AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter was long in coming, and I want to thank my readers for their patience. As I noted in my previous chapter, this has been a VERY busy, distracting time for me. Springs and summers usually are. But I fully intend to finish this story. To that end, I have asked a VERY talented writer to join me in completing ELLIE'S CHOICE. She is Lhunturiel Rinturion, a faithful reader of ELLIE'S CHOICE from the very beginning. And to her I owe a great debt of gratitude. I started writing this chapter several months ago, but it was Lhun who completed it, making the transition from my writing to hers seamlessly. She is now my co-writer/collaborator in every sense of the word. Henceforth, many of the chapters will be hers, some may be mine, but the story will be OURS. Lhun has made it that; Ellie now belongs to her as much as she once belonged to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter. A special thanks to our beta Kris. We will be counting on her a lot in the months to come as we bring ELLIE'S CHOICE to a close!
CHAPTER THIRTY: THE HEALING
He drifted in an out of consciousness like a troubled sleeper, waking with a jolt time and time again only to slip moments later back into the realm of mist and shadow. He welcomed that murky darkness for it offered his only escape from the pain. A pain that would have driven a lesser man insane. A pain that would have driven a lesser Elf to willingly give up his earthly life.
Rumil of Lorien did not want to die, but in a rare and brief instant of lucidity, he realized he was dying nonetheless. Indeed, he should have been dead three days ago when the Uruk scout caught him unawares on Lorien's southern borders. Caught him unawares and savagely gutted him as easily as if he were a fish or some small animal of prey. That he still lived was testament to his unconquerable will. And the will of his brother Orophin and their companions, who had borne his slashed and broken body so resolutely, so tirelessly through the Golden Wood, never stopping once to rest or eat or drink, never slowing their gait even when they tended to his needs. Through a haze of pain Rumil eyed them wearily, too weak to speak, as his heart filled with affection and gratitude…and immense sorrow.
In spite of his will and theirs, the Elf knew he could not be saved. I am so sorry, Phin. I tried…But his body was weakening by the minute. With every labored breath he took, every drop of blood he shed, he could feel his life force seep away from him. Before the darkness overtook him yet again, he thought of his beloved Azziel, waiting at home for his safe return--as she had so many times before--making plans for a wedding they would now not celebrate. So sorry, love…he thought, with deep regret. And then, for many a long hour, Rumil of Lorien thought no more…
From far, far away it seemed, the Elf heard a clarion call--a clamor of Elven horns such as had preceded every battle from the dawn of civilized time, stirring the blood of each and every warrior who heard it. So rousing was the sound that it penetrated the darkness that enshrouded him. Once again Rumil drifted back into the world of light and pain, only to discover that the pain had fled. He was momentarily confused, hope alighting ever so briefly in his heart--I will live!-- before cruel awareness set in. His death was at hand. His body was no longer his own to command for he could no longer feel his body. He could no longer move. An insidious chill crept into his blood and bones and, for the first time in his life, the Elf knew what it was like to be cold.
He thought he heard voices. He thought he heard crying--a maiden sobbing with unbearable heartbreak. Azziel? But he was too weary, too weak to open his eyes. So sorry, love…His own heart had shattered hours--or was it days?--earlier, only he could not feel it anymore.
And then he heard her voice. "Rumil, open your eyes," she extolled him. Not Azziel and not Nev, but a young girl--a girl whose voice was hauntingly familiar and as soft and soothing as the hands that suddenly embraced his face. He could feel those hands--even though he could feel nothing else--and they were blessedly warm. Hot. Suffusing him with the heat of life. The pleasure of the life-restoring warmth from her tiny hands was overwhelming, causing him to ignore her request.
"Open your eyes," she repeated.
Miraculously, the heaviness lifted from his lids, and Rumil obeyed her gentle command. He slowly opened his eyes to stare at a face he never thought to see again in this world. I must have died after all, he mused, curiously untroubled by the possibility, enchanted by Naia's radiant beauty. Her eyes and skin glowed so brightly they seemed to be made of golden light--a light that surrounded them both in a brilliant cocoon, blinding him to all else.
"Naia?" he ventured, finding the strength to speak, and no longer surprised that he could. If he was dead…
But the girl shook her head and smiled. "No. I am her daughter. You are alive, Uncle, and I mean to keep you that way--if you will it."
Rumil stared at her in shock. The feeling of warmth and well being never left him, but he was profoundly shaken. Naia's daughter…His niece. How could it be? And what of that otherworldly light?
"The light is my life force, Uncle," the girl told him, as if reading his thoughts. "It will join with yours and help you heal." The same, serene smile continued to grace her face, calming his disquiet at her strange words. She tenderly caressed his cheeks and brow, pressed her warm lips to his forehead. "Take my life and live. Take what I freely give you and live."
"I…will," he replied in a voice filled with wonder and renewed hope. The Elf wanted desperately to live now that he knew he was still alive. In the next few minutes Rumil of Lorien came to know Ellie more intimately than he had ever known and would ever know another person in his life.
Their minds were entwined, linked, each sharing every thought, experience, memory that their consciousness contained. They were for several moments, essentially the same person. Two spirits, two souls inhabited each body as she worked her Ilissan miracle…
The wedding festivities that had just a short time ago been filling the air with happy voices and laughter were stilled such that not a sound was heard. All eyes were on Ellie and her uncle. Legolas moved closer, concern etching his handsome face as he took in the sight of his wife and Rumil, locked in a healing embrace, their eyes closed tightly in concentration. He started forward when he noticed her complexion paling and tiny beads of perspiration dotting her upper lip, but Haldir placed a hand on his arm, stilling him. Legolas' eyes grew wide in fear for his bride as Rumil's color improved at the same rate that Ellie's drained from her face.
"This…this is…harming her!" he exclaimed, wrenching his arm from Haldir's grasp, just in time to catch Ellie, who fell back away from Rumil, in an apparent faint.
Legolas lifted her in his arms easily, anguish consuming him, as Rumil stirred and opened his eyes to gaze at his tiny benefactor, held in her new husband's embrace.
"She…risked much...to heal me," he whispered, his voice laced with awe. "If I had died…she would have died with me..."
Legolas' eyes widened in shock as he looked at Haldir to read that yes, this was indeed true. She could very easily have lost her life. Turning abruptly after one last, vicious look at the March Warden, he stormed away with his bride, as Azziel broke through the throng, her eyes filling with tears of joy when she saw her betrothed whole again...
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Legolas swiftly carried Ellie up to the wedding suite that Azziel had so lovingly prepared for them earlier in the day, and placed her on the bed, atop the white coverlet strewn with flower petals. Her beautiful wedding gown was ruined, stained with the life's blood of her uncle Rumil. Legolas was so filled with conflicting emotions that he did not notice Haldir following them up the stairwell and into the room. The Mirkwood Prince's mind roiled with love, fear, anger and outrage, as well as reluctant pride…in his new wife's abilities. He knelt at the side of the bed, stroking her forehead and murmuring to her softly in Elvish.
"She will recover, you know. She is in her own healing trance now," Haldir spoke, not unkindly. The Lorien Elf had learned much about his daughter's healing gift in the past two days…and about her character. He trusted both implicitly.
The older Elf rounded quickly on the March Warden, partly in fear for his bride, partly from chagrin that he had allowed Haldir to startle him. "I cannot believe that you allowed…nay…that you encouraged her to do that, knowing that she could have lost her life in the process!"
Haldir flinched slightly but recovered his calm demeanor, "Legolas, I am her father. I would not have allowed her to continue if I thought..."
Legolas cut him off, "She was 'one' with your brother, and he was as close to death as a person can be and still be taking breath! She very likely could have died!"
Taking a deep breath, Legolas struggled to control his emotions as he instantly regretted his outburst. But he could not deny to himself that he was sorely distressed and did not wish to discuss it with Haldir any further. "Please…leave us," he said quietly, his voice tense, the muscle in his jaw working.
For an instant, Haldir made as if to speak, but instead, he nodded and left the suite, closing the door behind him.
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When he saw Haldir return to the gathering, looking rather dejected, Gimli straightened his posture and muttered "Never send an Elf to do a Dwarf's job! I think it is time that I went to assist the lad…" He started off, but only managed three steps before Aragorn's hand firmly clapped down on his shoulder.
"No....." was all the future king said.
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Legolas placed his palm to her forehead, and felt the fever of her healing trance. He watched in awe as the color returned to her cheeks, and noted her slow measured breathing. This sight reassured him that she would indeed recover from her trauma, but he was nonetheless troubled. He walked to the window, overlooking the most picturesque view of Caras Galadon, yet this beauty was beyond his vision. He was looking inward, wondering how he would be able to stand for such "healings" in the future, knowing that each time there was the possibility of losing her. And, not just that. She had assured him that she was already with child. How could this travesty have affected his unborn daughter? Instead of calming down, he grew more agitated as these thoughts churned in his mind. And yet…on the other hand, he thought, who am I to deny Ellie the use of such a gift? My resistance is borne of pure selfishness… I don't want to lose her, ever! But, this is what she was born to do, this is her gift. The Elf shook his head as he realized that he was arguing with himself.
Hearing movement behind him, Legolas turned to see Ellie struggling to sit up and he ran to her side. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he gathered her into his arms and covered her face with gentle kisses, while she clung to him like a child who had awakened from a nightmare.
"Are you all right, melamin?" the Elf asked her, striving to keep his voice calm and controlled.
A smile began to form on her lips as her eyes glistened with bright tears of joy. "He…he lives…He lives, Legolas…" Ellie beamed up at him, the tears spilling down her cheeks.
She hugged him tightly and heard him respond dully, "I know."
Sensing tension in his voice, she pulled back to look into his eyes. "What is it? What's wrong?"
Legolas felt a spark of irritation and indignation light inside him. "Ellie," he began, his eyes glittering dangerously, "are you not concerned at all about the risk you just took? The risk you assumed for yourself…as well as for our child? …If there is one," he went on, knowing that his words would hurt her.
Before she could reply, he released her from his embrace and rose abruptly, then strode again to the window. As the gentle breeze caressed his face, he closed his eyes, willing himself to remain calm. He needed to be calm now. Legolas heard her rise unsteadily to her feet, and shuffle toward him, but this time he did not come to her aid. He drank in the warmth of her small body now only a hair's breadth away from his back, but did not acknowledge her presence. He felt her hand on his arm, her touch tentative at first, then firmly grasping. Legolas glanced at her blood-stained hand, and finally turned to look down into her eyes, the pain within them clearly apparent.
"Do you doubt me…husband?" Ellie asked him, realizing that although she never expected to call any male "husband," the word felt delicious as it issued forth from her lips. "Do you not believe me when I say that I am carrying your child?"
Legolas stared at her, his heart aching. "I believe you, Ellie. What I cannot believe is that you would risk your life and the life of our daughter without a moment's pause for thought."
"But, Legolas, our baby is not a…" She halted her words as the full meaning of what he had just said sunk in. Does he truly believe I would so recklessly endanger our child? Ellie's heart lurched painfully, the hurt inside of her spiraling, twining itself with feelings of guilt quickly followed by anger. Has he no faith in my judgment? And just as her tumultuous feelings threatened to overcome her, they gave way to deep regret. And confusion. What have I done?
Legolas watched this myriad of emotions play across her face and he knew, he knew that she regretted marrying him already. "You wish we had not been joined," he whispered, his inner pain not apparent on his face as he donned the stoic mask that he had learned to affect long ago.
"No…yes…I…I do not know!" And truly she did not. Ellie had been so caught up in her love--her passion--for the beautiful Mirkwood Prince that she willingly gave up her faith without really pondering the ramifications of her choice. Now, confronted by her new husband's accusation, those ramifications echoed loudly inside her mind. Oh, gods, what have I done?!
She burst into tears but Legolas did not move to comfort her, rather he continued to stand stiffly, gazing down at her with veiled eyes.
"Clearly you disapprove of the choice I made to heal my uncle," she managed, looking at him through the shimmer of her tears. He said nothing, the smooth planes of his face revealing nothing. She forged on, unable to stop the torrent of words issuing forth from her lips.
"Legolas, what if I am the last of my kind? What if I am the last Ilissan left in Middle-Earth and I let my faith die out? For 3,000 years there have been Iissans. We once numbered in the thousands! In the thousands, Legolas! For 3,000 years the sisterhood has existed--bound to each other not only by blood, but by traditions and rituals and beliefs--answerable to no man. No man…and no Elf. How can I let it all end? How can I betray my kin? How can you expect me to stop healing?"
Legolas' eyes narrowed as he fought the urge to bite back at her, sting her with cutting words. He knew her heart. He knew how to hurt her. And, right now, in this moment, he wanted to hurt her…as he had been hurt, been wounded by the implication that he was the sole downfall of her people and of Ellie, herself. He took a deep breath in an attempt to center himself before he spoke, his voice so low that she had to struggle to hear him.
"Ellie…I feared for your life. I could not bear to lose you in such a way. But you need not betray your heritage. I am not asking you to. Have your...OUR…daughter! Surely you understand that by bearing her, you will be continuing the Ilissan lineage! Just do not turn your back on me. Do not turn your back on what we have found with each other. In my nearly 3,000 years of life I have learned one thing at least, and that is that what you and I have is something to be treasured, something we must thank the Valar for. It is a gift. A gift that is not given by the gods lightly, nor should it be treated as such."
Ellie looked as if her heart would break, but she shook her head slowly, tears once again welling in her eyes. "It would not be the same, Legolas. Ilissans do not form pair bonds with males. It was folly for me to think it would work. You clearly disapprove of what I have done, and that disapproval will be visited upon me every time I am true to my faith and heal someone who is critically ill. It would not be the same..."
"Let it be different, then!" The brittle hold on his emotions gave way. "Keep your precious faith! Keep your traditions and secret rituals. Let our daughter share in them. I will not intrude. You say I have already given you a daughter. I will give you ten daughters to carry on the Ilissan faith, if you will it! Please…all I ask is that you be more careful…And that you do not shut me out of your life forever." Legolas looked down at her intently. The feeling of desperation growing within his breast sickened him and he felt actual disgust toward himself. Once again, Ellie had reduced him to begging.
"Legolas, you make it sound so easy... But I don't know if it will be so... I have to think," she said, turning slightly away from him.
His patience at an end, he snapped "Do not think too long. The Fellowship leaves in two days!" He removed the silver circlet from his head and flung it onto what was intended to be their wedding bed, scattering the flower petals from the coverlet. Without another glance at Ellie, he stormed from the room and down the stairs, striding purposefully into the forest surrounding Caras Galadon…
