The Arrival of Eastwood
"We are nearing the edge of Mirkwood, my lady," shouted Felinor, her captain, over the thundering of their horses' hooves.
"We did not chase this orc rabble from our lands to leave them on the doorstep of another!" Lady Ellyria called back.
Felinor nodded in his silvery helm and motioned for the guards following close behind to press on.
As they neared the rocky outcropping and low stone wall at the edge of the forest, Lady Ellyria slowed her horse, waiting for the appearance of the woodland elves to cut them down.
The thirty strong orc pack scrambled up the smooth boulders and past the stone wall unchallenged, disappearing from view on the other side.
"Where are the guards?" wondered Felinor next to his lady.
"Quickly!" cried Ellyria, spurring her horse into flight up the steep hill to give chase.
Through the woods her company raced after the orcs, the light growing more and more dim and the trees gathering closer and closer.
"We may have to abandon the horses," shouted Felinor, correcting his horse as it stumbled over a knotty tree root and tried to get its footing on creeping moss.
Ellyria frowned through her helm at the orcs that were still outrunning them as her horse slowed, more afraid of its surroundings and less sure of its footing.
"Halt and dismount!" called Ellyria as her horse lurched and nearly threw her over his head.
She quickly tossed the reins of her horse around a wayward branch and bolted forward again after the receding sound of the orcs, her men close behind her.
Once on foot, the elves rapidly closed the distance to those they hunted. Even were they not elves, the sounds of another battle gradually reached their ears. Mid stride, Lady Ellyria pulled her twin blades and those who followed her did the same.
The forest closed in around them as the elves raced toward a break in the treeline ahead, flashes of sunlight twinkling through the thick leaves and branches.
Lady Ellyria and her captain burst through the foliage together.
The orc pack they had been chasing had run into the backs of another that were fighting a small ring of Mirkwood elves ranged before a low stone dais with a large carven archway leading off in the opposite direction. A lone elf stood atop the dais, the only one without armor, his thin sword pointed to the ground, his pale gaze fixed on the battle before him.
The first few orcs fell easily beneath the Eastwood blades in the confusion. Ellyria and Felinor swirled through the creatures avoiding each other's blades with sure movements borne of fighting side by side for hundreds of years. Once over their initial surprise however, with howls of anger, the orcs tried to regain their ground from the Eastwood elves. As Lady Ellyria and her men fought them, they began to back into the orcs who were trying to gain the dais, pushing them closer to the dwindling number of Mirkwood soldiers ranged across the stairs.
"Fall back and let them come to us!" cried Ellyria in elven, taking a few measured steps in the opposite direction.
With excited grunts, the orcs surged over what they thought was lost ground.
"Kill them all," commanded the Lady, "I will help defend the dais."
She flitted off to the side back into the treeline before Felinor could reply. Keeping the battle to her left, Ellyria raced lightly over the roots and stones until she was halfway up the hill the dais was built into. She paused and drew her bow, pulling an arrow in one fluid motion and crept forward.
Through the leaves, she could see the battle turning; the orc numbers dwindling though still enough to cause concern. Suddenly, a spear shot through the air and pierced the chest of the Mirkwood elf closest to her. The elf guarding the archway flicked his blade up to defend and took a step forward as several orcs rushed up the stairs to the opening.
"Stay back!" called Ellyria to the pale haired elf, as she strode forward to fell the two orcs. He glanced at her in surprise and paused but did not lower his blade.
She took two more orcs down before shouldering her bow and drawing her twin blades once more. Ellyria held the stairs before her, black blood spraying from the shrieking orcs who fell beneath her swords. Beyond the stairs, she could see the Eastwood elves had nearly dispatched the orcs they had been hunting and had advanced again to clear away the rest. No more than fifteen remained, still roaring and fighting.
An elven exclamation behind her caused her to glance to her right. The Mirkwood elf on the opposite end of the dais had been stabbed, overpowered by a group of three. He was thrown down and the orcs bounded up the steps and onto the dais. In her periphery at the edge of her helm, the pale haired elf moved to intercept them, his blade raised.
Ellyria was too engaged with foes before her to assist and the other elves stood their ground.
Then several things happened all at once.
The lone elf turned his back to the stairs to finish off the last orc.
At the base of the stairs, the largest remaining orc bellowed and threw his ax. It hurtled through the air in a deadly, unpredictable path.
Ellyria killed the orc trying to get past her and saw the spiralling ax; its intended victim with his back now turned to the stairs. Without thinking, she dashed toward the pale haired elf, his viciously fluid movements foretelling the end of his enemy.
He was just starting to turn toward her, having sliced the throat of the final orc, when she leapt and kicked him hard in the side, pushing him clear of the unseen danger.
The elf let out a startled sound and swiped reflexively at her with his blade. Mercifully, he missed her.
The ax did not.
It caught her low on the right side, driving her back into one of the stone pillars of the archway. Her back cracked sharply against the stone, the blackened blade biting through her armor and into her skin, driving the breath from her lungs. Her helm twisted so she did not see the wide eyed concern of the pale haired elf. He had not lost his footing when she kicked him, merely slid back a few paces. He moved toward her to remove the ax when an orc charged him.
The pale haired elf barely glanced at the creature before offering one deadly swipe of his sword and the orc knew no more.
As that orc fell, a silence crept over the glade; the battle had ended.
Lady Ellyria was pushing at the ax handle with her right hand and trying to get her helm off with her left. She could feel the edge of the blade burning and stinging her just above the hip.
"Do not move," requested the pale haired elf, sheathing his blade with one last glance behind him.
A stab of pain took the words from Ellyria's lips; all that came out was a gasp.
The elf wrapped his hands in his cloak and then gripped the ax and pulled. Ellyria felt it give a little but it did not come free.
She recognized the hurried footsteps of her captain racing up the stairs toward her.
The elf beside her gave one last pull and the foul blade came free from the stone.
Captain Felinor threw off his helm and ran to his lady's side as she pulled off her own helm.
"Lady Ellyria," breathed Felinor, as she blinked up at the sunlight and caught her breath.
The elf she had saved tossed away the ax and looked down sharply at the mention of her name with a frown.
"I'm well," whispered Ellyria accepting his hand to help her up.
When she had gained her feet, Ellyria met the searching blue eyed gaze of the lone elf. His long white hair barely ruffled from the fight and his green robe still looked immaculate.
"Forgive me, I did not know if you saw the ax," apologized Ellyria, stumbling over her words a little.
Felinor cleared his throat nervously.
"Lady Ellyria, may I present Lord Thranduil Oropherion, King of the Woodland realm. My lord, this is Lady Ellyria, Lord Morgaine's daughter, of Eastwood," introduced Felinor, keeping hold of his lady's arm.
Ellyria's head snapped around to look at her captain in shock and horror. Then slowly, she turned back to look at the king.
"My lord, I…" but words failed her as her stomach turned over and the wound from the ax flared.
She caught her breath and bent slightly with a wince.
That seemed to decide the Elven King.
"Proper introductions can be made when you are out of danger," he said dismissively.
He swept away from her, calling instructions to his remaining men.
"That is the king?" asked Ellyria breathlessly. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment almost as deeply as the ax wound in her side.
"Yes. Do not think on it now. We must get you back to Eastwood, my lady. Your wound needs immediate attention," said Felinor quietly, ripping a corner from her cloak and helping push it up under her armor to stem the growing red stain.
Ellyria glanced down at the ax.
"That is a Morgul blade," she whispered, understanding the twisting, burning sensation in her side.
Before she had time for another thought, a magnificent brown Elk trotted across the dais and came to a halt before her. On his back sat Lord Thranduil with his hand extended toward her.
"Come. Your wound will be seen to and your men will be welcome in my hall while you recover," said Lord Thranduil. The disinterested tone in his voice worried her but, with a glance at her captain, she accepted his hand and mounted the elk behind the king
She bit back an exclamation of pain as her wound stretched with the movement but it became bearable again as she settled behind him.
He turned his head to the side while she climbed on and then, without another word, the elk strode forward across the dais, through the stone archway and into the dim forest beyond. Though there was a path, the reaching branches stretched toward them in a way that made Ellyria uneasy. The sunlight disappeared from view overhead and the air around them grew thick and quiet once more.
Ellyria balanced easily on the broad back of the elk but she could feel the strength leaving her legs as the stain on her side grew larger. Carefully, she slid her left hand under her armor and pressed it against the cloth Felinor had used to staunch the blood.
Her hand came away red and dripping.
Another burning, twisting pain shot through her as the poison from the blade crept through her veins. She let out a soft cry and pressed her hand tightly against the wound, bending her head forward.
Thranduil's head snapped to the right at the sound.
"We can move more slowly if that will cause you less pain but I would not advise it," said the king.
"We must hurry, my lord," was all she could manage to get out.
"Put your arm around me," he commanded, turning to face the path ahead once more.
Ellyria hesitated for a split second and then complied. She slid herself closer to him and wrapped her right arm around his middle, his white blonde hair brushing against her cheeks.
To her surprise, he put his own arm over hers and then murmured an elven order to the elk.
It obeyed its master instantly and took off at a speed that would have left Ellyria in a heap on the path had she not been holding onto him. She leaned forward with the king as the elk flew down the broken stone path, avoiding the rocks and roots that had confounded her own horse.
Ellyria tried to catch her breath as the pain grew and darkness began claiming the edge of her vision. She closed her eyes tightly and murmured Aesa's healing chant to try to slow the bleeding and stop the spread of the poison. She felt a slight pressure from Thranduil's hand over hers and the elk seemed to move even faster.
She shut out the the thundering of the elk's hooves and the incessant whispers of the watchful trees flashing past them and focused on her wound and the healing words.
Time stretched on and her legs grew weaker, small beads of perspiration dappling her furrowed brow.
Suddenly, their speed slowed to a quick canter and Ellyria picked up elven voices ahead of them. She stopped chanting and narrowed her focus to her breathing only. Though she opened her eyes, the darkness drew near as they passed beneath the doors to the woodland realm.
The king was speaking rapidly to someone as the elk came to a halt but Ellyria could not concentrate on his words over the growing rushing noise in her ears. Thranduil abruptly removed her hand from his middle and dismounted in one fluid movement. She quickly braced herself on the elk's back before she tipped forward, her vision swimming nauseatingly. The Elvenking touched the elk's furry nose and it sank to the ground low enough that Ellyria's feet almost brushed the stone floor. His hands came into focus before her and she gripped them tightly as she took a breath and swung her leg over the back of the elk to slide slowly off his left flank. She took in the fact that both her feet were on the ground and lifted her eyes up to the king's as she tried to stand.
Ellyria remained conscious long enough to meet the king's gaze, sharp and clear as the winter sky before darkness claimed her in its greedy embrace and she knew no more.
"My lady!" said Lord Thranduil urgently, shifting his grip to lift her easily into his arms before she fell senseless to the ground.
Ellyria's limp form made no reply.
"My lord!" exclaimed a familiar voice from behind him.
Thranduil turned with the unconscious elf in his arms to face his oldest friend and Mirkwood's master healer, Viridian, who was hurrying toward him.
"This is Lady Ellyria of Eastwood. She took a morgul blade to the side. Heal her," commanded the King with no further explanation. He placed her in a waiting flat hammock held up by two other elves next to the healer.
Viridian glanced at the stain on the King's side but merely said," It will be done, my lord."
Thranduil watched anxiously as his elves disappeared with her body.
"My lord, what has happened?" asked Feren, running up to his king.
"We were attacked at the eastern border by a band of orcs. They were joined by another group pursued by the elves of Eastwood who assisted us. I want the eastern border cleansed of these foul creatures and the watch doubled on all borders. All captains will report in immediately. The filth is growing bolder," growled the king, turning and striding away from his captain. "See that the Eastwood elves are provided for while their lady resides here," he called over his shoulder.
Feren bowed to the king's retreating back and hurried to do as he was bid.
The king stalked to his chambers, unclasping his sword belt as he went. Once there, he tossed it on a table and stood before a mirrored wardrobe as several elves entered to help undress him.
"My lord are you wounded?" asked Melia, a diminutive male elf with earthen colored hair and kind brown eyes, who stood hesitantly before the king.
Thranduil slowly turned to look at Melia, as if he had misunderstood him. His countenance cleared when he realized the elf was looking at the stain left behind from holding Lady Ellyria.
"The blood is not mine, Melia," said the king quietly, lifting his chin for the elf to undo the gemstone brooch at his throat.
Melia and two other Silvan elves quickly removed the King's green robe and dressed him in a long, shimmering robe of black and silver. Melia finished combing back the king's hair and then handed him his crown of Mirkwood leaves. Thranduil placed it on his head himself, straightened it and the cuffs of his robe, then swept out. He moved quickly to his throne, his mind in turmoil over the last few hours. Thranduil threw himself onto his throne, tossed one leg over the other and waited for all his captains to check in with a report from their assigned areas.
His river and central road captains were the first to arrive. All was as it should be on those fronts. The captains from the Winding roads had much the same to report. As the captain from the Southern gate approached the throne, helm in hand, Thranduil spotted Captain Felinor and his men being led down a distant path on their way to the guest barracks. He saw Felinor pause and then look directly at him raising his hand to halt his men. They bowed low to the Elvenking before continuing on down the path. Thranduil inclined his head to them as they passed from view.
"It is silent and peaceful at the Southern Gate, my lord. There has been no activity for some weeks now," reported the elf proudly, bowing to his king.
Thranduil nodded and dismissed him.
Feren approached him next.
"My lord, the forest at the Eastern border has been cleared and cleansed as you requested. The guard has been doubled. I beg your forgiveness for our failure to defend our borders and you. Your visit to the Eastern border should not have ended this way," finished Feren, deep with contrition.
"It was not common knowledge that I intended to visit the Eastern border today but I find coincidence a flimsy explanation for that orc pack to breach our lands. Make some enquiries Feren and if another pack is sighted within 10 miles of our borders, I would know of it," requested the king.
"My lord," Feren said, touching his chest while bowing. He turned to leave but Thranduil stopped him.
"Where is my son?"
Feren turned to face the king again.
"He and Captain Tauriel were on patrol on the Northern border, my lord. They will be here shortly," promised Feren.
"Good."
Thranduil dismissed him with a lazy wave but he sat upright as Phaedron, one of Viridian's best healers, approached him apprehensively.
"My lord. Master Viridian wished me to report that Lady Ellyria is alive. She will need to remain in his solar for at least a day hence. I will bring another report if there is any change," announced Phaedron, bowing low.
King Thranduil slowly let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and nodded to the healer. If Viridian was keeping her in his solar the situation was still grave but her being alive would make the letter he had to write to her father less difficult. Marginally.
More guards; more reports. All assuring him that his lands and people were safe. The king wished he could remember a time when he believed that.
Then Legolas and Tauriel were before him.
"You were attacked?" asked Legolas anxiously without preamble. Tauriel remained a few paces behind the prince and bowed.
"A pack of orcs crossed our Eastern border today and nearly overran our guards. You should be more concerned about our inability to defend our lands," replied Thranduil rising and descending the stairs of his throne. "Tauriel, I wish you to personally oversee the training and installment of the doubled guard at that border. Being at peace does not mean we forget how to fight," said the king, the dangerous edge in his voice making her incline her head lower.
"Yes, my lord," replied Tauriel, glancing up to meet his stern gaze.
"You were not hurt I take it," asked Legolas sardonically when Thranduil was finished speaking.
"No I was not. We had assistance from the elves of Eastwood who pursued another band of filth right into our midst. We would have lost many more without their aid," Thranduil informed him.
He paused.
"Lady Ellyria was with the Eastwood elves and was wounded. She will be staying here while she recovers," he added, the crunch of steel and stone resounding in his thoughts.
"What news from the Northern border?" demanded Thranduil before Legolas could say anything else.
"The shadows seem deeper of late and we may have spotted fires far off in the distance near the Black Mountains," reported Tauriel at once.
"May have?" repeated the king with a raised eyebrow, his cold gaze lancing through her.
"It was at the edge of our sight. Neither of us could be certain," interjected Legolas.
"Send scouts. Whether it is more orcs or a restless serpent, I would be prepared," ordered the Elvenking, dismissing his captain with nod.
Tauriel bowed and quickly turned on her heel, leaving the father and son together.
"I am pleased you are unharmed," muttered Legolas, inclining his head in half bow. He walked away from his father before Thranduil could reply and without being dismissed; the only elf in Mirkwood who could do so without repercussion.
The captain from the Western Gate approached the guards at the foot of the throne room and stood respectfully behind Felinor. Felinor turned and gestured for the captain to go ahead of him. The Western Gate captain inclined his head to Felinor and strode forward, passing Legolas on his way out.
Thranduil watched his son greet Felinor and begin a hushed conversation. The king gestured for the captain to come forward and make his report. While the captain was speaking, Legolas suddenly looked over at his father with a concerned frown. He said nothing and dropped his gaze back to the stone floor before bowing low and touching his chest to Felinor as a token of deep gratitude. Felinor returned the gesture and Legolas strode off.
At this time, Thranduil realized that the captain before him had finished speaking - he had repeated the same tale of quiet that the others before him had - and was waiting to be dismissed or given an assignment. Thranduil nodded to him and the captain hurried back to his post.
All his borders were clear and protected as he had ordered but still the king felt uneasy. One group of orcs in a day was unusual but two separate groups on the move? It had been some time since he had seen such numbers together. Thranduil stayed with his head bent, lost in grim thoughts for a time before a gentle voice interrupted him.
"My lord."
Thranduil glanced up and realized Captain Felinor was still waiting by his guards to be admitted to his presence. His head was slightly inclined as if apologizing for interrupting the king's thoughts.
"Come," said Thranduil, straightening to meet him.
"Forgive me, my lord. I would have news of Lady Ellyria," asked the Eastwood elf anxiously.
"I have been told she is alive. When she is moved to her own chambers to recover, you will be informed and may see her," replied the king.
Relief passed over Felinor's face.
"Thank you, my lord. We are in your debt," said Felinor bowing gratefully.
"It is I who am in yours and your lady's," corrected Thranduil with a slight bow. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must send a message to Lord Morgaine."
Felinor bowed but could not hide a grimace. Thranduil had taken a step to walk past him but stopped when he saw the captain's expression.
"Are you injured?"
Felinor's head snapped up and he turned to the king again.
"My apologies again my lord. No I am not wounded. It is merely...that is to say….Lady Ellyria was not supposed to ride out with us this morning. Lord Morgaine will not be pleased," explained Felinor.
"Nor would I be if my kin disobeyed me," replied the king.
Felinor managed a small smile.
"Lady Ellyria is strong willed. He will be displeased but not surprised," Felinor elaborated.
Thranduil regarded him for a moment, thinking before nodding and walking toward Master Viridian's solar. He walked confidently down several winding pathways and up several stone staircases until he paused before a fork in the path. Thranduil hesitated uncertainly before turning left and climbing another staircase to reach an elegantly carved door with a young elf in bright green robes of an apprentice standing off to the right.
The young elf's blue eyes went wide upon seeing the king and he made a hasty bow.
"I wish to speak with Master Viridian," said King Thranduil quietly, pausing before door.
"Yes my lord. I will tell him you are here," replied the elf nervously, slipping past the king and going through the heavy oak door.
He returned quickly and ushered the king inside. Thranduil stepped inside and was struck by the heavy smell of lavender and cloves. The scent brought back a painful memory of Viridian treating his burns from that fiendish black dragon he had fought almost an age ago. Three elves had held him down as his screams rent the air… The king pushed away the memory and walked to the only bed with an occupant at the far end of the room. The warm, golden glow from numerous candles glinted off countless glass jars of herbs and plants and dimmed against the leather spines of row upon row of books. The King walked past several empty beds on his right and stopped before the largest bed on the far wall.
"Good evening, my lord," said Viridian, turning around from his work table on the king's left.
"Viridian," replied the king, nodding respectfully to him, though his eyes did not leave the figure on the bed.
Lady Ellyria lay on her back in the center of the bed surrounded on both sides by soft pillows. She was as pale as moonlight and barely drew breath.
"I was told she was alive," began Lord Thranduil hesitantly.
"And she is, my lord, though that is not the whole truth," confirmed Viridian, placing several vials of pale pink liquid in holders on a work table to the left of the bed.
Before the king could speak, Viridian asked, "Did she by chance use Aesa's Chant on her journey to our doors?"
"Yes, for nearly the entire time we rode. Why?" asked the king, glancing at the healer.
"Ah. Therein lies the conflict. I am convinced had she not done so, she would have died. The lady had lost a great deal of blood and by using that chant, she, in large part, saved herself," explained Viridian softly, coming to stand beside the king.
"But?" prompted the King when Viridian went silent.
"But that is also part of the reason for her current condition. Aesa's Chant slows blood loss and in a mild way begins to repair the damaged flesh. By doing this, she sealed much of the Morgul poison inside of the wound. You are aware of what happens if the poison is not drawn?" asked Viridian.
With a grimace, the king nodded.
"I had to reopen the wound in order to draw out what poison I could. I pulled enough of it from her that there is no danger of her turning but I could not take all of it without killing her. She will be able to purge the rest of it from her body but it will take weeks, perhaps months, for her to regain her full strength again," finished Viridian.
Thranduil took a breath and let it out slowly before speaking.
"I have seen stone with more life in it."
Viridian paused before speaking, regretting the words he had to say next.
"She has crossed into the Veiled Lands, my king. It happened very suddenly when I reopened her wound," said Viridian looking at Thranduil.
Thranduil glanced sharply at his Master healer then slowly back to Lady Ellyria.
"Only half of those who cross into the Veiled Lands return," murmured Thranduil grimly.
Suddenly, Ellyria's head snapped to the right with a soft sound. Her chest rose and fell with her first discernable breath in the king's presence though it sounded labored.
"Those that do not return stay because the Veiled Lands are more peaceful and desirable than our world," explained Viridian moving around to the left side of the bed to stand near Lady Ellyria's head.
Before he could speak again, Lady Ellyria's head tossed sharply to the left with a gasp. A frown creased her brow as her back arched slightly against the bed. Her head started to twitch as she drew in shallow panic breaths. She jerked her right hand free of the coverlet and weakly held it before her as if to ward away a threat.
Viridian gently covered her eyes and brow with one hand and clasped the other she held aloft. He closed his eyes and murmured a few elven words. Ellyria stopped struggling and her breathing became barely audible once more. Viridian opened his eyes and placed her hand back on the bed and removed his other from her brow.
"She has been having these episodes for the last hour. Whatever she is seeing, my lord, it is nothing to keep her there. She will return to this world though I cannot say when," concluded Viridian, hoping that that was enough for the king.
The king was silent for a time, his countenance troubled.
"The blade was meant for me."
Viridian regarded the king.
"I am pleased it did not touch you. While I would not wish pain on anyone, Lady Ellyria does not have a kingdom to look after," reasoned the healer, turning to his work table and picking up one of the vials of pink liquid.
Thranduil frowned.
"Her captain tells me she was not supposed to be with them today," he murmured.
"Then it was lucky for you she was, my lord. Perhaps next time you visit one of the borders, do not go without your armor," suggested Viridian, moving to Lady Ellyria's side once more. He tilted her head back and slowly poured the pink liquid down her throat.
She coughed once then lay still again.
"Perhaps I was careless. Now I must write to Lord Morgaine and tell him that his daughter is safe and healing," said Thranduil, turning away from them both.
"That is not the whole truth, my lord," said Viridian in a listless way, knowing the king would side step his protest.
"That is the story he will read," retorted the King of the Elves striding from the room.