Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

40. Athelas

If Lord Elrond was with us, the greatest healer in Middle-earth, it is possible even he would be unable to save Thranduil. But it does not prevent me from wishing desperately for his presence. With a deep inhalation, and an unspoken prayer to those who might be listening, I break the Athelas leaves and place them in the water to steep. I pray it will not take too long.

I turn to look at him. My eyes are drawn to his vicious burn; half his face is injured beyond repair. His unconsciousness must have removed the glamor, his mind no longer able to sustain it.

The scar is an evidence of weakness, and Thranduil is proud. He does not wish others to see it. Extending from temple to jaw, the fire melted his flesh and left muscle and bone exposed. It is painful to look upon.

If he survives, he will carry yet another terrible scar. Has he not been through enough?

"What is your name?"

The guard looks surprised at my question. "Narunir, my lady."

"I shall tell everyone, Narunir, of how you helped save the King. Whether he lives or dies, you shall be remembered for your efforts today."

He offers a small smile, a tinge of pink reaching his ears. I know it is what he needed to hear; it is of utmost importance for someone so young to prove their worth. Likely he has not yet reached his fiftieth year.

"You are his close friend," he says. It is not a question.

"Yes."

My chest tightens painfully, and I look away. I cannot let myself crumble, not now. Not when I must be stronger than I have ever been.

The Athelas is ready. Taking a linen cloth, I submerge it in the steaming water and then wring it with my hands. I close my eyes, and steel myself for attempting the final hope. The Athelas smells like a fresh spring morning after a rainfall, when the world becomes new again.

A sense of peace covers me like a soft quilt. The Valar are listening.

Narunir removes the black robe pressed against his wound, and I replace it with the Athelas-soaked cloth. I wring it gently to allow the remaining water to flow into the deep puncture. Again I submerge the cloth into the pot, and begin the prayer.

I am not one to usually pray aloud, keeping my requests in my heart always. But it is different now. The Eldar have power in spoken words, and more so in prayers for healing. I raise my voice and let all the emotion I can muster mingle with my voice.

"Eru, boe de nestad! I beseech you to spare him, to release him from death's hold. Our people need him more than ever. Please let not his spirit depart to the Halls of Mandos. An ngell nín..."

I say the prayer in a continuous repetition, knowing I cannot hold back. My emotions consume me like a fire even my tears cannot quench. I dip the cloth again in the water, and this time I touch the burn on his face, and then his chest, and his arms...my love is overwhelming. Has it been this strong all along?

I feel an urge to address him. "Thranduil, meleth nín, tolo dan nan galad! Come back to us. Hear my voice, do not let go..."

The steady bleeding ceases, but the gaping wound has not yet healed. I know the Athelas is not enough, nor will it ever be, but I will not give up until I have no other choice. I would never forgive myself otherwise.

"An ngell nín...have mercy. Please heal his wound and remove the shadow covering him..."

Like a glimpse of sunlight after days of rain, Narunir's deeper voice joins mine, his intent gaze never leaving his King's wound. The hint of a warm light envelopes us, its source a place I have never seen. The Valar are hearing us. There is hope. The shadow is passing...

I lean over his face for a clearer view. His lips have returned to their normal color.

"Meleth nín, tolo dan nan galad. Come back to the light. Come back to me."

In the far reaches of my mind I know the young guard is questioning my ardent words to the King, pushing the boundaries of mere friendship beyond question, but I cannot restrain my emotion. Not when it could make the difference between his life and death.

I continue my prayers until the water turns cold and I am spent, until every drop of energy in my body is expended. Narunir expresses concern I will collapse and leads me to a chair at the bedside, adamant I stay there for a time. I do not have the strength to argue.

Thranduil's wound does not look as angry as before. The color in his face is returned, and his expression is oddly peaceful, as though he is in a pleasant slumber. I take his hand and clutch it in my lap. There is nothing more I can do but wait.

-----

"Rîneth. Rîneth..."

The feather touch on my arm wakes me. Ada stands in the center of my vision, his brow wrinkled and his mouth in a troubled frown. Remembering everything all at once, I fly from my chair.

Thranduil's chest is rising and falling. He is still alive. Relief pours over me like a spring rain.

"I promised myself I would not fall asleep..."

"You nearly gave your own life to save his, Rîneth. Sleep was what you required most. You still require it. You will be weak for many days."

"Ada, I--"

"I searched all over the keep for you, from your chambers to the deepest dungeons. It was not until a guard informed me the King suffered a grave injury when I knew I would find you here."

I flutter my eyes shut. "I cannot apologize, Ada. I can only express my wish that you had been here with me. My skill in healing is not sufficient. I do not--"

"I could not have done more than you, my child. It is my firm belief he would have died had I tried to heal him instead."

"You are far more skilled than I. Why do you say such?"

His smile is kind, his eyes apologetic. "I believe you already know, iell nín."