Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

39. Immen Dúath Caeda

I do not know what to expect as the doors are pulled open. Is it a trick from a crafty orc who has guessed our signal? Are we soon to meet a fate worse than death? I stand on my toes but still see nothing; the guards have blocked my line of vision.

A frigid gust blows into our tomb, stinging my cheeks.

"Make way for the King! Make way!"

I suck in my breath. The crowd of Elves hastily part, the orange light from the outside torches reflecting off their armor. Four soldiers come forth, carrying a body on their shoulders. I see the familiar intricate breastplate when they draw closer, and the silver-blond hair hanging behind them as they walk. I become hollow, without heart or lungs.

Earlier my feet were stuck in hardened mud, but now they move of their own volition. It takes but a flutter of a sparrow's wings to reach him.

Thranduil is as I have never seen him. He is unconscious and pale, the gruesome burn scar on his face exposed to me for the first time, revealing muscle and sinew. His arms hang lifelessly. Blood seeps from beneath his arm, leaving a trail on the floor from the entrance.

In appearance alone, he looks to be dead.

"Is he..." I do not have the courage to finish.

"His heart still beats, though faintly," says Ferdir, who is one of the soldiers carrying him.

He is still alive. I reach out to touch his forehead, streaked with black orc blood. His flesh is still warm.

"Carry him to his rooms, quickly!" I say.

I remember the glass jar I clutch in my hand, and call out to the young guard with the horn. His eyebrows shoot to his hair, and he hesitantly steps forward from the group of watching guards.

"Boil a pot of water and gather some linens and bring them to the King's chambers as soon as the water is done."

"My lady--"

"Do not delay."

"The battle is not yet over. There is still--"

"Now!"

He pales at the force of my yell. Satisfied he will obey, I run ahead to prepare Thranduil's chambers. My experience with healing is little, having only saved the lives of small animals in my youth. There are others who would be a better choice, but they are not here. There is no time.

"Eru, please spare him," I whisper. I have never been more afraid.

Only hours ago I stood in his rooms. It feels like a hundred long winters have passed since then. The chambers are low-lit and cold, as if echoing their master who barely clings to life. It feels intrusive entering his sleeping quarters, but there is no other choice. His bed is large and tall, its varnished wooden posts reaching to the ceiling. Like his throne, the posts are carved into ornate trees with overlapping branches, representing his forest kingdom.

The room smells like him. That familiar masculine scent I cannot place.

After making certain the bed is suitable for him to lie on, I hurriedly search for something to stanch the bleeding. I find his robe closet just as the soldiers open the doors to his living chamber. I wish there was another choice. His many outfits are beautiful in their varying colors and textures, but time is no longer afforded to me.

I make a hasty decision and grab a robe of black linen, a color he does not wear often. He would still be cross with me if he knew.

"Remove his armor so I may reach the wound," I say as they lay him on the blue coverlet. "We must be as swift as possible."

Ferdir looks at me, his handsome features marred with blood from both orc and Elf. "Rîneth, the battle still goes on. We cannot afford to stay, not if we wish to save what little is left of our homeland."

His bluntness strikes me. "What happened to him?"

"The enemy nearly succeeded in breaking through the doors, but the King managed to slay those carrying the battering ram. It was an incredible feat, but he did not escape the orc blade which pierced his side above his armor."

I wince. He saved us...

When the soldiers remove his breastplate, I rip open the crimson-soaked undertunic. The wound under his arm is large and gaping, bleeding steadily. His face is as pale as a midwinter's snow, and his lips have now turned blue. I take the pitcher resting on the bed stand and pour water over the wound to remove any debris, and then compress the black linen against it to try and stop the flow.

If only my heart would slow its frantic pace. I must remain calm.

"We must go, Rîneth."

"Then please do!"

I regret my yell instantly; it few from my mouth without thought, born of nothing but fear.

The clap of their boots echo against the stone as they depart. Despite reason, I do not like them for leaving. I am now alone with my dying friend, my hopes resting solely on the young guard bringing the boiling water. If he does not come soon, it will be too late. Perhaps it already is.

"Thranduil, can you hear me? You must hold on. You are strong, far stronger than anyone else. And I suspect you know it."

My pleading voice in the silent room sounds odd to my own ears. I do not even know half of what I am saying, most of it nonsense and words I would never utter if he was conscious. I brush away strands of hair from his face, and I lay my ear against his bare chest. His heart continues a faint beat, like the pattering of hare's feet across snow. He does not look like he is breathing.

"You must not leave us. I command you to hold on and live. Your people need you. I need you, more than you know..."

Athelas alone will not save him. The wound is too large and too deep for a mere herb. It is only the grace of the Valar which can spare him, nothing less. But I will try everything I know.

"A little while longer, mellon nín. Keep breathing..."

The door opens. It is the young guard carrying linens and a steaming pot of water. I would embrace him if there was time, but there is not. I let out a relieved, shaky breath.

"Press this tightly against the wound while I prepare the Athelas."

He sits down at Thranduil's side and takes the blood-stained robes in exchange for the water. The steam rising from the pot covers my face in a humid heat, sharpening my senses and clearing the fog in my head.

It will require all my strength and mind and love for the task ahead.