Kingsfoil [Thranduil] LOTR

Stricken

Two hundred years ago...

Narylfiel raced across the bridge, not even bothering to dismount before the massive gates of the palace, but she had a good reason for her haste.

"Quickly open the doors!" she cried to the guards. "Prince Legolas has been wounded!"

The elf in question leaned against her sickly, his face a drawn shade of grey. Later, Narylfiel confessed that she would never know how she had managed to hold onto him long enough to make it back to the palace.

The guards swung open the heavy doors, and Narylfiel thundered into the palace, still hanging onto the prince, on her horse. "Get the king!" she called out.

The injury had started innocently enough, a shallow cut on the prince's side from an orc ambush, but Narylfiel was almost certain that the blade had been poisoned. In the two days' ride from their post to the palace, Legolas had become disoriented, nauseous, and then finally incoherent.

More guards appeared in seconds and helped both elves down from the horse. They quickly placed the prince on a litter and rushed him to the Healing Ward. Narylfiel caught sight of Galadhor and shouted to him, "Send for Thaliniel!" She could not bring herself to say that Legolas might be dying. He had survived worse injuries. He could survive this.

Thranduil met them in the healing room. He had already dispensed with his royal robes and crown and hurriedly rolled up his sleeves. He motioned for the healers to bring forth a steaming, fragrant bowl. Athelas.

The king deftly cut away the fabric from his son's injury, and taking a fresh strip of linen, began to clean around the darkly puckered cut.

"Oh, Legolas," he murmured, reaching into the bowl for some of the silvery herbs. He squeezed out the extra water and then began to make a poultice to pack into the wound.

Narylfiel watched, transfixed. She knew that the healers occasionally called upon Thranduil to consult with him about certain, dire cases, but this was a side of the king she had never before seen. He was so tender with his son, so gentle.

Legolas moaned briefly as the king placed the poultice onto the wound and began to chant. His voice soft and stirring, Thranduil invoked the Valar, he called out to Legolas' fea, he spoke words of healing and peace.

Hoping she would not be asked to leave, Narylfiel pressed herself against the wall nearest the door, trying to make herself invisible; she could not look away, not from Thranduil, not from Legolas, fighting for his life. She knew that Thranduil was a powerful elf lord, she had seen him become death on the battlefield to every enemy in his path, but this-this was an unknown to her, a magic so deep and real, the power of a true king to heal those he loved most. So it was that when Thaliniel finally hurried breathlessly into the room, Narylfiel caught her in her arms; tears streamed down the cheeks of the younger elleth's face.

Thaliniel's eyes automatically went to the prone figure on the raised bed in the room. "Is he? Is he...?" She could not bring herself to put words to the fear in her heart.

Narylfiel hugged her all the tighter. "No, Thaliniel. No!" she exclaimed, trying to smile through her tears. "He is going to be all right. Thranduil brought him back. Legolas is going to live."

Thranduil turned from his son at the sound of their voices and guided Thaliniel to the bedside. "He rests now, but it would be best if you were here when he wakes," he said tiredly, pushing an unsteady hand through his hair.

Narylfiel concernedly reached for the king's shoulder as she followed him out of the room. "What about you?" she asked quietly. "You seem exhausted."