To Live Again: Waiting Between Worlds {Lord of the Rings Fanfiction}

3. The Struggle

Mordor 3441 S.A. - Field Infirmary, Battle Encampment
of the Alliance 

Get out of the way!" Elrond's rough voice urgently ordered the startled youth, as Galion crawled swiftly out of his path and took up residence beside his shocked captain. Elrond swiftly placed a hand over the Prince's chest, and momentarily his eyes unfocused and his brows pulled together in a deep frown. Angrily he turned on a healer that stood over them; "How was he missed...such scarring is distinctive...I should have been notified?"

"I-I-I do not know...those scars...we just assumed..." The elleth spluttered and caught her chest in a show of great anxiety; "He was badly wounded when he arrived...we did not expect him to survive long...I...well I just assumed he would die swiftly and peacefully. I did not realize who he was...there were so many...I am s-sorry."

"The scars - they only appear if he willingly shows them, or if he is in a weakened state and cannot expend the energy to contain the concealment," Aradan piped up suddenly, his voice sounding extremely weary, as he rested his weight against Galion. His initial rage was ebbing away, and now he was beginning to feel the extent of his own injuries.

"His spirit is waning," Elrond muttered, as he expertly examined the recent wounds and shook his head regretfully; "I do not know how he has held on this long, but there is still brightness in his fea. If I can sustain him long enough, then just maybe the strength of the Eldar flame will heal his physical wounds."

"What must we do?" Galion asked hopefully as he assisted in lifting Thranduil from the hard ground.

"Take Aradan to the next available healer, and have him tended to," Elrond spoke gruffly, as Celeborn's hands found and took the weight of the Greenwood prince, allowing Galion to step away. Elrond gave the other Sinda elf a devastated look before turning back to the two Silvan elves and muttering; "And after that pray...pray incessantly...for he will need it."

"Of course," Galion replied with a resolute bob of his head, and watched as the elf lord's exited with their King.

Yes the young squire knew that legalities still meant Thranduil was a Prince, but to the hearts and minds of the Silvan who survived...he was their King now.

xXx

Young Galion lingered at the threshold of the tent that he was told Elrond had taken his King. He watched anxiously as elves scurried to and fro, bringing all sorts of bottles and dressings to the renowned healer. From the cracks in the fabric, the wide eyed and relatively innocent youth, looked on in awe as the elves worked relentlessly with the unresponsive body.

But Thranduil was anything but unresponsive! His spirit fought bravely to cling to its corporeal form, even if his mind was not fully aware of it yet, his body was mending. Whatever healing prayers had been said on his behalf...well...Elrond believed them to be powerful ones indeed.

"Is there a chance he will regain consciousness?" Celeborn's asked sullenly. The tone made Galion's nose scrunch up in irritation, the negativity was unnecessary to his hopeful mind.

"He has overcome much worse...physically," Elrond nodded wearily, as he pressed his forearm to his brow and exhaled slowly. "But, part of his fea is broken...grief weakens it...yet still he shows great promise considering the damage done."

"Why?" Celeborn pushed, his cool eyes shrewdly examined the elf before him. Thranduil was nothing special; he had been raised mostly by the wild and unrefined customs of the Silvan people. The only tuition he would have received in the gifts and spiritual arts of his people would have been through his mother, but Curuni was no healer.