Everything I do Chapter 2 Healers, a lord of the rings fanfic

Disclaimer: See chapter 1, please.

Please also note the updated A/N etc.

Thanks for your reviews! :) Place, date and reason of the fight will be revealed in chapter 3, which will be a rather large one, I promise! But now let's have a little look at "adar"…

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Chapter 2 – Healers

Thranduil willed his racing heart to slow down. He would die, but he would not die as a weak, whimpering coward, oh no. He squared his shoulders and took a deep steadying breath, preparing himself for the lethal blow he would receive any second. Despite his severely injured left arm, his blood stained, rain soaked cloak and the splashes of blood and mud on his fair face and in his wet hair, he looked every bit the proud warrior King of Mirkwood he was.

The orc in front of him snarled triumphantly but not without a slight hint of rage for not seeing any fear in his opponent's face and raised his scimitar. Out of the corner of his left eye Thranduil saw something green brown flying in his direction, but he was too occupied with facing his own death to realize what it was.

He bravely stared at the orc and saw the scimitar coming down towards him with unstoppable speed, but suddenly it was as if it moved in slow motion. There was a voice that sounded vaguely familiar, crying something, but Thranduil could not care less to listen. Out of nothing something heavy but still soft hit him to the ground, making his head swim in pain. In his dizzy state he caught glimpse of something golden that looked incredible like blond hair but before he could recognize what it was, the piercing pain in his left arm and in his head finally knocked him out.

The lethal blow never came.

He started with a soft moan and slowly opened his eyes. He felt something soft beneath him that felt like a bed but his vision was too clouded to see where he was. His head and left arm throbbed so badly he could not think clearly anyway. And yet he felt unexpectedly warm and comfortable. He blinked several times to focus his vision and finally could make out a grey form leaning over him.

"Finally! He is awake." He heard the form say. But he did not know the voice.

"My Lord?" Came the next voice, sounding rather familiar, and someone gently grabbed his good arm. He blinked again and saw one of his warriors weakly smiling down on him.

"Hador… what…?" Thranduil tried to sit up, but the warrior gently pushed him back down into the soft pillows.

"My Lord, please, you are injured..." Hador said and pulled the blanket the king was covered with back up to Thranduil's chin.

"King Thranduil, how do you feel?" The other voice asked, and Thranduil turned his head to see who it was.

He did not know the man before him, but the concerned look on his weathered face, the blood stained apron he wore – and obviously had not cleaned for quite some time as the blood on it was black, dry – and the experienced manner with which he searched Thranduil's wrist for a pulse gave away that he must be a healer. Irritating, however, was the fact that he was a human healer.

Confused the king looked around the small room that was only lit by a fire in a hearth to his right and two candles on each side of the bed he lay in.

"Where am I?" Thranduil asked, and despite Hador's disapproving looks and half-hearted attempts to push him back down again he sat up.

"You are in the healer's hood, in a settlement near Carrock, my Lord. You had been brought here after the battle." The warrior answered while the healer quickly made up a draught for the injured elf.

"The battle." Thranduil murmured thoughtfully. "So, is it over yet? Were we successful then?" He asked, rubbing his pounding forehead briefly before he took the mug the healer offered him.

"Yes, my Lord. All wargs had been slain and what remained of the orcs had fled." Hador explained, unconsciously straightening his broad chest proudly.

"My Lord, may I speak and add on behalf of all of my people that we are most grateful for your assistance in this." The man smiled, and Thranduil nodded, accepting the thanks. He drank the draught thirstily despite having to squeeze his eyes shut at the bitter taste.

He looked up and handed the empty mug back to the healer. He tilted his head slightly to glance at Hador again. As he saw the other elf's haunted eyes, a sudden thought flashed through his mind – a thought too fast to get hold of yet, but certainly one of some importance. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to concentrate. What did he want to ask?

"How many casualties?" He demanded to be filled in on after a while, but still he felt that this was not exactly what he wanted to know. Something was amiss here. But what?

"Five men are dead, sixteen injured, but only three of them a bit seriously." Hador answered, took a deep breath as if to add something but did not speak any further. Thranduil eyed him carefully. He is hiding something! He thought.

"How many elves?" Thranduil asked, fixing Hador with his stern gaze. The warrior did not move, but his eyes dropped to the floor.

"One injured, my Lord." He replied hoarsely.

"Only one? And none dead?" Thranduil wanted to know, sounding a bit surprised.

"Yes, my Lord. None dead." Not yet, Hador mentally added and grew sad.

He looked up at his king, and they locked eyes, Thranduil's grey-blue orbs searching the warrior's bright grey depths. There was a minute of silence, and Thranduil felt a strong foreboding tugging on his mind, but he still did not know what exactly troubled him. He broke the eye contact – much to Hador's relief – and looked around the room as if he would find the answer written on one of the walls.

He glanced at the man, then once again at the elf and one more time around the empty room. And then it hit him like an orc's scimitar. Someone else should be here, too. Considering that he was injured and knowing the other's usually overprotective attitude, most certainly he should be here! – And would be here if he could.

"Where is Legolas?" He asked as calmly as possible, but his heart quickened in fearful anticipation. Hador drew in a sharp breath and adjusted his stance, clearly distressed. How could you possibly tell a father that his son lay dying in the room next door?

"Where is my son?" Thranduil spat out, already tossing the blanket aside and swinging his legs out of the bed. He held his breath.

"My Lord, Prince Legolas is in the room next door." Hador finally answered.

"Is he… is he the one injured?" Thranduil asked, swallowing down the lump in his throat, while he threw on a tunic the healer had given him as soon as he stood.

"Yes, my Lord. I am very sorry, my Lord." Hador replied with a small voice, a sad sigh escaping his mouth.

Thranduil did not need hear more. He was already out of the room, halfway down the corridor, as the healer grabbed him by the sleeve and held him back.

"My Lord, if I may say something? Your son is in no condition to see visitors. He needs rest. Just as you do. You should not go in there." The healer said, his voice faltering. He knew he was getting onto shaky ground for the elven king's wrath was well known even beyond the borders of his realm.

And if looks could kill the human would have dropped dead to the floor this very second.

"That merely makes me all the more determined to see him – right now!" Thranduil boomed and rushed down the small hall to the only other door that was there.

The king flung open said door, slamming it into the wall behind it, and the three persons inside of the room jumped to their feet in surprise. Taking no heed of them Thranduil strode straight up to the only bed in the chamber and stopped dead in his tracks at a short distance from the bed as he saw Legolas.

His son's face was more than ashen, dark circles under his closed eyes making him look like an old man. His breathe was so shallow, one could hardly see if he was breathing at all. Sweat covered every visible inch of his body, the undershirt he wore and the blanket over and the sheet beneath him were soaked wet. A thick, red yet neatly stitched gash ran down from the middle top of his head across the upper area of his brow down to his left temple. The left side of Legolas' face was so swollen it looked like as if it would burst into pieces at any second. The most shocking thing about his looks however was that the injured side of Legolas' head was – shaved! His beautiful golden hair – simply gone!

Thranduil swayed, staring at his son in pure horror. Someone pressed him down on a chair near to the bed Legolas lay in. He could not breathe.

"What happened?" He gasped. He realized that someone moved to stand in front of him, then kneeling down before him, but he could not tear his eyes off of his son's face.

"He was hit on the head very hard by an orc, my Lord." The person in front of him explained the obvious with a gentle, sad voice. Thranduil finally moved his eyes and looked straight into the fair face of another one of his warriors – Selmacas, or Sel as Legolas and most of the warrior's friends used to call him, captain of Mirkwood's palace sentries.

"How… how bad is it?" The king asked hoarsely, frantically searching the other elf's face for a hint that there was still hope for his son. But Sel avoided his gaze and gestured someone else who stood behind Thranduil's chair to step forward and speak.

Thranduil turned his head and looked up – into two identical faces.

"Elrohir!" He cried in surprise, jumping to his feet. "Elladan!"

…to be continued…

Sorry about the confusion about Hador/Sel in a former version of this chapter! – I switched their positions during revising this chapter but apparently was too tired to do it properly *lol* - Sorry! And a big thank you to Cheysuli for noticing it and letting me know!!! :)