Lifting the Gray Veil - Chapter Four
The woodland King paced outside his child's bedroom waiting for news. Legolas' injuries were so severe that the healers required that they work alone with no one distracting them from their work. Gandalf could only wish for the words to soothe his friend as he watched the tortured pacing. Normally, a Wizard would have something profound to say, words of comfort to bring hope to any troubled time, but now there was nothing left to say.
Gandalf could not say any words of hope for he was unsure if there was any hope left for the child. How could he tell his friend to trust and relax when inside Mithrandir was joining with his friend in his agony.
Finally, after the longest time the pair had ever endured the healers came out, one of them stopping before their distraught King.
"My Lord," he stuttered unable to hold the King's gaze.
"No." Whispered Thranduil.
The healer could not raise his head, only his eyes rose slowly, "His injuries are fatal, My Lord, he has been cut too deeply and in addition poison runs throughout his body. There is nothing we can do for him now but give him something for the pain. Please forgive us, Highness, we have failed you!" The healer wailed. The words took a moment to set in. Their meaning like a physical blow of the greatest force.
"How long?" Came the shaky reply.
"Not long, My Lord. He is awake now, you may go to him."
Thranduil did not waste a moment and all but ran to his son's bed. Legolas lay with a sheet up to his middle with his arms lying on top. He was warm with fever and the sheet was only there to hide his injuries so they would not scare him or his beloved father.
"Legolas?" Thranduil whispered gently, "My son?"
Legolas turned his head slowly to his father's voice and peered into his eyes. The drugs had made him weary, but behind those eyes still shone a keen and awake mind.
"Listen to me now, Legolas. Tonight you are going to go on a journey." The King tried to hold his composure together for his son's sake. He wanted Legolas' death to be peaceful and not to scare the child. There would be centuries to grieve and he wanted to cherish these last moments with his son.
"Come with?" Came a quiet question, his voice barely a whisper it was so weak.
"No, Legolas. I cannot come with you. You are going to venture to the Halls of Mandos." He pulled back some tears, "I want you to be a good little boy there and mind your manners." Legolas could only manage a faint nod not quite understanding his father's words.
That was all Thranduil could muster to say, emotion had stolen his voice and all he could do was gently touch his hand to his son's hand that was on his chest. Mithrandir came forward knowing he could not stand for the silence and mourning in this room. That would come soon enough. It would not be fair to the child to have him die with nothing but sorrow surrounding him.
"Little One," he began, "We have not finished our book." Gandalf looked to the nightstand and there sat the forgotten book still, bookmarked at where they had left off. "Let us finish 'The Elf and the Dragon of the Lake'."
The small elf's attention turned to the Wizard, awaiting the story's continuance. Mithrandir read the book with as much of his storytelling ability as he could, wishing something special for Legolas. His words flowed from the page and the story came to life.
Thranduil knelt at the side of the bed, his hands folded under his chin and watched his beautiful son so closely. Every movement, every flicker of his eyes was burned into the monarch's memory. He watched Legolas' eyes slowly close to the world, something elves never did unless they were ill - or dying. It was painfully clear that his child was losing the battle against his failing body. Fear set in as his breathing slowed. He watched the chest rise and fall until it did not rise again and the small child was still, peace finally coming to his face as it relaxed.
The storybook ended.
*****
The Halls of Mandos were a spectacular vision and the highest Lord of the realm; Mandos himself felt great pride in their beauty and peacefulness. Surly, they were a deserving place for the wonderful firstborn to go if death claimed them from the world of Middle Earth. Every so often, this powerful being would wonder this place himself, taking in the life and beauty that surrounded him.
Today was curious though, something drew him to a beautiful oak tree that grew in a meadow. Arriving at its trunk, Mandos peered into its branches and was met with a pair of bright and confused eyes. Eyes that had been crying in fear and loneliness. A new arrival just moments ago.
"Well now, child, what are you doing here?" He asked.
*****
Mithrandir laid the book down. Legolas' father was too afraid to move.
Slowly, the King reached out to his son and once more took the small hand into his own. Leaning forward, his laid his head upon the still chest and wept with all of his soul. Tears soaked into the child's shirt. Mithrandir gently laid a hand upon Legolas' forehead and felt the small neck for any pulse and found nothing. He came forth to whisper into the small pointed ear, knowing better than to think there was anything left to sooth, but it comforted the speaker to say the words aloud.
"Do not be afraid, child. Go now and find the light." Maybe there was a flicker still there; lingering to make sure everything would continue for those loved ones left behind.
The sobs of the King broke through the silence as the sun set beyond the window.
Fear ran through the elf's heart, for he knew his son would have to be taken to the Halls of Waiting and his body prepared for its final journey; for his funeral and burial. He did not want to move Legolas from his room to that cold room of stone, to a strange place.
Hours passed and soon the beginning of the dawn's light was seen.
A careful whisper came from the King, "He is becoming so cold," Thranduil laid a hand upon his son's forehead, "I cannot bear him to be so cold without my being able to warm him." He gently stroked his son's hair, peering into the seemingly sleeping face. Large, inquiring eyes that shone with a spectacular light were closed and hidden now and forever from all who would look upon them.
"My friend, it is time to leave, come and let us sit together." Gandalf said quietly.
"I cannot leave him."
"You must, King, he needs to be looked after. The night has passed and the sun rises. Life is continuing."
Thranduil gasped, "This is his room, his bed, I cannot remove him from this place."
"This is his deathbed."
Silence.
The words struck the elf like a hammer through the chest.
Slowly, he found the strength to stand, to look down upon his son without falling to the ground. His friend came to lead him away. Together they were leaving, heading for the door, away from the small dead body and to the world that was waiting.
Thus ended the story of Legolas, son of Thranduil.
At least it would have.
Except that another would not let the book close.