Chapter Four
It was five weeks before the first of the wounded began to arrive. Candria set to work, healing all those that she could and at the same time inquiring as to the whereabouts of Legolas. None could remember seeing him after the first wave of attackers, for he had been at the front of the line. The elves had remained together while the half-witted men had separated, splitting the orc forces between the two armies. There had been too many of the warg beasts about for anyone to remember what had become of the son of the king.
There was great rejoicing when the heralds brought the news that the armies of the enemy had been driven back into the mountains, their numbers considerably less. Candria felt a ray of hope at the news; all of the elves would be returning home, Legolas among them. She did not let herself think he might be dead, for the grief would have crushed her, she only believed in the faith of her heart, that he was still alive.
The warriors returned, their wounds innumerable and their hands filled with the treasure of Thorin's hoard. He had fallen during the battle, and his much wiser cousin, Dain Ironfoot, had compensated the elves for their losses, and bid them live in peace with one another. Although for many days hosts of elves poured in through the city gates, Legolas was never among them. After a while, the groups became thinner, and arrived more sparsely, until they stopped coming at all. All who had not arrived were considered to have been lost, and were thus mourned accordingly.
Candria did not take place in the mourning, for she felt in her heart that Legolas was still alive, and though she pleaded passionately with Thranduil, he would not let her search for him. Small bands of elves were sent into the forests to try and locate the lost elf-prince, but all returned downcast, unable to find any trace of him.
Candria sat alone from minuial until aduial upon the high walls of the city, watching far ahead down the road, ever hopeful that she would see Legolas coming home to her. And so she kept her lonely vigil, pitied by all as the months drew on into years. It was only by believing that he was alive, that Candria was able to survive the long and lonely years that passed by as unnoticed as the days.
So it chanced, that upon midsummer's day, Candria saw a rider approaching in the distance. She had been used to having her hopes raised to find only a messenger bringing news to the king and so she paid little mind to the figure as it wound its way towards the city gates. It was when she looked closely at the elf did she realize who it was. She was hardly able to contain her ecstasy as she called up to the guard to send out the call; the prince of Greenwood had come home.
With light-footed leaping she ran out of the city gates and towards where Legolas was riding atop a crude carthorse of some kind. As she came nearer, she noticed that he seemed weary or unconscious, his head lobbing from side to side as though he were asleep upon the rouncy. Sudden fear gripped her heart as she ran up beside him; his fair face bruised and cut, a mass of purple whelps across his chest as he rode with only a small thin tunic wrapped about his waist.
"Legolas!" Candria cried out and just as she reached out to touch him, he fell sideways on top of her, unconscious and dying. She fell to the ground, the wind momentarily knocked out of her. Candria rolled the limp body of Legolas off from on top of her, and quickly spun around to lean over him. His body was as still as a statue, and as cold and clammy as one who is already dead. Her breath caught in her throat as she noticed the cuts from whips across his chest and shoulders.
Candria drew in a deep breath and pressed the open palm of her hand against his heart, willing with every fiber of her being that he should live. There was so much pain, too many cuts, too many wounds; her hand began to burn as though she had set it in a pool of fire. She felt hot tears streaming down her face and neck as her hand, fused to his chest, began to shake violently as all of her life poured into his body. The seconds ticked by, each one weakening her more and more. Suddenly, she felt warmth upon his skin where her fingertips were touching. It grew as she pressed her hand down harder, the heat rippling across his chest and neck into his face and replacing its chalky pallor with a slight sign of life. It was at that moment that Candria had a sensation she had never felt before; it was as though her own life was quickly leaving her body. She suddenly realized with horrible gravity what her gift was doing to her own life.
Candria felt as though she was being pulled into darkness, life leaving the marrow of her bones and being pushed into Legolas. Although she was frightened, the thought of her own death did not seem so terrible, that she should die saving the one she loved was worthy of a thousand lifetimes of loneliness. As the blackness consumed her, she stared intently at Legolas' closed eyes, the thick darkness eventually blocking them out all together- and she fell into the world of shadows.
It was five weeks before the first of the wounded began to arrive. Candria set to work, healing all those that she could and at the same time inquiring as to the whereabouts of Legolas. None could remember seeing him after the first wave of attackers, for he had been at the front of the line. The elves had remained together while the half-witted men had separated, splitting the orc forces between the two armies. There had been too many of the warg beasts about for anyone to remember what had become of the son of the king.
There was great rejoicing when the heralds brought the news that the armies of the enemy had been driven back into the mountains, their numbers considerably less. Candria felt a ray of hope at the news; all of the elves would be returning home, Legolas among them. She did not let herself think he might be dead, for the grief would have crushed her, she only believed in the faith of her heart, that he was still alive.
The warriors returned, their wounds innumerable and their hands filled with the treasure of Thorin's hoard. He had fallen during the battle, and his much wiser cousin, Dain Ironfoot, had compensated the elves for their losses, and bid them live in peace with one another. Although for many days hosts of elves poured in through the city gates, Legolas was never among them. After a while, the groups became thinner, and arrived more sparsely, until they stopped coming at all. All who had not arrived were considered to have been lost, and were thus mourned accordingly.
Candria did not take place in the mourning, for she felt in her heart that Legolas was still alive, and though she pleaded passionately with Thranduil, he would not let her search for him. Small bands of elves were sent into the forests to try and locate the lost elf-prince, but all returned downcast, unable to find any trace of him.
Candria sat alone from minuial until aduial upon the high walls of the city, watching far ahead down the road, ever hopeful that she would see Legolas coming home to her. And so she kept her lonely vigil, pitied by all as the months drew on into years. It was only by believing that he was alive, that Candria was able to survive the long and lonely years that passed by as unnoticed as the days.
So it chanced, that upon midsummer's day, Candria saw a rider approaching in the distance. She had been used to having her hopes raised to find only a messenger bringing news to the king and so she paid little mind to the figure as it wound its way towards the city gates. It was when she looked closely at the elf did she realize who it was. She was hardly able to contain her ecstasy as she called up to the guard to send out the call; the prince of Greenwood had come home.
With light-footed leaping she ran out of the city gates and towards where Legolas was riding atop a crude carthorse of some kind. As she came nearer, she noticed that he seemed weary or unconscious, his head lobbing from side to side as though he were asleep upon the rouncy. Sudden fear gripped her heart as she ran up beside him; his fair face bruised and cut, a mass of purple whelps across his chest as he rode with only a small thin tunic wrapped about his waist.
"Legolas!" Candria cried out and just as she reached out to touch him, he fell sideways on top of her, unconscious and dying. She fell to the ground, the wind momentarily knocked out of her. Candria rolled the limp body of Legolas off from on top of her, and quickly spun around to lean over him. His body was as still as a statue, and as cold and clammy as one who is already dead. Her breath caught in her throat as she noticed the cuts from whips across his chest and shoulders.
Candria drew in a deep breath and pressed the open palm of her hand against his heart, willing with every fiber of her being that he should live. There was so much pain, too many cuts, too many wounds; her hand began to burn as though she had set it in a pool of fire. She felt hot tears streaming down her face and neck as her hand, fused to his chest, began to shake violently as all of her life poured into his body. The seconds ticked by, each one weakening her more and more. Suddenly, she felt warmth upon his skin where her fingertips were touching. It grew as she pressed her hand down harder, the heat rippling across his chest and neck into his face and replacing its chalky pallor with a slight sign of life. It was at that moment that Candria had a sensation she had never felt before; it was as though her own life was quickly leaving her body. She suddenly realized with horrible gravity what her gift was doing to her own life.
Candria felt as though she was being pulled into darkness, life leaving the marrow of her bones and being pushed into Legolas. Although she was frightened, the thought of her own death did not seem so terrible, that she should die saving the one she loved was worthy of a thousand lifetimes of loneliness. As the blackness consumed her, she stared intently at Legolas' closed eyes, the thick darkness eventually blocking them out all together- and she fell into the world of shadows.