Okay, so I sort of ditched my first story because I didn't like where it as going and it wasn't really planned out, so I'm taking a bit of a different approach and playing out some ideas I had in my head about Thranduil and Beorn. They both seem like such feral beings but are very regal in their own ways and I thought exploring some history with them would be fun. Hope you enjoy! Reviews are always loved!
Disclaimer: I own nothing in this world or its characters. This is purely fan fiction and should not be taken as anything but.
The night was navy blue with splashes of white clouds like rain drops in the dark. Golden lights could be seen twinkling about the forest and the crickets and frogs hummed from the shadows. Occasionally a wolf would howl or an owl would hunt from the tree tops. A haze of smoke was still hanging about the forest from the south yet the air in the north remained fairly clean.
From the Elven Kings chambers he could see it all...well, if not for his butler hanging about him.
"Galion! Daro! I told you for the last time that my leg is fine. Go find an elleth to bother and leave me in peace!" he shouted irritated. Roughly six months after the war was done and his leg had simply not healed, nor had his fea.
"My lord, please," Galion protested, "your wounds are not healing quickly enough, I fear infection and you refuse to go to the healers. At least let me look."
Thranduil felt bad for his rudeness but there was nothing Galion could do. His leg wound was caused by an orc danger to the thigh which had thankfully avoided major nerves and arteries; however, it was deep and his elven healing was damaged from the power he and spent to destroy Dol Guldor once and for all.
Even so, Galion unwrapped the bandage and gasped at what he saw. The wound was freshly bleeding from torn stitches and seemed to be festering slightly. The king took in a sharp breath and rolled his eyes, but gave in to Galion's administrations none the less as he gingerly removed the bandages he had discovered under the deerskin leggings. It was not the material made for kings, but Thranduil would not waste silks due to his wound.
"What were you doing to tear the stitching?"
"I was walking," he answered shortly.
"In the forest? Just walking?"
"From the throne room to here. Limping," he admitted.
Galion looked shocked. This should have been healing in weeks, not months and at this rate it might be a year.
"My lord I am calling the healers!," Galion almost begged.
"No!" the butlers eyes opened wide. "Please Galion. You have always been a friend to me. You must understand no one can know."
"Can't know what? You could die from this if it is not properly cared for. There must be a poison at work here."
Thranduil looked old. He looked down and sighed wearily, "I was damaged in the war, Galion. My fea was, more than ever before. Dol Guldor was too much for me I fear, even with Galadriel's help. Just give me one more day and Galadriel and Celeborn will be here. Hopefully, Beorn as well. I would rather have them help me then have rumors spread about the court of my...weakness," he said softly. To Galion, it seemed the stars were tears in his eyes. The king he knew would never admit to such a weakness. He was strong even when his body was not so.
"Very well," he gave in, "I will do as you say"
"Hanon le"
Galion left the room and Thranduil sighed and adjusted his bandages, grinding his teeth. He had been sitting on the balcony, hoping to feel his power return to him, to catch a glimpse of the forest beyond. Maybe even to the wilds where his son now travelled, but he stood in an oblivion. As he closed his eyes to gaze into the beyond he saw nothing but darkness, and felt nothing but a cold wind. When he opened his eyes his head pounded in sync with his leg. He could feel Legolas reach out to his mind at times, and he felt Beorn search for his fea in the forest, but in both cases he could not call back to them. he felt utterly human. But his peace was found in Yavanna. Her presence had returned to the whole forest and she spoke to him in hidden ways as she always had. For this, he could find rest.
His heart pounded with the rhythm of his legs on the solid ground, the grass shifted beneath his feet and his arms swinging in steady motions. His eyes remained forward and focus darted from grass to tree root. Behind him an enormous bear bounded, teeth snarling, tongue wagging. The bear reached out a large paw and swiped the elf aside with ease, then placing it on his chest. The elf looked up with bright blue eyes wide and breath even heavier than before. Slowly, that paw turning into a hand, and the bear turned into a man.
"Oropherion, you have grown slow." the bear man growled and slapped his face as one might a naughty child, "You have grown slow in your grief and self pity,"
"Should i not be grieving,?" the elven king asked, still panting.
"You should be growing stronger. The shadow will not stop destroying what you love, Oropherion," chided the half-man.
"Tell me, what do I love that has not been taken from me!,"yelled the king. Beorn released his hold on the elf and looked across the meadow. Their keen eyes could see a small blonde child chasing a fox in a garden laughing as it pounced at his feet.
"You have him, you have your people. I will not protect you for much longer. You must grow strong again," with that the bear-man stalked off to join the child and the elf did not follow. The child smiled as he saw the man approach and held the fox to him in triumph. He patted his head and sat in the flowers with him pulling out a carving of a deer from his pouch. The child looked at it in amazement with wide eyes then dance around some more and his laughter was like the stars in the sky.