Disclaimers: Unfortunately I don't own a Lee Pace or any of these characters. Written for enjoyment only.
Note: For platonios, who wanted a fic about a self-sacrificing Thranduil.
Genre: Angst.
Rating: T
Summary: Thranduil wants to see with his own eyes whether the threats to Mirkwood are as serious as Tauriel claims them to be.
Set: Post-Hobbit.
Pairing: Thranduil/Tauriel.
Warning: Unless you like pure, unadulterated hurt/comfort for the sake of it, it's unlikely you will understand the point to this fic.
Mood(LJthrowback): Feisty
Chapter 1: Timber
Tauriel was used to bumping into spiders and trolls and orcs on a regular basis, especially when patrolling the peripheries of Mirkwood. Half-orcs and easterlings were a lot rarer to counter, but it was a mixed group of those two races that surprised them in the South where they have been trying to safeguard the security of a passage to Lorien, that was supposed to stay accessible. Despite being busy with aiming her arrows at the attackers that had not engaged in close combat yet, Tauriel's first thought was with the king. Whatever their losses will be at the end of the skirmish, the bodies of the enemies will serve as perfect testimony for her to try to convince Thranduil again to allow troops to venture further as Sauron's forces were doing the same, stepping further and further into Mirkwood. If he elves didn't start being more proactive, they would soon be overrun and then it would be too late. The redhead had so far been relatively meek after her reinstatement into the role of captain of the guard as she was well aware of how lenient and understanding the ruler had been with her. Her months in the dungeons and working in the kitchens had been for what it felt like was show for the sake of there being some evidence of punishment before Thranduil decided that Tauriel was best doing service to the crown by resorting to what she was really good at, patrol and combat. So up to this point, the Silvan had only ventured small comments aimed at the king, attempting to sway his mind about taking interest in what was going on outside the borders of his land, but after this, after having to watch her comrades being slain senselessly by creatures that had come so far from their fatherland just to cause misfortune and suffering, surely she would not be able to keep her mouth shut.
The warrior maiden drew her fighting knives, her arrows all gone and engaged in a physical confrontation with one of the muscular, orc-like beings that blocked every one of her jabs with a shield with a red eye painted on. It wasn't going well. Instead of being able to get to help her companions, she was engaged at close range with this stubborn crossbreed and his annoying scimitar that had already rid Tauriel of one of her own daggers.
Tied down, she was only half aware of who had fallen and how many, but she could not miss the growing numbers of the enemy. Any more of this, and she would have to order retreat. But where, honestly where did Duilin and Feren come from? The king's personal, palatial guards? It was good to know they weren't outnumbered anymore, but Tauriel was still cornered against the trunk of a hefty tree even though she had managed to stab her initial assailant-there were three in his place now and she had only one weapon left to wield in all directions. Her left side would be open, she knew that, but there was nothing she could do about it as she ducked to avoid a spear and utilise her blade that found the opening between two plates of one of the dark creature's armour. The killing would come at a price, an injury from her exposed flank she mentally braced herself for, but it never came.
Instead, she reversed into something smooth and soft and gasped, turning to stare into the cerulean, widening eyes of her king for a moment before they broke apart to deal with their respective attackers. No longer surrounded, the woodland elf found it a lot easier to make use of her remaining dagger, using the space to her advantage to roll into advantageous positions for her weapon to find flesh for its lethal dance. A few brief clashes down, Tauriel had to look around and search for an adversary now. There were few and far in between left and those were fleeing too. The forest born warrior maiden paused and surveyed the devastation, unable to hunt any more of the culprits and for the first time had time to contemplate the reason behind the strange appearance of their rescuers, Thranduil and his personal guard. Her eyes searched for the royal, who she spotted standing erect, pulling one of his long, bloodied swords out of a beserker. She aimed her steps towards him, intending to point out how right she had been all along about darkening foreign horizons having an effect inside their forest, but Feren got there first, practically shoving the redhead out the way to reach out for his king, touch him by the arm and encircle his form at the back. It was startling and curious to see, no one touched the king under usual circumstances.
"My Lord," Feren puffed, out of breath himself, "you need to lie down so we can take the dagger out quick," he instructed, providing the support in the back for his king to lean on, "it's probably poisoned". That was the moment Tauriel saw it, the blade, curved and short, not unlike her own, sticking out of Thranduil's side. The very same that one of her prior attackers wielded. Most of his companions had spears, axes, pikes and brandishes so it was not hard to single it out. She had expected that ridged blade to slice her flesh, but Thranduil by some means saved her from the blow by the tree trunk. She only understood now how.
Stunned and distressed, Tauriel froze to the spot and only watched as her king and saviour was lowered to the ground, not objecting to the treatment or as much as bending his legs. As soon as Feren's hands were holding him strong, he more or less collapsed backwards into the fretting guard's arms as if a plank would've been pulled out from under his feet, weak and limp and so fragile looking coming out from nowhere that the warrior elven maiden also paled considerably at the sight, dizzy with the implications of what had happened and wracked with shock at the revelation-Thranduil, ostensibly cold-hearted and detached Thranduil, manifold in the wrong and hiding behind his walls in a cowardly manner, unconcerned for other people's welfare Thranduil-the king has ventured on an avoidable trek through the forest, salvaged her mission, her team and had taken a dagger for her.
It had taken a mere few moments till she came to her senses, but it felt like an eternity, elves hustling to their fallen comrades all around her as if in slow motion. Why would Thranduil take a hit for her out of all his subjects? However, instinct told her it was not a time for reflection, but action, and time felt as if it was speeding up abruptly. The king could not afford to lose any if they wanted him to live. Quick on her feet, Tauriel was still the second person to reach her king and fall to her knees beside him, attesting that she hadn't in fact spend much time frozen despite how she had experienced it. Her hands spontaneously extended towards the wound, gushing blood now that the obstruction jamming the blood vessels was gone, but stopped before making contact, fingers shaking hesitantly. Thranduil was breathing heavily, exacerbating the flow, eyes steeled against the pain and mouth open in an intentionally quiet gasp. He was holding strong, but with that amount of blood loss, it wouldn't last.
"You need to let it bleed as much as possible, get rid of some poison," Feren warned, but of course she knew that. The move was the last of her indecisiveness before she took charge. "We have a good supply of athelas at the caverns. Where's his mount?" Tauriel questioned. She found it very unlikely that the king would have come out here on foot. "I will ride with him," she ascertained. Feren opened his mouth, half intending to argue-why should the traitor, once attacker of Thranduil, be entrusted with such a crucial task, but then he thought better of it. Nobody knew the forest and its paths better than Tauriel, she would take the shortest way accessible on a horse. Besides, the king trusted her enough to restore her position in the army.
The new replacement steed was brought forward from its shelter behind a tight group of trees, a lighter, younger, smaller elk that had shown promise in terms of speed, instruction, valour and keeping steady in chaos. Thranduil grabbed hold of the top, leather part of Tauriel's dress and made a straining attempt to pull himself upright into a sitting position, grunting as he succeeded. His whistling his elk over sounded wet and faltering, but the animal edged closer all the same, antlers low and his stance wary. "How many injured?" Thranduil breathed haltingly.
"We don't know yet, my lord," Feren looked around his comrades, mainly to appease him, "but I will make sure everyone is cared for as required," he promised, knowing his king will not depart till he was reassured about the safety of his people.
"We will send back reinforcements," Tauriel promised as well, working along with the bodyguard, "it's one reason why we should hurry back."
Feren shed his cape, "we shall use this to secure him to the elk," he offered the item to the redhead.
Thranduil waved him off, "I will ride unaided," he ascertained, making Tauriel roll her eyes as they helped him to his feet. Whether he could stand, they didn't get the chance to determine-the elk treaded closer and lowered his head, offering his antlers to hang on to, as if understanding the situation. A great replacement for the fallen royal steed then.
The elvenking used the provided backing to edge round the intelligent animal and clamber into the saddle, more sliding up on his stomach, than climbing, but succeeding to right himself slowly, gradually, eyes momentarily closing as he swallowed against his rising nausea. His entire left side felt as if on fire, the numbness of impending paralysis stemming from the anguish. Cramps were stirring in his belly and his head was bursting with pressure. His subjects will not see him falter however, it had been demeaning enough when his legs gave out on him when the initial shock of the poison hit. Thranduil sat panting, all of his attention focussed on trying to get his body to obey him so he could stay upright. He didn't even notice Tauriel mounting behind him, or the cape being wrapped around him despite his previous command for not being so. The motion of setting off however, kick-started the cramps and he bit his lips, not being able to help it, but fall backwards, lean against Tauriel and gasp, breaths coming in short, weak gasps. Her hands tightened around him and he closed his eyes, letting her guide the animal, take over. All he could do was trying to make it through one moment and maybe the next without crying out in agony.
Tbc