being written as notes instead of letters.

He follows the scarring down, his heart aching for this precious Man.}

I know what it is like to stand alone. I barred my people in the Greenwood to avoid finding myself alone again. You, however, have remained in the open.

I respect you for that.

Sometimes one can stand in the open and still stand alone.

[He knows that well. It's how he lived...so much of his life. It's only now that he's trying to change that. Such a thing is a challenge but he finds himself doing his best each day.]

Not forever. {A soul like Mingjue's is like a light. Others will be drawn to it and inspired by it.} Remember to look around you.

It took death and arriving here for me to remember to do so. [Painful though that is to admit, he knows it's true now.]

You are a boulder; it takes great force to move heavy stones. Your death was a storm and it uprooted you, sending you on another path.

{He lets his nails graze lightly on unmarred skin.}

It is unfair how short the lives of Men can be. You could learn much from living through your trials.

[The sensation of nail on his skin is strange but not unpleasant. The opposite really. He finds himself shifting a little on instinct to enjoy it more without even realizing it.]

I can only apply the lessons to this new life that I have been given and hope it will be enough.

It will be. {The shift is all he needs to continue. Even the scars are healed enough that the sensation might be pleasant. Eru knows the poor Man deserves something pleasant! His existence has been painful for too long.}

[It's almost like a tingle. Perhaps if it were lighter it might even tickle. Maybe it does a little but not enough to make him laugh at least.]

Mm...I appreciate your faith in me.

{Think of it as a lesson for Mingjue's skin. Stop hurting. See? Sensation can be nice. Thranduil imagines that the Man has those in his life that could take it further. Lips would feel nice against those poor aching scars.}

Have faith in yourself. You have earned it.

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