Chapter 26: Engagement
Legolas surveyed the arsenal of swords available for use in the training halls. However skilled and lethal he was in fighting, he was more of an archer and in terms of blades preferred daggers or knifes. The only swords he could claim as his own possessions were the very ones that were gifted to him by Thranduil with the occasion of various celebrations and achievements. His father clearly would have preferred if he took after him in fighting style as archery wasn't exactly elvenking custom. Withal, Legolas didn't deem it fit if he fought with a weapon given to him by his adversary and so he decided he would use one of the generic, scarcely embellished, yet fully functional ones the training grounds offered. He picked twin blades, some of the longest ones available and closest to Thranduil's own and attached them into his belt without trying them out much, a lot less keen now on a combat with his father than he had been when he had accepted the challenge. No matter that elven duels were for showing strength only, not to harm each other, he looked hesitant, glancing at the exit on instinct.
"Are you having second thoughts?" Argalad guessed right. It was him who the prince had brought along, not wanting to involve any additional souls not already aware of all the predicaments.
"You have suggested yourself, the king isn't in his right mind. What's more, he isn't well physically either. I know he proposed the duel, but I'm not sure how fair it would be. There won't be any winners in this fight."
"His Majesty is an excellent swordsman. I don't doubt he will be an exemplary adversary despite circumstances."
"How fair is it on his mental state though."
"My Lord Legolas, we need to appreciate the grand opportunity fate had thrown our way, by the king's own doing. The Council had discussed various options on trying to figure out how to get His Highness to reconsider his Edict, perhaps give him the chance to depart to Valinor like he had wanted, get him to agree to an abdication in your favour or perhaps a temporary handover of power till he is better. We have not expected him to challenge you to combat. All you have to do is win the fight, and he will be proven lacking the necessary strength to lead. He is after all overtly pretending to be well. It's not as if you would have to harm him physically, spill any blood. Overpower him, that's all."
"I know all that. It just feels wrong," Legolas shook his head, "ominous."
"The King commanded you to fight him, my Prince," the councillor reminded, "we will have to see where that road leads us."
"That is correct," the chillingly cold and collected voice of Thranduil joined theirs. The king threw his cloak at Galion behind him, making sure it will not hinder him during the engagement. He would not wait on any further dustup, but simply attacked his son, not leaving him any choice but to utilize the borrowed swords and block his advance.
"Adar..." Legolas gave conversation one more chance, but his attempt was met with the same fate as before. His swords pushed against his father's and Legolas forced himself out the corner he was wedged into. Responding to a ferocious blow with a similar one, the younger elf understood that Thranduil was angry with him, and perhaps with good cause. A prince didn't question his king like that. But the fierce and savage blows lit up his own anger. All the disappointment of his childhood, looking for fatherly love, and some sort of a closer relationship afterwards went into his parry. His eyes glinted with concentration, body focussed on the next blow and the next.
Needless to say, they were pretty much equally matched in strength and litheness, jumping and rolling out the way of anticipated strikes, or getting themselves in an advantage situation for an onslaught. They both knew how the other would react and when, and so it was feared that the fight could go on for a while unless someone made a mistake. Argalad sighed and sat down on a bench at the back, while Galion remained close by, opting to have to leap out the way of the combatants at the last moment, rather than retreat and not be at the ready if his master needed him. Because it was him who knew with utter certainty how unwell Thranduil truly was. It was him who had to attempt a soothing massage in Tauriel absence, him who had to rummage through the drawers and feed his king every remedial substance they deemed safe to utilise for the occasion.
The first sign that Thranduil was in trouble was his avoidance. He would deflect and forestall an onslaught by stepping to the side, rather than engage, especially if it was force that was needed for the counter. Galion felt the need to step even closer, be certain it weren't his eyes that were playing tricks on him when he saw the king's weapons shake in his hands. Thranduil's breathing was not normal, nor the pained expression on his face, or the prevalent use of one hand, while the other stayed close to his body, protecting his abdomen against the strain of sudden movements. The servant considered having to stop the fight somehow, but he didn't know how.
The heir to the throne felt his opponent tiring. It had started to take Thranduil longer to push him away, and he was occupied more with defending himself than attacking his son. It would have been foolish to underappreciate the opposition however, so the prince did not let up, using every opening to thrust forward towards partially exposed areas Thranduil carelessly left undefended. It had become quite boring, the routine, finding an area like that, and taking advantage just to be denied score at the last moment. Not having a doubt in his mind that Thranduil will block the next blow as well and perhaps use it to knock the younger elf further away so he could get out from next to the wall, Legolas went for Thranduil's exposed side and yelped loudly in panic when he realised it was a hit, a crimson line staining the royal clothes immediately.
"Stop! Stop right now!" Galion pushed between them, notwithstanding he didn't need to as far as Legolas was concerned. The prince backpedalled, in shock. He certainly did not mean to injure his father!
"Get out the way, Galion, we're not finished," Thranduil growled, holding his swords in a fighting stance as if nothing would have happened.
"I will go call for a healer," Argalad offered way too obediently, much in contrast to how he'd been acting recently. As far as he was concerned, the power struggle had a clear winner already and sooner or later, Thranduil will have to admit to his weaknesses.
"Go!" The crown prince gave his blessing to the action, then dropped his swords haphazardly onto the floor and went round the servant still standing between the royals to bow in shame, "adar, you look terrible. I am so sorry. Let us help you, that wound needs stitched at least," he winced in full awareness of the injury's length and depth, having experienced the motion of creating it.
The interruption had a negative effect on Thranduil. It wasn't the wound per se, more like the way he'd been feeling over the last day. The momentary pause in the action stole his strength and distracted him from his fury. There was no need for heightened concentration, nor an adrenalin rush and his awareness was flooded with the cramping of his belly. Head swimming, he stumbled away from the other two, breathing heavily, more to avoid being sick on them than refuse their help or anything else. One hand holding onto the wall, he bent forward and threw up everything in his stomach with just a few bouts of the overwhelming squeezing that had taken hold of his midsection. He was only vaguely aware that his sick on the floor was mixed with drops of blood from his side and that he was supported and pulled away from his own mess and lowered into a more comfortable position by the gentle, but strong arms of his son. Darkness followed.
Tbc