Evil's Point 6
AN: Here's chapter 6 of Evil's Point! Thank you to my reviewers! Don't forget to review this one!
King Thranduil didn't know what else to do. His son was out gallivanting with his dwarven friend, and while Thranduil knew that Gimli was a decent dwarf—as well as one of the most famous people in Middle Earth—he couldn't help being suspicious of him. Two days had passed since Legolas and Gimli had said they would return. It was so unusual for them not to come back from their trips when they said they would that Thranduil was quite worried. He sighed, and was just about to call one of his scouts to see if any sign of the search party he had sent out to find his son and his friend—or the prince himself—had turned up when an elf came running in.
"Sire! I-I am sorry to disturb you--"
Jumping to his feet, Thranduil waved away the apology impatiently. "What is it, Tindome? Has my son been found?"
"He's just been brought into the halls, sire! But, sire--"
"Then why has he not been brought to me? Bring him here immediately!"
"Sire! He is ill!"
At these words, Thranduil paled. Dropping his ruling staff, he darted up to Tindome. "Take me to him."
Tindome led Thranduil quickly through the halls, ignoring the elves who hastily bowed or curtsied when their king came into sight, and to the rooms of the palace's best healers. At the moment, most of the healers were clustered around a bed upon which a figure could be seen, moaning in pain. Gimli was milling around all of them, talking loudly and agitatedly.
Thranduil brushed past some elves, alerting the others to his presence. The elves all bowed as they noticed their king, but Thranduil didn't pay them any heed. His eyes were only for his son.
"What has happened to him?" he demanded.
"The dwarf says he fell into a river, sire," the chief healer reported. "He's quite ill—feverish, unresponsive..."
Bending over his son, Thranduil took his hand and called to him softly. His son didn't respond. Gently lifting one of the prince's eyelids, Thranduil gazed at his son's eye. What he saw—or rather, what he didn't see—made his blood run cold.
"Ah Elbereth Gilthoniel!" he cried in Elvish, losing his composure. "His light—it is fading!! Ai, no, by the Valar, he cannot die!" Two of the healers hastened to calm their king while three more placed their hands on the prince, preparing to attempt to heal him with Elvish magic. Regaining his composure, Thranduil barked an order to the healers.
"Do everything in your power to save your prince! I do not care how you go about it—just save him! He cannot die!" Turning to the chief healer, he added, "Elsila, I expect that every resource, every medicine, anything that can help my son, will be used. I want reports on his condition every fifteen minutes if I am not by his side!"
"Yes, milord," the healer replied with a bow. Turning back to the others, he added his power to that of the other healers, and they began a long, hard fight to keep the prince alive.
Five days later, the prince still lived, though his condition remained the same as it had been before. The healers were beginning to lose hope. Nothing they tried had much effect.
Thranduil, exhausted, slumped in a chair by his son's bedside. Gimli sat on the other side of the bed, occasionally touching the elf's hand or feeling for his pulse. Thranduil was attempting to listen to what Elsila was telling him.
"The healers are exhausted, milord. They cannot continue like this. Nothing we have tried is working. I fear—I fear we do not have the talent to heal this."
Thranduil didn't even yell. He closed his eyes and let his head slump onto his chest, feeling grief overwhelm him. He didn't know how long he remained like that—but suddenly, what seemed like their last hope occurred to him. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of him sooner!
"Elrond!" Thranduil cried, sitting upright. "My son must go to Elrond! If Elrond cannot heal him, no elf can!"
"Of course!" Elsila cried. "Lord Elrond—his healing powers are the greatest of any elf's on Middle-Earth!"
Preperations were quickly made. The swiftest rider in Mirkwood was sent to bring tidings of Legolas' condition to Rivendell, and a party of eleven—five guards, five healers, and Gimli—was arranged and outfitted for the journey. The group set out from Mirkwood within the day.
***********
In the early hours of the morning, four ponies galloped toward Rivendell, not heeding the noise they made at such an early hour. They thundered down the path, through the river, and crossed into the borders of Rivendell.
"Halt!" cried an elvish voice from the trees. "Who are you, that ride so hastily toward the Last Homely House?"
"It's me—Frodo Baggins!" one of the riders called, and he pushed his hood back, confirming he was who he claimed he was. "Samwise Gamgee and Meriadoc Brandybuck ride with me. Our companion Peregrin Took is ill. We wish to see Lord Elrond!"
"Of course, Master Baggins!" the elf replied, and uncovered a lantern he held. Bowing slightly to the hobbits, he mounted his horse and rode ahead to alert the elves of Rivendell. Within five minutes, the hobbits were met by three elves. Two of them took the hobbits' ponies after Frodo, Sam, and Merry had dismounted. The other one gently took Pippin in his arms. "I shall lead you to Lord Elrond," the elf told the hobbits with a bow, and they hurried through the halls, Pippin moaning occasionally from his position in the elf's arms.
The elf ran through a doorway. "Lord Elrond!!"
Annoyed, Elrond looked up, but his face quickly registered alarm as he recognized the four hobbits. "Masters Baggins, Gamgee, and Brandybuck! What is wrong with Master Took?" he demanded, jumping to his feet.
"Lord Elrond, you've got to help Pippin, please—he was bitten by a wolf—he's very ill!" Merry cried, looking pleadingly up at Elrond.
Abandoning his other work, Elrond lifted Pippin from the arms of the elf, and beckoned the hobbits to follow. "Call the healers," Elrond ordered the elf standing there. "They will meet me in the healing room." With that, he swept down the halls and into a bedroom not unlike the one Frodo woke up in upon his first trip to Rivendell. Elrond laid Pippin gently on the bed and began to examine him, frowning gravely at his bitten and green hand. He was silent for so long, assessing Pippin's condition, that Sam spoke up.
"You will be able to help him, Master Elrond?" he asked.
Elrond looked gravely at the three hobbits clustered around their friend's bed. "You arrived just in time, my friends," he said. "If you had come any later, he would have been beyond any help. As things stand now, I believe I can heal him if I act quickly." As he talked, Elrond bustled about the room, gathering herbs, medicines, bandages and water. "Whatever bit him injected a foul poison into the wound, a poison which is draining his life force. It has already circulated around his entire body."
Merry let out a small sob at this.
"No, Merry, do not despair!" Elrond said. "I shall put forth all my strength to draw the poison out. It will be a hard fight, but Pippin is strong. He may pull through yet."
Healers ran into the room just then, and over to Elrond, murmuring in Elvish. Elrond responded in kind, and the healers busied themselves cleaning Pippin's wound and preparing him for the procedure which would hopefully rid him of the poison.
"If you wish food and rest, my friends, Cantaliea"—he nodded to an elf at the door—"shall show you to your quarters. This procedure will be very painful for Peregrin. Perhaps it will be better if you do not watch."
"I can't leave him, Lord Elrond!" Merry exclaimed through tears. "Not now...not when he...he--" Merry let out a sob, and hid his face in his hands. Sam and Frodo both laid a hand on his shoulder, fighting back their own tears.
"As you wish," Elrond said. Chairs were brought in for the three hobbits, and food and wine (which wasn't untouched for long) was brought to them. As they kept their vigil, the elves positioned themselves around Pippin's bed, each laying hands on him. Elrond began a song, and one by one the other healers joined in. The process of healing had begun.
AN: Oooooh, another cliffie! Will Pippin be all right? What about Legolas? Tune in next time to see...on Rivendell Hospital! :::gets hit in the face by a rotten tomato for making such a lame joke::: Don't forget to review!!
AN: Here's chapter 6 of Evil's Point! Thank you to my reviewers! Don't forget to review this one!
King Thranduil didn't know what else to do. His son was out gallivanting with his dwarven friend, and while Thranduil knew that Gimli was a decent dwarf—as well as one of the most famous people in Middle Earth—he couldn't help being suspicious of him. Two days had passed since Legolas and Gimli had said they would return. It was so unusual for them not to come back from their trips when they said they would that Thranduil was quite worried. He sighed, and was just about to call one of his scouts to see if any sign of the search party he had sent out to find his son and his friend—or the prince himself—had turned up when an elf came running in.
"Sire! I-I am sorry to disturb you--"
Jumping to his feet, Thranduil waved away the apology impatiently. "What is it, Tindome? Has my son been found?"
"He's just been brought into the halls, sire! But, sire--"
"Then why has he not been brought to me? Bring him here immediately!"
"Sire! He is ill!"
At these words, Thranduil paled. Dropping his ruling staff, he darted up to Tindome. "Take me to him."
Tindome led Thranduil quickly through the halls, ignoring the elves who hastily bowed or curtsied when their king came into sight, and to the rooms of the palace's best healers. At the moment, most of the healers were clustered around a bed upon which a figure could be seen, moaning in pain. Gimli was milling around all of them, talking loudly and agitatedly.
Thranduil brushed past some elves, alerting the others to his presence. The elves all bowed as they noticed their king, but Thranduil didn't pay them any heed. His eyes were only for his son.
"What has happened to him?" he demanded.
"The dwarf says he fell into a river, sire," the chief healer reported. "He's quite ill—feverish, unresponsive..."
Bending over his son, Thranduil took his hand and called to him softly. His son didn't respond. Gently lifting one of the prince's eyelids, Thranduil gazed at his son's eye. What he saw—or rather, what he didn't see—made his blood run cold.
"Ah Elbereth Gilthoniel!" he cried in Elvish, losing his composure. "His light—it is fading!! Ai, no, by the Valar, he cannot die!" Two of the healers hastened to calm their king while three more placed their hands on the prince, preparing to attempt to heal him with Elvish magic. Regaining his composure, Thranduil barked an order to the healers.
"Do everything in your power to save your prince! I do not care how you go about it—just save him! He cannot die!" Turning to the chief healer, he added, "Elsila, I expect that every resource, every medicine, anything that can help my son, will be used. I want reports on his condition every fifteen minutes if I am not by his side!"
"Yes, milord," the healer replied with a bow. Turning back to the others, he added his power to that of the other healers, and they began a long, hard fight to keep the prince alive.
Five days later, the prince still lived, though his condition remained the same as it had been before. The healers were beginning to lose hope. Nothing they tried had much effect.
Thranduil, exhausted, slumped in a chair by his son's bedside. Gimli sat on the other side of the bed, occasionally touching the elf's hand or feeling for his pulse. Thranduil was attempting to listen to what Elsila was telling him.
"The healers are exhausted, milord. They cannot continue like this. Nothing we have tried is working. I fear—I fear we do not have the talent to heal this."
Thranduil didn't even yell. He closed his eyes and let his head slump onto his chest, feeling grief overwhelm him. He didn't know how long he remained like that—but suddenly, what seemed like their last hope occurred to him. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of him sooner!
"Elrond!" Thranduil cried, sitting upright. "My son must go to Elrond! If Elrond cannot heal him, no elf can!"
"Of course!" Elsila cried. "Lord Elrond—his healing powers are the greatest of any elf's on Middle-Earth!"
Preperations were quickly made. The swiftest rider in Mirkwood was sent to bring tidings of Legolas' condition to Rivendell, and a party of eleven—five guards, five healers, and Gimli—was arranged and outfitted for the journey. The group set out from Mirkwood within the day.
***********
In the early hours of the morning, four ponies galloped toward Rivendell, not heeding the noise they made at such an early hour. They thundered down the path, through the river, and crossed into the borders of Rivendell.
"Halt!" cried an elvish voice from the trees. "Who are you, that ride so hastily toward the Last Homely House?"
"It's me—Frodo Baggins!" one of the riders called, and he pushed his hood back, confirming he was who he claimed he was. "Samwise Gamgee and Meriadoc Brandybuck ride with me. Our companion Peregrin Took is ill. We wish to see Lord Elrond!"
"Of course, Master Baggins!" the elf replied, and uncovered a lantern he held. Bowing slightly to the hobbits, he mounted his horse and rode ahead to alert the elves of Rivendell. Within five minutes, the hobbits were met by three elves. Two of them took the hobbits' ponies after Frodo, Sam, and Merry had dismounted. The other one gently took Pippin in his arms. "I shall lead you to Lord Elrond," the elf told the hobbits with a bow, and they hurried through the halls, Pippin moaning occasionally from his position in the elf's arms.
The elf ran through a doorway. "Lord Elrond!!"
Annoyed, Elrond looked up, but his face quickly registered alarm as he recognized the four hobbits. "Masters Baggins, Gamgee, and Brandybuck! What is wrong with Master Took?" he demanded, jumping to his feet.
"Lord Elrond, you've got to help Pippin, please—he was bitten by a wolf—he's very ill!" Merry cried, looking pleadingly up at Elrond.
Abandoning his other work, Elrond lifted Pippin from the arms of the elf, and beckoned the hobbits to follow. "Call the healers," Elrond ordered the elf standing there. "They will meet me in the healing room." With that, he swept down the halls and into a bedroom not unlike the one Frodo woke up in upon his first trip to Rivendell. Elrond laid Pippin gently on the bed and began to examine him, frowning gravely at his bitten and green hand. He was silent for so long, assessing Pippin's condition, that Sam spoke up.
"You will be able to help him, Master Elrond?" he asked.
Elrond looked gravely at the three hobbits clustered around their friend's bed. "You arrived just in time, my friends," he said. "If you had come any later, he would have been beyond any help. As things stand now, I believe I can heal him if I act quickly." As he talked, Elrond bustled about the room, gathering herbs, medicines, bandages and water. "Whatever bit him injected a foul poison into the wound, a poison which is draining his life force. It has already circulated around his entire body."
Merry let out a small sob at this.
"No, Merry, do not despair!" Elrond said. "I shall put forth all my strength to draw the poison out. It will be a hard fight, but Pippin is strong. He may pull through yet."
Healers ran into the room just then, and over to Elrond, murmuring in Elvish. Elrond responded in kind, and the healers busied themselves cleaning Pippin's wound and preparing him for the procedure which would hopefully rid him of the poison.
"If you wish food and rest, my friends, Cantaliea"—he nodded to an elf at the door—"shall show you to your quarters. This procedure will be very painful for Peregrin. Perhaps it will be better if you do not watch."
"I can't leave him, Lord Elrond!" Merry exclaimed through tears. "Not now...not when he...he--" Merry let out a sob, and hid his face in his hands. Sam and Frodo both laid a hand on his shoulder, fighting back their own tears.
"As you wish," Elrond said. Chairs were brought in for the three hobbits, and food and wine (which wasn't untouched for long) was brought to them. As they kept their vigil, the elves positioned themselves around Pippin's bed, each laying hands on him. Elrond began a song, and one by one the other healers joined in. The process of healing had begun.
AN: Oooooh, another cliffie! Will Pippin be all right? What about Legolas? Tune in next time to see...on Rivendell Hospital! :::gets hit in the face by a rotten tomato for making such a lame joke::: Don't forget to review!!