Disclaimer: I own nothing. I write for entertainment purposes only.
STARGAZING
She might still be alive…
The sentence ran through Túrion's head repeatedly. The intense feeling of blame was firmly set upon his heart when he realized that he had lost her. The promise that he had made; - that he would not let her out of his sight – had been broken. He had never broken a promise before. The ambush happened unexpectedly and never before had a pack of Orcs been so big in number. Túrion swallowed hard. He could not afford to lose hope and so he ran with nothing else in his mind but those words for the last hour.
She might still be alive!
The day was dim and the sun was hiding behind the blank of the winter sky. The forest was looking grim, almost as if it knew all too well what had transpired an hour ago. Túrion's chest felt unusually constricted; his shoulders ached. He could hear the others running right behind him. He knew that every single one of them was pushing themselves to go as fast as they could without ever taking a break. Around them there was nothing but thousands of trees; the forest was unusually silent. There were no birds singing that day, no deer in sight. The only sound was of their movements and rough breath.
She might still be alive.
Those words… he suddenly wished that he had never heard them coming out from that uncouth beasts' mouth. And yet, he clung to those words as if his own life depended on it. He was not going to give up until she was found. Túrion's grey eyes suddenly spotted the dark smoke. He shouted orders and the squad behind him dispersed. If there were Orcs ahead they would be quickly slaughtered as he intended to surround them and give them a quick death. As they hastily closed in, Túrion found the scene before them one to be of outright pandemonium. The awful stench of burnt flesh assaulted his sensitive nostrils, bringing tears to his eyes. He looked around in absolute astonishment; butchered Orc bodies scattered all over the camp. Some were piled up in the fire; the hungry tall flames consumed them quickly.
Carefully, Túrion walked over a few bodies. His eyes scanned the area with great care as he hoped to find a trail, anything that could indicate that she had been here. Was it wrong to hope in the first place? He clenched his jaw and a determined look took over his features. If she was alive, he would find her.
As he walked around the camp, his scrutinous gaze found something in a nearby bush. He reached out for it and once he retrieved it he almost forgot how to breathe as he looked at the familiar piece of clothing. It belonged to her. He was one hundred percent of it. As he trailed past the bushes, he noticed a trail of blood; red spots of blood that led him away from the gruesome sight. She was hurt… or worse. For now, all he could think about was finding her. If she was alive, she'd probably need treatment. He quickly looked over his shoulder and his eyes met his cousin – Ceríon.
"Go back! Go and fetch a healer!"
His cousin nodded slowly, "What of the King? What shall I tell him?" he asked, his voice sounded weak and it was quite obvious that he was very afraid.
Túrion took a deep breath, "You will tell your King the truth. Now go!"
The blond-haired elf stalked forward, following the trail of blood. If she was dead, as difficult as it would be, he would bring her home. Inching slowly, he made a suddenly turn to his left. His eyes roved the space quickly and he found her; at last.
She was slumped to the floor, knees bent and the sides of her feet were flat as if she had sunk down in defeat. Her once blonde-hair was now covered in dirt and blood. The dress she wore was ripped and bloodstained; tracks of dirt and muck stuck to her bare feet.
With another thought, he was crouching next to her. She was shivering violently and he could hear her ragged breath. Slowly, his hand reached out for her shoulder and she stiffened immediately when he touched her.
"Aerthel," he spoke softly.
The she-elf flinched at the sound of his voice but her head remained safely between her arms. She was still shivering and her breath was still loud and uncontrolled.
"Aerthel… you are safe. They are all dead," he told her and squeezed her shoulder gently in an attempt to reassure her that the vile creatures were no more. He did not know what had happened but he spotted the sword resting on the ground next to her and comprehension finally took over him. He had heard of her abilities as a fighter but he had never seen her hold a sword before.
Her head moved slightly upward and she peered at him between the strands of her dirty and bloodstained hair. She had a nasty cut across her lips and a terrible distorted green and blue bruise on her chin.
"Do not touch me," she hissed at him.
Túrion was completely baffled with her reaction. She had never treated him in such manner before. The way she looked at him sent waves of panic straight to his heart as he stared back at the beautiful mix of grey and blue that looked right at him in outright suspicion.
"Aerthel…" he started again but did as she asked of him. He removed his hand from her shoulder, "It is me… Túrion…"
She looked up at him and he could see that her suspicion was slowly fading away and was replaced with shock, "You… you know m-me?"
Túrion blinked and for a while he just stood there unmoving and unresponsive as he did not know what to say. He looked straight at her and waited. He waited for the recognition to light her features but it would not come. Then, slowly, he nodded and attempted to offer her a smile, "Yes. I do. You are my precious friend," he answered, unable to keep the pity from both his voice and face.
Aerthel's bottom lip quivered and she moved a trembling hand, closing it around the fabric of his green tunic, "I want to g-go home. I want my father."
Túrion frowned and quickly slid an arm around her back. She whimpered loudly and he winced as it hurt him to cause her pain. It was then when he saw the black ugly arrow sticking to her side that he cursed loudly. Aerthel's head suddenly fell onto his shoulder and her entire body was limp against him.
The first thing Aerthel felt when she woke was the pain in her side. She could barely move without making it hurt. The second thing that she noticed was the softness beneath her body which allowed her to sigh in relief. She was home. The terrible sense of danger was entirely gone and it was replaced with a sense of safety that only her home was able to provide it for her. She slowly moved again and took a deep breath. She gasped loudly as a sharp pain shot across her upper body eliciting a violent coughing fit. She whimpered at the pain and then suddenly stiffened when she distinctly heard the sound of feet shuffling softly around the room.
Her eyes widened in absolute disbelief as she watched the King approach her bed. What was he doing in her chambers?
"Thranduil!" she spoke out in shock, forgetting his title.
Aerthel was even more stunned when he sat down in her bed and slowly moved his big hands to her face. He cupped her chin gently; his eyes inspected the healing injuries appraisingly. The healers had done well. His eyes stopped on hers and he frowned. "What happened?" he inquired almost forcibly.
She blinked and tried to ignore the soaring pain and looked at her King. What was he doing in her room? She frowned and tried to focus on his request and then she slowly shook her head. She could not for the life of her remember what had happened.
"Is my father here?" she asked. Her voice was barely a whisper as she registered the shock on her King's face. She had never seen so many emotions going through his face at once. Was he well? Oh no, did anyone else get hurt?
"My king?" she asked softly, ignoring the way her cheeks were instantly cold the moment he removed his hands.
"You do not remember?" He asked softly. Was she dreaming? Why was his voice so quiet and soft? She could not help but to notice the dark circles under his eyes. He looked very tired and then she felt sorry for him. He was probably worn out from his duties. His father had died recently, almost one-hundred years ago and the weight of the crown was still too heavy to bear.
"What is it?" she asked, her hand moving to his forearm, "Thr- My king you must tell me. What is it?" She repeated the question, this time her tone was urgent.
Thranduil seemed to be considering whether he should tell her or not. He slowly took her hand in his and he could feel her stiffening. She had this look on his face that he knew too well. She was prepared for whatever he had to say to her.
"Your father is dead. He died a long time ago." He replied, his piercing blue eyes scanned her face and watched as shock was quickly replaced with a frown and then her face was blank, void of any emotion.
Just then, before she could reply, the door to the room was pushed wide open.
"Father! Mother!"
A blonde-haired little elf ran towards the bed, a wide grin gracing his beautiful child-like features.
Aerthel's head snapped towards Thranduil and then back at the child. She felt a strong wooziness take over her, almost as if stars exploded before her eyes. She swayed backwards and found herself slipping back into darkness one more time.
A/N: Thought I'd try and write something that is not anime related. My first fic based on Tolkien's fandom so I hope you're not cringing that much and wishing me ill. Reviews aren't necessary.
The next chapters are already in the making.
Thanks for reading,
Creidhe.
