The previously sunny day had taken a turn for the worse. Clouds darkened the horizon and the shadows of the forest seemed to grow longer and gave off an ominous aura. The bundle on the stretcher shifted briefly in pain as it was jostled slightly as the elves navigated a fallen beech tree.
Glancing concernedly down at his friend, Maltalossë grew further worried as he took in the Elven Prince's paler than usual complexion now marred with sweat. Legolas' breathing was steady but shallow and blood was still flowing from the wound which should have ceased long ago due to his Elven healing abilities.
White stone loomed at them amongst the foliage. The returning guards were met with loud gasps of disbelief and soon there could be heard a flurry of movement from behind the walls of the Elven King's fortress as the gate keepers strove to open the doors.
Ignoring the looks of horror on the faces of the passers-by, Maltalossë picked up his pace forcing the other stretcher bearers to increase theirs also. Cries for a healer went up, urgently echoing about the courtyard. As they ascended the steps to the palace a healer came dashing down the steps to meet them half way.
The she-elf took in the Prince's ashen complexion and the stain that saturated his tunic with a grim countenance and urgently gestured for the group to make their way into the healing wing. On entering the area, an assistant quickly threw back the blankets and Legolas was gently transferred onto the bed.
The healer was a small dainty sort of elf with mousy hair and slightly watery pale blue eyes and Maltalossë suddenly felt he should offer to send for more help since she appeared so frail. It was a bad mistake.
Having not had dealings with this particular nurse before he was quite unprepared for the sudden narrow glare the lady gave the room at large before promptly shepherding them all out proclaiming that she could hardly save lives with half the border guard breathing down her neck as she worked.
It was because of this that the dark haired young elf found himself looking bemusedly at the finer detailing of an oak panelled door and wondering how he'd got there. These thoughts were swiftly interrupted as it was at this point that the King Thranduil chose to barrel down the hallway having bullied the predicament his son was in out of one of the poor palace guards he had happened upon.
"Where is he? Where is my son, I must see him at once!" The Elven King bellowed as he scanned the vicinity for a likely informant. Striding up to Maltalossë Thranduil glared at the young elf with suspicion. "He's in there isn't he. What did you get him into this time? Do not answer that, open this door now!"
The petite nurse gave her patient a critical once over to determine that the arrow wound actually was the only injury sustained. Satisfied that it was, she set about deftly removing the Prince's tunic, cutting away the parts that were difficult. She would not know the true extent of the damage until it was cleaned up so she reached for the warm water and cloth to bathe the blood encrusted shoulder.
Nuilwen had been a healer a long time, the majority of her years spent in the realm of Lothlorien, and she had come upon and treated many an arrow wound in her time. However, there was something about this puncture that did not appear quite normal. Unless her eyes were deceiving her, she could swear that an odd metallic silver substance was mixed in with Legolas' blood causing it to glimmer more than usual in the well lit chamber.
As she leant forward to get a better view a loud bang caused her to jump as Legolas' father came into the ward, his face drawn with anxiety at the sight of his son.
"How is he?" The King asked tentatively, all his previous panicked anger gone as he glimpsed the unmoving form on the bed. The atmosphere in the chamber was heavy and one felt the need for hushed tones such as that which could be found in a library. Nuilwen seemed a little uncomfortable for a moment as she glanced quickly back at her patient, unsure of whether she should voice her concerns.
She was in the act of opening her mouth to begin some sort of appeasement for her King when a muffled groan came from the golden haired elf lying amidst the blankets. The attention of both Elves went immediately to Legolas' trembling eyelids as they blinked several times before blearily opening to settle and focus on Thranduil.
"-I…"
"Yes, what is it? Don't strain yourself, you must rest," began Thranduil gently. He was prevented from finishing, however, as Legolas suddenly sprang to his feet and swiped a surgical knife from a nearby nightstand. If a little unsteadily the Elven prince brandished the stolen blade before him and advanced on the King with a strange look in his eyes; distant, yet vicious.
The nurse gasped in terror and scrambled back to the other side of the room to get away from the Prince, who was steadily advancing on his father with a murderous visage. Thranduil remained where he was, too shocked to move a muscle. What was he to do? Had his son fallen to insanity?
The door banged open for the second time that day as Maltalossë stumbled through the entrance. The sudden loud noise seemed to have a jolting effect on Legolas as his expression cleared and he dropped the knife as though he didn't realize he had been holding it.
Gasping at his light-headedness and with confusion at the rapid recession of the pressure behind his eyes, Legolas turned just in time to witness his best friend tumble dramatically to the floor in faint.
AN - I hope all my readers enjoyed this instalment now that I have finally posted it. I'm sorry for the wait, but be happy in the knowledge that I, for the first time ever, actually have a story plan! Please review to let me know what you think of the story's progression so far. Flames are welcome, however, they will need reasons to back them up. Till next time, Namarië!