Title: Overcome
Disclaimers: Unfortunately I don't own a Lee Pace. Not the original, and not any of his characters. Written for enjoyment only.
Genre: Hurt/comfort.
Rating: T
Summary/Set: Losing elven life was never a plan of Thranduil's and so he tries everything in his power to salvage the injured after BOTFA, even if at his own detriment.
Pairing: Thranduil/Tauriel
Notes: I had this idea that given that Thranduil is elven royalty, he would possess some healing powers. As I had a lot of other fics to write at the time I gave middlearthstories the following prompt: the elvenking exhausts himself trying to heal the wounded-a prompt she filled in perfectly, I love her story. And yet when a plot bunny doesn't leave you alone there's nothing you can do-you have to write it. This is my version.
Chapter 1: Gap
Tauriel staggered towards the largest healing tent in the elven camp dazedly, essentially oblivious to her surroundings. Kili had been taken from her and while Balin and Oin assured her that they would take good care of the fallen dwarf price as they prepared him for the funeral, that left Tauriel with nothing to do but think-not a desirable outcome for the time being. She had sat on the top of the hill, where they'd left her, for hours, numb, helpless, unable to move with the heavy burden in her heart that weighted her limbs down too.
Slowly though and gradually, some of her surrounds filtered through the thick, disorientating fog that took hold of her traumatised mind, some happenings that entreated even to her withdrawn, suffering self: such as cries of anguish of every race coming from everywhere on the uneven terrain that had been the battlefield. Cries that one part of her mind deemed irrelevant, but the other could not ignore.
Looking around dully, but with somewhat more purpose, Tauriel dried her tears as best as she could, gathered herself up from the ground and started her stumbling, confounded journey down towards the elvish base camp in the gloomy and disheartening light that bathed the horizon under the setting sun. There were too many dead she did not want to see, more than she could take and so she kept her eyes on her moving feet, instinct guiding her rather than sight as she manoeuvred between sticking out roots of lavaralda and fallen warriors. It was due to this and her addled mental state that someone could sneak up on her, to the extent that it was the blade of a sword pressed to her neck loosely that stopped her a few feet away from her destination.
"What are you doing here Tauriel." Feren, the owner of the weapon questioned. "Defector by any other name if I'm not mistaken." He added gravely as an address, eyes boring into her sternly as the king's personal guard looked her up and down probingly.
"I am a skilled healer, I can help. Ask anyone," she contended.
"And we can trust you aren't going in there to attack the king again," Feren said sceptically.
"The king is inside?" Tauriel wondered. It surprised her at some level, but she didn't give it much conscious thought in her disarray.
"Aren't you supposed to be banished at the very least, traitor." Thranduil's personal guard continued morosely. As far as he was concerned, Tauriel's behaviour had been inexcusable. He had seen them growing up-Legolas and Tauriel both, how was it that they turned against the hand that fed them? He himself had been in charge of protecting them with his life when they were little, but his loyalties were foremost with the king, a level-headed ruler he would've followed into the death if the safety of the land so required.
"We aren't in Mirkwood as such," the warrior maiden disregarded him, making to go past only to be met with the other elf bodily blocking her way. "Feren." She stated tiredly. "How long have we served together? Fought together? Do you not know me? I harbour no wishes to harm his majesty." The elven maiden stated mildly, "never did."
"Acts speak Tauriel, not words," the faithful servant defended the potential security of his ruler.
"There has been enough death and suffering here today. Allow me to help," the redhead solicited, "let us bear our burden together and after that, if the king still so wishes, I will leave, never to be heard of ever again. But if I must, if you make me, I can also leave now. Perhaps the dwarfs' camp will appreciate my assistance more." Her brazen self won out over sense.
The dark haired elf loosened his grip on his sword, but didn't lower it. Elves were not known to hurt one another, least of all their king, so he was somewhat confused over the day's events. "Hand over your weapons. All of them," he ordered.
Tauriel complied silently and without a second thought. She was too worn out, both physically and emotionally, to feel compelled to act otherwise. Two swords, a couple of daggers and a few arrows later she stepped into the large tent to be greeted with the sight and sound of devastation, so unusual to be witnessed from the likes of elves-the blood, grave injuries, proudly muffled, but under the circumstances inevitable cries of pain and rushed voices of a small number of healers trying to tend to all of them. She didn't even know where to start.
The first person she could get to was a young archer, barely of age to be taken into battle-with both of his legs broken, flesh hanging down in tatters, no doubt crushed by some falling wall or rocks. He was quiet and complacent enough, eyes distant and with the strange, distinct absence of panic-probably one of the lucky ones the healers bestowed a calming spell on, or one of the unlucky ones more like, since there was not much else that could be done for him on a short term basis. Many others were in similar states-kept in a stasis till someone could get to properly treating them. Kingsfoil they all needed.
"Where's the athelas?" Tauriel addressed one of the healers tending to a soldier with a headwound a few rows of injured down.
"We barely have any." The other she elf only glanced up at her for a moment before turning her eyes to the rolling of bandages. "Nothing like this was expected…if you have any teaching or skill, do what you can, either with spells or even through the way of men. The king has sent for supplies to the caves, but they aren't likely to arrive till tomorrow. The table in the middle-you will find soothing herbs, bindings, miruvor, healing stones, branches for steadying fractures, needle and thread. Can you make do? There are so little of us gifted, nothing like this was planned for…" She repeated, the pain of the devastation prevalent in her voice, along with hope for Tauriel to help.
"I am captain of the royal guard, we were all trained in the art of healing with that rank shall the king ever need it," she assured, stepping in the direction of the mentioned provisions and intending to start with the shaking elf propped up at the foot of the table, who was clamping his injured arm with his other hand, rather inefficiently, with blood seeping through.
"The king needs you alright," her conversation partner supplied.
It made Tauriel pause slightly. She had been surprised beforehand that Thranduil was in there, but so far had not been able to ask of the cause, "is the king wounded?" She had spoken to him on Ravenhill, but small skirmishes still went on round the battlefield after that before all coming to a standstill.
"The king has taken to providing healing. He has been moving from elf to elf for hours, conveying strength and life to anyone who needs it. He insists on far-reaching healing for every person, rather than the amount required for every soul to get by," she shook her head.
Tauriel nodded at the injured elf sitting in front of her, asking permission to proceed and started pressure binding the bleeding wound. "Thranduil heals?" She wondered out aloud. Of course she was aware that those of the royal blood had the inherent gift to do so, but would he have the experience and knowledge necessary given that Tauriel could not remember an instance of someone as much as mentioning to her before that Thranduil had done something like that, never mind seeing it with her own eyes. It was not something she could easily picture. Thranduil didn't as much as touch another living being or mingle with his subjects, let alone walk their ranks.
"Magnificently," the other healer enthused, "he made many walk out of here hale by this time, but he can't do it all on his own so get to it, elleth", she urged, seeing as Tauriel's motions had slowed down due to her ponderings.
Tbc