Thank you for your excellent comments! This is a bit short, as I am battling writer's block, and I hope it is not too bad...
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
He rode on, only stopping briefly to allow his horse to rest, but nothing more. The pain that plagued his mind slowly disappeared as the wound healed itself, but Legolas worsened as they went. The wound on his shoulder would not close, and every day he grew more pale, quiet, and his soul song began to fade.
Finally they arrived at Rivendell, to find Elrond waiting for them upon the steps of his house, Glorfindel waiting in the shadows behind him. Thranduil took little notice of him as he swung from his horse, and pulled his son down into his arms. Hurrying to Elrond, he looked up pleadingly to the Elven Lord, his pride all but shattered in the face of his child's coming death.
"Come, we have little time," Elrond said, sweeping swiftly into his house, Thranduil upon his heels.
Just as they crossed through the doorway, a chill blew past Thranduil, and he faintly heard dark laughter echo upon it. Turning slightly, his eyes caught those of Glorfindel, and another chill swept down his spin as he looked upon the abyss of sorrow that was open within those green depths.
Tearing his gaze from Glorfindel's, Thranduil quickened his pace to catch up with Elrond.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Set him there," Elrond instructed, moving to a table covered with different medical objects.
Thranduil did as he bid, placing his dying son upon the cold table, "How did you know we were coming?"
"Glorfindel sensed it this morning, and I do not question him when he says such things," Elrond said, picking up a bottle and pouring it into the mixture that he was preparing.
"What can you make of this?" Thranduil asked.
Elrond turned grave eyes to him, "From what I am able to sense now, I must act quickly, or we shall loose Legolas," he said bluntly.
/He won't die; he has too great a destiny to die yet. I would watch my back though, for Gothmog has beaten us here,/ Ecthelion's voice echoed in Thranduil's mind.
Legolas suddenly shuddered, and his eyes slipped open, "Ada?" he called softly.
"I am here, nin ion," Thranduil said soothingly, though his heart clenched in his chest at how weak Legolas sounded.
"He is here, isn't he?" Legolas asked.
"Do not worry for it, I shall let anything further happen," Thranduil said, taking hold of Legolas's hand, as he hoped he would be able to fulfill that promise.
Legolas nodded tiredly, and his eyes slid close.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Glorfindel watched from the hall, waiting to see if Elrond would need his help. He was worried for the young prince, for he sensed what Elrond did, though he was no healer himself. But another feeling pledged him as well. A sense of strange weariness was slowly seeping into his mind, and slowly he was losing the battle against it.
But a soft voice seemed to beg him to stay awake; to not give in, the same voice that told him the Thranduil was coming. He again trusted this voice, though he knew not why, and continued to fight, even though it was a losing battle.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
He rode on, only stopping briefly to allow his horse to rest, but nothing more. The pain that plagued his mind slowly disappeared as the wound healed itself, but Legolas worsened as they went. The wound on his shoulder would not close, and every day he grew more pale, quiet, and his soul song began to fade.
Finally they arrived at Rivendell, to find Elrond waiting for them upon the steps of his house, Glorfindel waiting in the shadows behind him. Thranduil took little notice of him as he swung from his horse, and pulled his son down into his arms. Hurrying to Elrond, he looked up pleadingly to the Elven Lord, his pride all but shattered in the face of his child's coming death.
"Come, we have little time," Elrond said, sweeping swiftly into his house, Thranduil upon his heels.
Just as they crossed through the doorway, a chill blew past Thranduil, and he faintly heard dark laughter echo upon it. Turning slightly, his eyes caught those of Glorfindel, and another chill swept down his spin as he looked upon the abyss of sorrow that was open within those green depths.
Tearing his gaze from Glorfindel's, Thranduil quickened his pace to catch up with Elrond.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Set him there," Elrond instructed, moving to a table covered with different medical objects.
Thranduil did as he bid, placing his dying son upon the cold table, "How did you know we were coming?"
"Glorfindel sensed it this morning, and I do not question him when he says such things," Elrond said, picking up a bottle and pouring it into the mixture that he was preparing.
"What can you make of this?" Thranduil asked.
Elrond turned grave eyes to him, "From what I am able to sense now, I must act quickly, or we shall loose Legolas," he said bluntly.
/He won't die; he has too great a destiny to die yet. I would watch my back though, for Gothmog has beaten us here,/ Ecthelion's voice echoed in Thranduil's mind.
Legolas suddenly shuddered, and his eyes slipped open, "Ada?" he called softly.
"I am here, nin ion," Thranduil said soothingly, though his heart clenched in his chest at how weak Legolas sounded.
"He is here, isn't he?" Legolas asked.
"Do not worry for it, I shall let anything further happen," Thranduil said, taking hold of Legolas's hand, as he hoped he would be able to fulfill that promise.
Legolas nodded tiredly, and his eyes slid close.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Glorfindel watched from the hall, waiting to see if Elrond would need his help. He was worried for the young prince, for he sensed what Elrond did, though he was no healer himself. But another feeling pledged him as well. A sense of strange weariness was slowly seeping into his mind, and slowly he was losing the battle against it.
But a soft voice seemed to beg him to stay awake; to not give in, the same voice that told him the Thranduil was coming. He again trusted this voice, though he knew not why, and continued to fight, even though it was a losing battle.